Love goes both ways Pt 22: Panting for water
Psalm 42 1As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God. 2My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God? 3My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me all day long, “Where is your God?” 4These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go to the house of God under the protection of the Mighty One with shouts of joy and praise among the festive throng. 5Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. 6My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you from the land of the Jordan, the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar. 7Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me. 8By day the LORD directs his love, at night his song is with me— a prayer to the God of my life. 9I say to God my Rock, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?” 10My bones suffer mortal agony as my foes taunt me, saying to me all day long, “Where is your God?” 11Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.
The one who pants and thirsts
I’ve been thirsty many times in my life, but I don’t think I’ve ever panted. But I read these words and sort of understand in my gut that a deep longing is being expressed here. The picture is clear—a deer, parched and weary, desperately seeks water. The psalmist compares this image not to physical thirst, but to the deep, aching desire of the soul for God Himself. It’s worth noting that this isn’t casual longing. This is life-or-death thirst. The Hebrew word for "pants" implies a desperate yearning.⁽¹⁾ This isn’t about mild spiritual interest—it’s about craving God with the intensity of someone in a wilderness dying for a drink. That alone tells us something important about authentic faith: it's not always polished or pious; sometimes it’s raw and urgent.
What causes this soul-thirst? The writer of these words is longing not for ritual or religion, but for a personal encounter with the living God. That word “living” is crucial. The psalmist doesn’t cry out for an idea or a doctrine, but for a God who is alive, involved, and available. In the Hebrew mindset, thirsting for God expresses a yearning for His presence in the temple.⁽²⁾ People in those days lived before the Cross, which is to say the Messiah hadn’t come yet, and they didn’t have Him living in their heart, their personal temple, through the Holy Spirit. God was discoverable in the temple and if they couldn’t be in the temple because of exile or just distance then they felt dislocated and disconnected from God.
Yet there’s a painful twist. Despite the longing, the psalmist feels far from God. “My tears have been my food day and night” (v.3). Ever been there? Where you want to pray, want to feel God’s presence, but all you can feel is emptiness? That’s where the psalmist is—a place of spiritual drought, emotional fatigue, and deep disorientation.
Responds to the temptations of the world
In verse 3, the psalmist introduces a new character in the drama: “While people say to me all day long, ‘Where is your God?’” This isn’t just a random insult—it’s a temptation. It’s the kind of question that haunts those going through suffering. If God is good and powerful, why does He seem absent?
This mocking is subtle but dangerous. It challenges the writer’s belief in God's presence and goodness. It’s the same temptation faced by Job, the same accusation hurled at Jesus on the cross: “He trusts in God, let God rescue him now…” (Matt. 27:43). And the world still echoes this today. When believers go through depression, loss, or suffering, the world asks, “Where is your God now?” But the psalmist doesn’t answer with philosophy—he answers with lament. He cries out. He wrestles. But he doesn’t walk away. That’s a key lesson: Faith isn't the absence of doubt—it’s refusing to let doubt have the final word. All of us encounter seasons of doubt—that’s one of Satan’s strategies to separate us from God—but we don’t have to give in to doubt.
This internal dialogue shows up in verse 5: “Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me?” Instead of passively accepting despair, the psalmist speaks to himself, confronting his emotional state with truth. This is spiritual self-talk at its finest.
By remembering all that God has done
This is how we take the power out of doubt and away from Satan: By remembering all the good things God has done for us, and realizing there must be many times He intervened and we never realized it. In verse 4, the psalmist pauses the lament to remember: “These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go to the house of God under the protection of the Mighty One…” This moment of recollection is powerful. The past becomes a resource for the present. The memory of worship, of joy, of community with God’s people becomes fuel for faith now.
This isn’t nostalgia—it’s spiritual strategy. In times of drought, the psalmist draws on the reservoir of what he knows to be true from the past. He remembers God's faithfulness even when he doesn't feel it right now.
Verse 6 doubles down on this: “My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you…” That’s an intentional choice. “Therefore”—because I feel this despair, I will remember. The geographical references probably represent real places of divine encounter—moments when God showed up tangibly in the writer’s life. They are meaningful to him and they bring comfort during struggle. But this remembering isn’t just romantic—it’s tough. “Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me” (v.7). That’s the language of someone who feels overwhelmed. But even here, he attributes the chaos to God’s sovereignty. God’s waves. God’s waterfalls. The same God who allowed the trouble is the one who can rescue.
And praising Him in all things
The solution to our struggles lies in trusting God. Sometimes there’s no dramatic miracle. No sudden change in mood. Sometimes we just have to say: “Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God” (v.11).
That word “yet” is key. It’s defiant praise. It's the choice to believe that, even though God feels distant now, He is still worthy of worship, and His nearness will return. This is not denial—it’s faith in the waiting. The psalmist doesn’t fake joy; he clings to the hope that he will praise again, even though his soul is still downcast. This kind of praise isn't rooted in circumstances. It's rooted in the character of God. In verse 8, we find a tiny flame of hope: “By day the LORD directs his love, at night his song is with me.” Even while surrounded by sorrow, the psalmist acknowledges God’s covenant love is still operative. That’s what keeps him going—not what he feels, but what he knows: God is still loving, still singing, still present—even in the silence.
What about me?
What are you thirsting for? Is it relief, answers, or is it actually God Himself? This psalm invites us to take spiritual thirst seriously—not as a weakness to hide but as a sign of deep spiritual health. When we thirst, we’re reminded of our dependency—and our true need. What lies is the world whispering to you in hard seasons? Is it telling you God has abandoned you? The psalmist shows us that it’s okay to question—but don’t let the world’s voice be louder than God’s promises. Speak truth to your soul—even when it feels like shouting into the void.
When you're in a spiritual low, don’t trust your feelings—trust your memory. Write down past moments of God’s faithfulness. Revisit them. Let your history with God inform your present anxiety. And when you feel overwhelmed, remember: The waves that crash over you also belong to God. If He’s sovereign over the storm, He’s also capable of calming it.
Sometimes, faith is about saying the same truths again and again until your heart finally believes them. Can you say “yet I will praise Him” even when the breakthrough hasn’t come? This psalm gives us permission to grieve—but also invites us to worship in our grief. That “yet” could be the most powerful word you speak today. Psalm 42 is a spiritual roadmap for anyone experiencing spiritual drought, emotional fatigue, or existential questioning. The psalmist doesn’t give us tidy answers. Instead, he gives us language for longing, permission to lament, and a framework for hope.
If your spiritual life feels dry, don't be ashamed. The thirst is not a sign of God's absence; it probably is evidence of your deep desire for the only One who satisfies. Like the psalmist, speak honestly. Remember deeply. Hope persistently. And even when you're in the middle of the valley, say with boldness, “I will yet praise Him.”
Footnotes
Allen P. Ross, A Commentary on the Psalms: Volume 2 (Psalms 42–89) (Grand Rapids: Kregel Academic, 2013), 16.
Derek Kidner, Psalms 1–72: An Introduction and Commentary (Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries; Downers Grove: IVP, 1973), 181.