Day 33 of Lent: April 11, 2025

Psalm 31:9–16 (NRSVue)

One of the things about Scripture is that it doesn’t hide from the hard stuff of life. And Psalm 31 is full of hard stuff.

This is a psalm of David, and while scholars can’t determine the exact moment in his life it came from, they all agree he was in deep distress.

Some Biblical historians think it may have come when David was fleeing Saul’s wrath. Others wonder if it came later perhaps when his own son, Absalom, rebelled.

Either way, it’s the raw voice of someone who knows what it feels like to be falling apart.

This portion of the psalm you just read clearly starts in the ashes.

“Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress…”

David doesn’t sugarcoat it. His pain isn’t just emotional—it’s physical. His body aches from the weight of sorrow. All of his strength has run out. He feels like what my grandmother would have called “death warmed over.”

Many of us have been where David is in this Psalm. We seem to be barely able put one foot in front of the other. Perhaps we feel depleted, invisible, unwanted, or just plain exhausted. Life has become painful, and we feel we cannot carry on. Well in this Psalms we know David “gets it.” He understands where you are.

You see David is using the language of lament. Yet as we will discover he knows that is still there in the midst of this hurt and chaos.

I think it is powerful to recognize that Scripture doesn’t rush us past the pain or pretend it doesn’t exist. Instead, it gives us a sacred space to name it.

David goes on:

“I have become like a broken vessel.”

That image hit home for me, and I bet it does for you too. I mean who among us hasn’t felt like we’ve shattered into pieces no one knows how to put back together?

And just when we think the psalm can’t get any darker, it does:

“They scheme together against me, as they plot to take my life.”

Terror. Conspiracy. Abandonment. It’s all there.

But then—almost like a whisper of defiance in the storm—David pivots completely:

“But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, ‘You are my God.’ My times are in your hand…”

Right there, in the middle of the ashes, David lifts his eyes and places his fragile life back into God’s hands. Not because the pain is gone. Not because the enemies have disappeared. But because he knows this: God has not and will not let go of him.

It’s a powerful reminder even now for us. We live in a world where sorrow is no stranger. Grief shows up in hospital rooms, in dysfunctional family structures, in quiet nights where anxiety won’t let us sleep.

Like David, we know what it is to be unvalued, rejected, overwhelmed. But also, like David, we’re invited to say:

“You are my God.”“My times are in your hand.”

That’s not resignation. That’s trust.

And here’s where we begin to see the alleluia rising.

“Let your face shine upon your servant; save me in your steadfast love.”

The Hebrew word for steadfast love is hesed. It’s not just any kind of love—it’s covenant love.

It is promise-keeping love.

It is the kind of love that doesn’t run away when life gets hard.

The kind of love that meets us in the ash heap and says, “I’m not done with you yet.”

This psalm isn’t neat and tidy. It doesn’t offer a three-step solution, or some self-help plan.

Instead, it offers something deeper. It offers us the truth that even in our most broken moments, we are still held by the One whose face shines upon us, who created us, and loves us still.

In this Holy season, when we walk with Jesus toward the cross, we remember that even he prayed from this psalm. On the cross, he cried out, “Into your hands I commit my spirit.” That was verse 5 of this same psalm. In doing so, he joined his suffering to ours—and brought redemption out of the rubble.

Friends, the cross was not the end of the story. Nor was the tomb.

And neither is the valley you’re walking through.

Because of Jesus, ashes never have the last word. Alleluia does.

So, if today you feel like a broken vessel, know this: You are seen. You are not abandoned. And in the hands of God, even the shattered pieces of your life can be shaped into something beautiful.

From ashes… to alleluia.

Thanks be to God.