Psalms 42:6–8

In these three verses, the Psalmist moves through the valley of spiritual desolation — naming his despair before God, perceiving the overwhelming chaos of suffering as a mysterious divine address, and then anchoring hope in the certainty of God's steadfast love (hesed) at dawn. Far from a flight from anguish, this is a descent into it that paradoxically becomes an encounter with the living God.

Verse 6 — "My God, my soul is in despair within me"

The Hebrew tištôḥaḥ ("is in despair," literally "bows down" or "is cast down") recurs as a refrain throughout Psalm 42–43 (vv. 6, 12; 43:5), functioning as a kind of dark liturgical heartbeat. The Psalmist does not merely report sadness; he addresses God directly — "My God" — even in the act of confessing desolation. This grammatical move is theologically decisive: despair is not denial of God but is laid before God. The soul does not collapse into nihilism; it collapses toward the divine. The phrase "within me" (qereb, literally "in my inward parts") situates the anguish in the deepest seat of the self, suggesting not surface grief but existential dislocation. Crucially, the Psalmist also remembers God from the land of Jordan and Hermon — the northern extremities of Israel, far from the Temple — meaning the crisis is partly one of exile and felt absence, both geographical and spiritual.

Verse 7 — "Deep calls to deep at the noise of your waterfalls"

This is one of the most arresting images in the entire Psalter. The Hebrew tehôm ("deep") evokes the primordial waters of Genesis 1:2, the abyss over which the Spirit hovered. Here, one abyss calls out to another — a poetic rendering of how wave after wave of catastrophe rolls over the soul. The "waterfalls" or "cataracts" (ṣinnôr) of God refer to the thunderous descent of water, possibly evoking the actual roar of the Jordan's headwaters near Hermon, heard by the exiled Psalmist. Yet the phrase "your waterfalls" is arresting: even the chaos belongs to God. The suffering is not alien to divine sovereignty but somehow proceeds from it. Catholic exegetes, following Origen and Augustine, have heard in tehôm qôrēʾ le-tehôm ("deep calls to deep") a description of the soul's abyss answering the abyss of God's mystery — a mutual calling across an incomprehensible distance that is itself a form of intimacy.

Verse 8 — "He will command his loving kindness in the daytime"

The shift to future tense and third person is dramatic. After the raw address of verse 6 and the overwhelmed passivity of verse 7, the Psalmist suddenly speaks about God with prophetic confidence. "Will command" (yəṣawweh) implies sovereign authority — God dispatches his ḥesed (loving kindness, covenant loyalty, the signature word of God's relationship with Israel) as a herald is sent with a royal decree. "In the daytime" likely refers to the morning liturgy in the Temple, when dawn sacrifices were offered — but it also functions symbolically: after the dark night of affliction, God's faithful love will arrive with the light. The verse continues (in fuller versions): "and in the night his song shall be with me, and my prayer to the God of my life" — meaning even in the darkness, prayer becomes a form of song, a pre-emptive act of trust before the morning arrives.

Catholic tradition brings singular depth to this passage through several converging streams.

The Catechism on Prayer in Desolation: The Catechism of the Catholic Church (§2719) teaches that contemplative prayer involves "accepting the trials and the darkness of faith" and that "the prayer of the hour of Jesus" is precisely one of thirst and abandonment — echoing Psalm 22 and Psalm 42 together. This validates the Psalmist's apparent spiritual failure as itself a form of authentic prayer.

Augustine's Confessions and the Restless Heart: Augustine, in his commentary on Psalm 42 (Enarrationes in Psalmos), reads the "deep calling to deep" as the depths of human misery calling out to the depths of divine mercy — abyssus abyssum invocat. He connects it to his famous opening: "our heart is restless until it rests in Thee." The despair of verse 6 is not un-faith; it is the dark face of desire for God.

St. John of the Cross and the Dark Night: The tehôm imagery directly prefigures the Sanjuanist doctrine that spiritual desolation, properly endured, is a form of purification and divine proximity. God is most active when most felt as absent. Pope John Paul II cited this dynamic in Salvifici Doloris (§26): suffering can become redemptive when united to Christ's own cry of abandonment.

Hesed as Covenant Steadfastness: The word ḥesed in verse 8 is a key theological term throughout the Old Testament, denoting not mere sentiment but God's binding covenantal loyalty. The Second Vatican Council's Dei Verbum (§14) affirms that God's revelation unfolds through precisely this history of faithful love, which reaches its fullness in Christ — the incarnate ḥesed of God.

These verses speak directly to Catholics who experience what spiritual directors call "dryness" — seasons when God seems absent, prayer feels empty, and faith becomes a sheer act of will. Verse 6 gives permission to name desolation honestly before God rather than performing piety. This is not weakness; the Catechism affirms that bringing one's darkness to God is itself prayer.

Verse 7's image of "deep calling to deep" offers a concrete reframe for suffering: the chaos you are experiencing is not outside God's address to you. Practically, this means sitting with difficult emotions in prayer rather than suppressing them — bringing the "abyss" of anxiety, grief, or confusion explicitly into the presence of God, trusting that even this is a form of encounter.

Verse 8's confidence in hesed arriving "in the daytime" encourages Catholics to hold to the liturgical rhythms of morning prayer (Lauds) and the Eucharist as a daily anchor, especially when feelings do not follow. The "command" language reminds us that God's faithfulness is not contingent on our emotional readiness — it arrives whether or not we feel worthy of it. The morning Mass, the Liturgy of the Hours, the Rosary at dawn: these are practical embodiments of trusting God's loving kindness before we can yet see it.