Catholic Commentary
Urgent Cry for Divine Deliverance
1For the Chief Musician. By David. A reminder. Hurry, God, to deliver me. Come quickly to help me, Yahweh.
Psalm 70:1 contains a direct, urgent appeal to God for swift rescue from danger or distress. The psalmist uses rare Hebrew imperative language to command God's immediate action, expressing both complete trust in God's power and genuine desperation in a moment of overwhelming need.
One urgent sentence — "Hurry, God, to deliver me" — has become the most prayed verse in Catholic Christianity, not because it is eloquent, but because it is stripped down to what prayer actually is: naked dependence and unashamed need.
Catholic tradition brings to this single verse a depth of interpretation that spans liturgy, mysticism, and dogmatic theology.
The Liturgy of the Hours: The General Instruction of the Liturgy of the Hours (no. 41) identifies the opening versicle — drawn directly from this verse — as the Church's acknowledgment that she cannot pray without God's prior assistance. The Catechism of the Catholic Church (no. 2743) teaches that "it is always possible to pray," but it is this verse that reminds us how: by crying out, without sophistication, in sheer need.
St. John Cassian and the Monastic Tradition: In his Conferences (X.10), Cassian calls this verse the "formula" for continual prayer. He writes: "This verse should be ever on your lips... In every success and in every difficulty... you must cry out: 'O God, come to my assistance; O Lord, make haste to help me.'" This is one of the most significant instances in the Church's history of a single Scripture verse being elevated into a rule of spiritual life.
St. Augustine: In his Enarrationes in Psalmos, Augustine hears in this cry the voice of the whole Christ — Christus totus, Head and members. The cry is not weakness but the proper ordering of the creature toward the Creator.
Theological Anthropology: The verse embodies the Catholic understanding that human beings are essentially dependent upon God — not incidentally, but constitutively. The Catechism (no. 2559) teaches that "humble and trusting prayer" begins with an acknowledgment of our poverty before God. This verse is that acknowledgment compressed to its irreducible core.
For a contemporary Catholic, Psalm 70:1 is not merely an ancient formula — it is a survival tool. In an age of anxiety, information overload, and a pervasive sense of helplessness before forces beyond our control (illness, economic precarity, political chaos, spiritual dryness), this single verse cuts through every layer of noise to the essential act: calling on God now.
Practically: Catholics who pray the Liturgy of the Hours already pray this verse multiple times each day. If you do not yet pray the Hours, consider beginning with just this one verse — prayed slowly, with intention, at the start of each day. Let it be your first words before checking a phone or entering a meeting.
In moments of crisis: When anxiety surges or temptation strikes with speed, there is rarely time for a composed prayer. This verse trains the soul for exactly those moments. Following Cassian's ancient wisdom, commit it to memory and let it become instinctive — a reflex of faith rather than a composed devotion.
In dryness: When you cannot feel God's presence and elaborate prayer seems impossible, "Hurry, God, to deliver me" is enough. It is theologically complete: it names God, acknowledges need, and trusts in his power to act.
Commentary
Verse 1: "Hurry, God, to deliver me."
The Hebrew underlying this verse — Elohim, le-hatzileni chushâh — is a cry of breathless economy. Every word carries weight precisely because there are so few of them. Elohim (God) is the direct address, bypassing preamble or elaborate title; the Psalmist does not open with praise or thanksgiving but with the name of God itself, as though the mere invocation of that name is already a form of trust. Le-hatzileni ("to deliver me" or "to rescue me") comes from the root natzal, meaning to snatch away, to pull free from danger — the image is almost physical, like a hand reaching into a pit. And chushâh ("hurry," "make haste") is the most audacious word of all: the creature is commanding urgency from the Creator.
This verse is nearly word-for-word identical to Psalm 40:13b ("O Lord, make haste to help me!"), suggesting either common liturgical use or deliberate adaptation. Psalm 70 as a whole is widely understood as a conscious excerpt and reworking of Psalm 40:13–17, reassigned here — according to the superscription — to a particular liturgical occasion (le-hazkir, "for the memorial offering"). The compression of an entire theology of petition into a single line reveals the genius of Hebrew prayer: urgency is itself a theological statement. To say "hurry" to God is to confess that God can act, that God's action matters now, and that the one praying is in genuine need.
The Typological Sense: The Church Fathers heard the voice of Christ in this cry. St. Augustine, in his Exposition of the Psalms, reads Psalm 70 as the voice of the Body of Christ — the Church in her members, and Christ himself in his Passion — crying out to the Father. The urgency of "hurry" is not impatience but the groaning of the whole creation (cf. Romans 8:22) and of the crucified Lord entering into the full desolation of human helplessness. The Psalmist's lone verse becomes, in the typological reading, the cry of every member of the mystical Body who has ever felt overwhelmed, persecuted, or crushed.
The Anagogical Sense: The cry "hurry" also points toward eschatological longing — the Church's prayer for the return of Christ, the Maranatha ("Come, Lord Jesus!") of Revelation 22:20. Every time the verse is prayed, it orients the soul not only toward present rescue but toward final, definitive deliverance at the end of time.
Its Liturgical Role: Perhaps no single verse has been prayed more times by Catholic Christians than this one. St. John Cassian, in the fifth century, drew upon this verse as the "formula of piety" — the one verse a monk should carry in the heart at all times, in every circumstance. This recommendation became the structural foundation of the Divine Office. To this day, every Hour of the Liturgy of the Hours opens with precisely this cry (in its fuller form from Psalm 70:1–2): "O God, come to my assistance; O Lord, make haste to help me." It is the hinge on which all liturgical prayer swings.