Catholic Commentary
All Creation Joins in Cosmic Praise
7Let the sea roar with its fullness; the world, and those who dwell therein.8Let the rivers clap their hands. Let the mountains sing for joy together.9Let them sing before Yahweh, for he comes to judge the earth. He will judge the world with righteousness, and the peoples with equity.
Psalms 98:7–9 calls all creation—the sea, rivers, and mountains—to join in cosmic worship before Yahweh's throne. The passage reverses ancient Near Eastern mythology by transforming the sea from a hostile chaos force into a willing participant in praising God's righteous judgment and eternal reign.
Creation doesn't wait for human permission to praise God—the sea roars, rivers clap, mountains sing, and you're invited to join the cosmic liturgy already underway.
Psalms 98:7 — "Let the sea roar with its fullness" The Hebrew verb yir'am (let it roar/thunder) is drawn from the language of storm theophany; it is the same tumultuous sound attributed elsewhere to the voice of God himself (Ps 29:3). "Its fullness" (ûməlō'āh) echoes the liturgical formula of Isaiah 6:3 — "the whole earth is full of his glory" — suggesting that the sea's very plenitude is itself already a latent act of praise. The sea, which in ancient Near Eastern thought represented chaos and threat, is here not silenced but transformed: its roar becomes a hymn. In the context of Psalm 98 as a whole, this is a deliberate inversion. Where Canaanite mythology (Baal vs. Yam) depicted the sea as a hostile power conquered by the storm god, Israel's psalmist presents the sea as a willing participant in the worship of Yahweh. The fullness of the sea — its fish, its depths, its waves — all constitute one thundering voice of adoration.
Psalms 98:8 — "Let the rivers clap their hands" The image of rivers clapping (yimḥaʾû) is a bold anthropomorphism. "Clapping hands" (nāḥāʾ kappayim) is a gesture of acclamation reserved elsewhere for the enthronement of a king (2 Kgs 11:12) and for the joyful shout of redeemed humanity (Ps 47:1). By applying this royal gesture to rivers, the psalmist accomplishes two things: it universalizes the kingship of Yahweh beyond any human court, and it discloses that rivers possess a vocation — they are not merely hydraulic phenomena but doxological agents ordered toward praise. The mountains' joyful singing in the second half of verse 8 (in the fuller Hebrew text, the hills "sing together for joy") completes a vertical axis: from the deep valleys of rivers to the heights of mountains, every topographical feature of the earth is enlisted in this cosmic liturgy.
Psalms 98:9 — "Let them sing before Yahweh" The phrase liphənê YHWH ("before Yahweh," literally "to the face of Yahweh") is the language of the sanctuary and the royal throne room. To sing before Yahweh is not merely to sing about him from a distance but to stand in his presence, as priests and Levites stood before the Ark. The verse then supplies the theological rationale for all this cosmic praise: Yahweh "comes to judge the earth" — the same eschatological verb (bāʾ) used throughout the Psalter for the definitive in-breaking of God's reign. Crucially, his judgment is characterized by ṣeḏeq (righteousness) and mêšārîm (equity/uprightness). These are not threatening categories but saving ones: in the biblical worldview, divine judgment is the restoration of right order, the vindication of the poor, and the defeat of injustice. Creation rejoices precisely because divine justice is the ground of cosmic stability.
Typological and Spiritual Senses Read through the lens of the sensus plenior, Catholic tradition recognizes the "coming" of Yahweh in verse 9 as fulfilled in the Incarnation. The patristic tradition (especially Augustine and Cassiodorus) interpreted this psalm as a canticum novum — a new song — whose newness corresponds to the New Covenant inaugurated in Christ. The sea roaring, the rivers clapping, the hills singing: these are images of a creation groaning toward its redemption (cf. Rom 8:22), already anticipating the liturgy of the new heavens and new earth (Rev 21). The literal landscape of Canaan, crossed by the Jordan and bounded by the Mediterranean, is transfigured into a type of the whole cosmos gathered before the enthroned Lamb.
Catholic tradition uniquely illuminates these verses through its integral vision of creation as inherently doxological — ordered by its very nature toward the praise of God. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that "the world was created for the glory of God" and that this glory consists not in God receiving something he lacks, but in creatures being "brought to perfection and beatitude" (CCC 293, 294). Psalm 98:7–9 dramatizes this doctrine: the sea, rivers, and hills are not passive backdrops to human salvation history but active participants whose existence is itself a form of liturgy.
St. Augustine, in his Enarrationes in Psalmos, interprets the sea's roar as the voice of the Gentile peoples — vast and formerly chaotic — now incorporated into the one praise of the Church. Cassiodorus reads the rivers as sacred Scriptures flowing from their divine Source, "clapping" in the consonance of Old and New Testaments. These allegorical readings are not merely fanciful; they reflect the patristic conviction that the natural world is a text, legible to faith, whose grammar is doxology.
Pope Francis, in Laudato Si' (§85, §87), cites the Psalms to argue that "the soil, water, mountains: everything is, as it were, a caress of God" and that creation itself offers praise. He draws on the tradition of St. Francis of Assisi, whose Canticle of the Creatures is a direct descendant of this very psalm tradition. Vatican II's Gaudium et Spes (§36) affirms the legitimate autonomy of creation while insisting that creatures ultimately find their meaning in relation to their Creator — a principle Psalm 98:7–9 enacts poetically.
The eschatological dimension — "he comes to judge" — resonates with the Maranatha hope of the Church. The Catechism (CCC 1038–1041) teaches that the Last Judgment will reveal the ultimate justice of God and the final right-ordering of all creation. The cosmic praise of these verses is therefore not nostalgic but anticipatory: it is the prologue to the world's final liturgy.
For a contemporary Catholic, these verses offer a powerful corrective to two opposite temptations. The first is a purely anthropocentric spirituality that treats the natural world as merely instrumental — scenery for human salvation but not itself a theological subject. Psalm 98:7–9 insists that the ocean, a river, a mountain range are not mute. When you stand before the sea or at a river's edge, you are standing beside a fellow creature engaged in its own act of praise; the noise it makes is liturgical. This should reshape how Catholics engage with creation care: ecological responsibility is not a secular add-on to faith but a participation in the cosmic worship these verses describe.
The second temptation is despair at injustice. Verse 9 reminds us that creation praises God precisely because he is coming to judge with righteousness and equity. When systemic injustice seems impervious to change, the psalm locates the ground of hope not in human political will but in the character of the divine Judge. Practically, Catholics might use these verses as a prayer prompt during time spent in nature — consciously joining their voice to the praise already being rendered by wind, water, and stone, and renewing their trust that divine justice, not chaos, has the final word.
Commentary