Psalm 137 begins with heart-breaking pathos and ends with shocking hostility. The children of Israel were taken by force from their homeland, a place given them by God. In captivity they sat by the edge of the Euphrates and wept, overcome with despair. Anyone who has suffered a significant loss can understand this pain.
Eugene Peterson calls this lament “The Babylonian Blues”. We could compare it to the spirituals sung by African slaves. “By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept.” Sitting on the ground was a sign of mourning and misery. They mingle their memories and tears.
In verse 3, the intensity of their sorrow makes singing impossible, absurd. Nonetheless, their insensitive captors ask for an Israeli song. The Psalms of David were well-known to them, but this request is really a taunt: “Sing us a song of Zion”…the place you no longer possess. The enemy asks for a song so they can ridicule the Jews. But all the music has been knocked out of them. They were not ashamed to sing of their faith, but they were cut off from the Temple, and unable to render proper worship to God. Silence was their only dignity. To sing in this pagan place, for the amusement of ungodly people, would be sacrilege. Songs of praise must only be sung to the One worthy of our praise.
A modern example of this is “Gospel Brunches”, where people who don’t go to church enjoy a nice breakfast spread while Gospel singers perform for their enjoyment. The downside of sacred music is that at times it is regarded as mere entertainment. Babylon didn’t deserve to be entertained with psalms of praise. So there will be no “folk festival” of Hebrew tunes in Babylon. Exiles don’t sing; they weep. Their hearts were out of tune. They put away their instruments in sorrow.
The torment of being uprooted is underscored with an achingly-touching response, verses 4-6: “If I forget you, O Jerusalem, may my right hand forget its skill”, or “lose its power”, its artistry, the capacity to form chords. The singer adds an oath--if he fails to remember the sacred city of God, he may as well be mute, silenced. What use is there for our voices if we do not exalt God?
Even those born in captivity did not regard Babylon as their “home.” In spite of their comforts (they were treated more like colonists than captives), they remained foreigners, strangers in a strange land.
We need to remind ourselves that we too are exiles. We may feel contented here, yet our true citizenship is in Heaven (Phil 3:20). Children of Zion can never comfortably settle down. Hebrews 11 tells of restless people, longing for a better country--a heavenly one. God has prepared a city for them. When we feel restless and alienated, let’s remember: we’re not home yet. C.S. Lewis put it, “If nothing in this world satisfies me, perhaps it is because I was made for another world.” We need to be homesick for our true home.
Don MacLean set the opening verse to music, in an appropriately minor key, as a lament. Had he completed the Psalm, he might have shifted the tempo to an abrupt, stormy finale.
Our sympathy for these oppressed exiles is shaken by their passionate cry for vengeance. This is an “imprecatory” psalm, demanding that God strike down the enemies of Israel, a cry for justice. It is one thing to ask God to resolve conflict with those who oppose us…it’s entirely another to pray for their destruction. Yet even the 23rd Psalm speaks of God’s provision while enemies look on.
This song expresses a benediction over those who implement God’s justice. The song does not express desire for Babylon’s doom but merely predicts it. The song states what will happen to the wicked. Those who gloated over the fall of Jerusalem will suffer; those who cursed Israel will be cursed.
I’m sure many of us might like to revise the language of this disturbing psalm, which has been called “the scandal of the Psalter.” Nothing in verses 1-5 prepare us for the raw hate of verses 7-9. I’m not surprised that Don MacLean didn’t finish the psalm. I can’t imagine singing the rest.
The psalmist points out that Babylon is “doomed to destruction”, verse 8. In the original Hebrew the past tense is used, to convey the certainty of the coming ruin. It is as good as done. Those who sow evil will reap evil. There will be a day of reckoning. C.S. Lewis observed that, “The ferocious parts of the Psalms serve as a reminder that there is in the world such a thing as wickedness and that is hateful to God.”
By the tone of the psalm we can feel the adrenaline of the psalmist as he concludes with the grisly final verse. This is not a divine blessing; it expresses the attitude of a people devastated by captivity. This is the cry of an abused victim of atrocities, filled with venomous outrage. It is an honest prayer, more honest that most of our polite prayers.
God doesn’t sanction killing children…but He does grant us complete freedom to express our indignation. Prayer is a safe place to release intense emotions. God doesn’t expect us to “suffer in silence.” In prayer, God can take our hatred and heal it. God can handle our anger, and He wants us to be frank with Him. Psalm 137 is a blunt expression of honest emotions, with nothing held back. Our anger needs to be prayed, not suppressed. This psalm expresses accurately what the people were feeling, but there is no divine approval for their reaction. The context helps us understand that this is a prayer in response to oppression, expressing human emotions and not the intent of God.
Jesus urges us to pray for those who persecute us. Prayer is a battleground where we wage war with every idea, action, and movement that is contrary to the will of God. Prayer is rebellion against the evil of the world. And we should be disturbed by sin; our indignation should take us to our knees.
Solomon taught that by showing kindness to foes we’re placing burning coals on their heads, Proverbs 25:21-22. This may sound appealing to some, appalling to others. When we pray for the enemies of God, our prayers will stand as evidence against them on the Day of Judgment.
Prayer doesn’t legitimize hate, but it does use it. Hatred isn’t a promising first step toward reconciliation; nevertheless any first steps in prayer may help us consider better options than what we may have in mind. It is better to pray badly than not pray at all.
Through prayer God takes our anger and transforms it into compassion. Jesus’ disciples were upset with people opposed to their ministry and asked Jesus if it would be OK to call down fire from heaven on these foes. Jesus replied that it wasn’t such a “hot” idea (Luke 9:54-55).
With spiritual maturity, we begin to see that the foul disease of sin causes people to treat us cruelly. We may begin to see our oppressors as pitiful victims of the human condition, marred by an unredeemed sinful nature. We shouldn’t expect godly behavior from people who reject God. While outrage motivates cries for divine judgment, only love can heal. In this fallen world we encounter great wickedness. We cannot control the evil around us, but with God’s help we can keep from responding in kind. Bitterness can be resolved in prayer. When we bring our hurts to God we can even learn to forgive, and thus be healed. As we gather by the waters of Babylon, God will dry our tears.
