Verses 145–152

The nineteenth octave is arranged under the letter or word “kaph,” which means “ape” or “monkey.”

The ape gave occasion to call “apishness” everything among people that resembles its character. It is clear that what is meant here is imitation—but imitation that is not rational and not in a good spirit. Setting aside, however, what is bad in this, and keeping in view only what is good in it, we receive from the ape a lesson about diligent imitation, which one cannot regard with indifference. Imitation is needed in all affairs, but in the moral and religious sphere it is elevated to the most perfect norm of life. “Be imitators of me,” says the holy Apostle Paul, “just as I also am of Christ” (1 Cor. 11:1). And the Savior raises us to the Heavenly Father Himself and gives Him as the model for imitation: “Be merciful,” He says, “just as your Father also is merciful” (Luke 6:36). “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matt. 5:48). To imitate God means to form one’s character according to those divine attributes which He has been pleased to reveal before us. If this were left to our free determination, we might diverge in our understanding of it. The Lord freed us from this by sketching for us a model of the proper life in His commandments. They have become for us the norm of life, and moreover of such a kind that by forming our character according to them, we cannot but be assured that we are thereby imitating the Lord Himself, and through the commandments we cannot but look up to God. This is what the prophet chiefly instills in the present extended psalm, unceasingly urging one to look up to God both as the model and, even more, as the Giver of strength for imitating Him. In brief, these instillations may be seen in the present octave. The prophet sets before our eyes the Lord who is near, and from whose face the commandments issue as an inescapable eternal law of our life (Ps. 118:151–152). To say this is to say everything, for what is required is plain. The prophet adds nothing, but only offers models of cries to God from the spirit that has desired to be faithful to this law and finds in itself no strength for it. “I cried with my whole heart… I anticipated the dawn… Hear, save.” And what does he himself offer? “I will seek Your statutes… I will keep Your testimonies.” The zeal is there—help, O Lord—and the work will be done (Ps. 118:145–148). And to incline the Lord to hear him, he hopes through mercy and judgment (Ps. 118:149), wholly committing this matter into the hands of God. Only quickly, O Lord, show Your help, he says, for here—enemies (Ps. 118:150).

Ps. 118:145. I cried with my whole heart; hear me, O Lord; I will seek Your statutes.

“I cried”—not said into someone’s ear, not muttered through clenched teeth, but as one says, with one’s full chest. However, he wishes to express here not that he spoke loudly, but the strength of his spiritual striving toward God. So the blessed Theodoret interprets it. Not with the voice, he says, did I cry, but with the heart—and not with some part of the heart, but with the whole heart, from the full depth of the heart, with the entire breadth and height of my feeling and thought—I cried with my whole being, so that nothing remained in me that did not cry out to You, O Lord. Such is what our prayer must be! Not loud, but deeply heartfelt and earnestly concentrated in the mind. Thus Moses prayed, and God said to him: “Why do you cry to Me?” (Exod. 14:15), although he was silent with his lips—silent, yet the cry of his heart was so strong that it passed through the heavens and rose before God Himself.

Such a cry is moved in us by the extremity of an outward situation or by extreme spiritual need. The prophet expresses neither the one nor the other. Perhaps this arose from the powerful and irresistible thirst that the spirit surrendered to God habitually nourishes. He does not importune: give me this, take away that, but simply prays: “Hear me, O Lord.” The Lord sees what ails our heart, and not only sees it but, speaking in human terms, even feels this pain. And what to do in regard to this pain—only He knows. Therefore the prophet teaches us to pray thus: only hear me, and what comes next—he does not presume to indicate. Your will be done!

“Hear me…” and I will “seek Your statutes.” The statutes of God are the commandments, to seek which means to fulfill them faithfully and zealously—to search out and look for where each commandment is applicable, and to fulfill it without delay with all zeal. Is this not the very object of his earnest crying? I cry to You earnestly, help me—and my desire will become deed. He has of course been seeking and is seeking these statutes already; but when help from above joins in, the seeking will go more successfully, will proceed by the most direct path, and will be accomplished in a manner most pleasing to God. Hidden in this is also the indication that apart from this I seek nothing and wish to seek nothing. Having set as his law to form himself according to the commandments, he does not take his eyes off them. This is the usual practice of a painter who wishes to paint an accurate portrait. As the painter is riveted by his gaze to the face he is copying, so the prophet is riveted to the commandments he wishes to reproduce in his own character.

Ps. 118:146. I cried to You; save me, and I will keep Your testimonies.

And yet another cry, in the same strength, of course; only instead of “hear me,” there is now the more definite: “save me”; and the aim again is the same: “and I will keep Your testimonies.” With the eyes of his mind and the desires of his heart he has embraced these testimonies, and he strives toward one thing alone—to transfer them into his life and to form his own inner and outer character by them, so that between them as the prototype and his own interior and exterior order there would be no difference, and the latter would present a faithful copy of the former. This matter is as desirable as it is difficult. If desire alone sufficed for success in it, one need only heighten that desire, strain one’s powers accordingly—and the goal would be reached. But just as one cannot cross the sea without a ship, no matter how much one desires and strains one’s powers, so one cannot become a full fulfiller of the commandments of God without help from above, no matter how strong one’s desire or how intense one’s efforts. Therefore the prophet first says “save me” and then “I will keep.”

From the combined expression of desires—“save me and I will keep”—it is evident that in the word “save” he encompasses receiving everything that is necessary for keeping the testimonies of the Lord. He says as it were: grant me saving powers, and I will keep Your testimonies, since without this I shall not be able to keep them, shall not be able to accomplish the work that You require of me and to accomplish which I also desire with all my desire. The blessed Augustine writes: “Salvation” (that is, receiving what is expressed here by the word “save”) “gives the soul the ability to accomplish in deed what it recognizes as obligatory and proper for itself; and where this salvation is absent, the soul falls in weakness.” What exactly this saving thing being sought in prayer is, the prophet does not specify, but it is well known and firmly understood by one who takes up the work. Although one may conjecture about it mentally, it is essentially known in practice. Often what is needed is one thing for one person and another for another; therefore he perhaps did not define it precisely. By the word “I will keep,” the prophet expresses not self-confidence, but rather: as soon as that saving thing is received, a necessary consequence of it will be the keeping of the testimonies. Not he will be the one keeping—that saving power itself, once received, will keep.

Ps. 118:147. I anticipated the dawn and cried out; I hoped in Your words.

“The dawn”—or “untimely hour”—means: “I anticipated” not the usual hour. While all still sleep, I, forestalling everyone, rise and stand in prayer, crying out to You. He does this because he has put his hope in the words of God, in the promise to hear the prayer of those who pray: “He shall call upon Me, and I will hear him” (Ps. 90:15). In this sense, what is expressed here is the intensity of seeking, with an indication of what animates it. To seek without sparing one’s strength and without pity for oneself—to seek, with wings of hope—this is the genuine disposition of the spirit that desires to please God and prays for this. The blessed Theodoret writes: “The prophet was a king, burdened with a thousand cares; beyond that, he bore the labors of war; yet he still offered prayers to God, and not only at the break of day, but even in the middle of the night, not waiting for the crowing of the cock. So much did he love God the Creator; so earnestly did he seek His help.” The object of his seeking and hopeful crying is the same as above—receiving saving power to form himself according to the commandments, so as to become well-pleasing to God. Each of us should seek this with the whole soul, and seek it above all else, following the prophet’s example, who for the sake of this did not give sleep to his eyes. The burning of his thirsting spirit drove away sleep. But if in the night it was so—what was it by day? Elsewhere it is expressed: I sleep, but my heart is awake. Such is true seeking! It is unceasing.

But “the untimely hour,” as with us “a bad time,” can also mean the fruitlessness of labors, the insufficiency of what is urgently needed, the straits of one’s situation. So Saint Athanasius understands this word. “By ‘untimely hour,’” he says, “the prophet means the darkness or confusion of circumstances.” In that case, the meaning is as follows: being in extremity, “I anticipated”—that is, first of all I hastened to turn to You, O Lord, as he also says in another place: “Let us come before His face” (Ps. 94:2)—that is, let us hasten to turn to Him. What is this extremity? What is this darkness and confusion of circumstances? Perhaps he means the straits of his outward situation; but since the subject is the most faithful conformity to the commandments, it is better to think, as Saint Ambrose suggests, that what is meant here are those extremities that arise inwardly in the one who is zealous for moral and religious growth. Darkness of thoughts descends and dims the brightness of consciousness; a storm of impure desires rises up and drives away the sobriety of the heart; from nowhere comes a weakness that undermines all energy; the goads of troubled feelings of grief, despondency, and fear prick and cause one to rush to and fro like one who is stung. All of this together shakes even the very root intention and zeal—to be unfailingly faithful to the Lord and His commandments. Where can one turn in such extreme and oppressive distress? Hasten to anticipate the face of the Lord. “The Lord is near to those who are broken of heart, and He will save the humble in spirit” (Ps. 33:19). Be patient and do not cease to pray; hope—and the Lord will level, pacify, and adapt everything, as He knows best.

Ps. 118:148. Mine eyes anticipated the morning watches, that I might meditate on Your words.

Early, says the prophet, I hasten to open my eyes, I make myself wake at dawn, at first light, for the purpose of meditating on the words of the Lord. “To meditate”—to read from memory or from a book the word of God and to reflect upon it. The blessed Theodoret writes: “Not only throughout the day but also at the morning watches did he meditate on the laws of God. Yet we, living in poverty, freed from all cares, spend our nights resting on our beds, and at the dawning of day bring no song of praise to the Giver of good things.” Saint Ambrose urges: “How sweet it is to begin the day with contemplation—of the Beatitudes, for example, as they are written in the Gospel! How conducive it is to begin from the mouth of Christ the Lord, who pronounces these Beatitudes, to receive impulses toward the virtues indicated there, and to form the intention of embodying them throughout the day!”

One who has resolved to form himself according to the norm sketched by God in His word must study that word, in order to see what to imitate and to learn how to succeed in this. The general prototype of what one ought to become, though it is held in the mind’s contemplation, is such is the condition of our thoughts that, if not repeated and renewed in consciousness, they grow dim, become obscure, and are forgotten; and through this, the thread that could guide one through the labyrinth of life is lost. This means that, not trusting oneself, one must renew this prototype in order to revive both zeal and the ability to be zealous. Moreover, a life that is one in spirit must be varied in its manifestations, so that its vitality does not wither. For this variation of deeds, nowhere can one so conveniently find the necessary promptings as in the word of God. The Spirit of God, present in His word, deposits, through meditation upon it, in the heart that is open to it, the seeds of saving undertakings, which, being received with sympathy, are then brought to deed with corresponding zeal and, amid other works, prove both apt and very fruitful.

Ps. 118:149. Hear my voice, O Lord, according to Your mercy; quicken me according to Your judgment.

Having expressed the longings of his heart to form himself according to the will of God as expressed in God’s commandments, and having lamented his weakness in attaining this, the prophet raises a prayer for help from above and revives the ideal of life inscribed in his mind by meditating on God’s word. Recognizing then that everything is from God—both beginnings and deeds—he prays: “Hear me, O Lord”: You see what I desire, what I strive toward, what I cry out for—hear me, then, and come to my aid!

“Hear”—“according to Your mercy,” and “give me life”—that is, send down life-giving power, or grant my life to unfold—“according to Your judgment,” according to Your decree, as You find most fitting and salutary for me. “He asks for mercy,” explains blessed Theodoret, “and does not simply ask for mercy, but asks in accordance with the decree that has his benefit in view.” In asking for mercy, he expresses the hope that moves God to be merciful; but in leaving the granting of it to God’s decree, he expresses humility—which is a deep and wide vessel for receiving the gifts of mercy, and which, so to speak, provokes the generosity of God.

The words “give me life according to Your judgment” signify not only the measure of life-giving gifts, but also the whole lot of the one who receives them. But since the ways of each recipient are unsearchable, it is fitting to pray thus: “By whatever paths You know, save me.” Not everything is fitting for everyone, and not every path is suitable for every person. One man with great intelligence perishes; another with middling ability is saved. For one person, prosperity is a hindrance; for another, a narrow life is more beneficial. One is enlivened by ease, while another is spurred by hardships. We cannot know for certain what is better for us. Therefore, it is wiser, in prayer, not to cry out: “Give me this, take away that,” but rather, committing everything to God’s providence, to humbly cry: “Give me life according to Your judgment”—that is, as You judge best, so arrange my life. To reflect within oneself the norm of the moral and religious life as God Himself has set it forth is possible in any condition and with any measure of gifts, for that aspect of our nature in which this norm is reflected is independent of the aspect in which condition is built and gifts are developed. It is behind or above that aspect, and by reason of this height can safely “flourish and be preserved,” despite all the unsightliness of one’s outward circumstances and the scarcity of those manifestations of life that people prize.

Ps. 118:150. They that persecute me have drawn near in iniquity, but they are far from Your law.

Those who persecute me, says the prophet, have drawn near in iniquity—or iniquitously. Near to whom, or to what? To him, ready to seize him. Calamity—as if he were saying—hangs over my head; my enemies are about to strike me; help me, save me—so one may complete his thought. And why this is so is explained by the following words: because they have drawn far from Your law. In pursuing me, they pursue Your law; therefore they are enemies not of me alone, but of You as well. Defend me, then—not for my sake, but for the sake of Your law.

Zigabenus notes that some read not “they drew near in iniquity” but “they drew near to iniquity.” This reading fits the structure of the verse better, since the second part then directly corresponds to the first: they are near to iniquity, and far from Your law—and it corresponds better to the flow of the speech as well. Throughout the entire octave, the prophet speaks of drawing near to the norm of life indicated by the commandments. In this verse, the prophet intended to highlight that bright side of life by way of contrast. I, he says, seek to form my character according to Your law, to draw near to it in my life; but those who persecute me, men of the opposite disposition, strive only to advance further and further in iniquity, to draw closer to it, to become iniquity itself. Yet the more they succeed in this, the further they depart from Your law, from the norm by which You have ordained that men should form their character; they withdraw from the chief end of man, and thereby become, as it were, no longer human.

Why does the prophet mention this here? — To kindle his own zeal. I, he says, cleave to Your law, O Lord, while those men have gone so far astray. I see where their path leads and how their schemes will end. They will stamp iniquity upon themselves and become walking sin, and in doing so will take on the image of the father of all sin and iniquity—the most hideous adversary of every good thing, the image of Satan. I see this, and not only do I turn away from that path, but I am filled with horror at it. I count turning aside from Your law as the most ruinous step in life. It is tantamount to an attempt on one’s life, for the center of life is not in the body but in the soul; and the soul that withdraws from Your law—and thereby from You—is dead. Every such act of withdrawal is a mortal blow to the soul. Knowing this, I am zealous for Your law and importunate before You for help, paying no heed to what my outward condition may be.

Ps. 118:151. You are near, O Lord, and all Your ways are truth.

The Lord is near to all and everywhere, as the omnipresent One. But not all are aware of this, and of those who are aware, not all keep it in constant attention. The fault lies not in the Lord, but in us. When the body is healthy, it pleasantly feels the warmth surrounding it; but when it is disordered—in a fever, for example—it sometimes not only fails to feel the warmth, but is actually chilled. So it is here: the Lord is near and embraces all. There are those who feel His embrace, and there are those who do not feel it, or who wish to escape from it. Those who live by God’s commandments feel it. God’s commandments, becoming character through their constant fulfillment—through the virtues—form within the soul aspects of God-likeness, and thereby points of contact for God to touch the soul that has become like Him through virtue. This is not merely external contact, such as the sustaining of all things by God’s providential rule, but inward—such as the indwelling of God, resembling the penetration of iron by fire. Whoever has become such a person bears God within him, and cannot but confess that the Lord is near; and knowing that this was given to him for his fidelity to the law, he cannot but testify that this law is truth.

Thus the Lord becomes near—in deed, in living nearness. But this is preceded by our nearness to Him—in thought, in contemplation, in seeking. One who compels himself to draw near to God draws God’s living nearness to himself. This compulsion extends to all the faculties of human nature. He who compels himself in mind to be near the Lord keeps remembrance of Him and walks in His presence, imitating the prophet who says: I set the Lord always before me; because He is at my right hand (Ps. 15:8). He who compels himself in heart to draw near to the Lord tears himself away from every attachment, so that his heart may be occupied with nothing but the Lord. And always contemplating the Lord with the mind and gazing upon His countenance in his heart, he strives to imitate Him in all things, so as to be like Him and pleasing to Him. The features of the Lord are reflected in His law; and therefore from contemplating them he naturally passes to contemplating the commandments, and, seeing that they are entirely the same, confesses: here too, in Your law, is the same as what I behold in Your countenance in my mental contemplation. Your law is the true reflection of You Yourself and is true insofar as You Yourself are Truth. Whether I imitate You, or fulfill Your law—in both ways I will be near You and will be granted that You too will be near me. This is the one and only true path.

Ps. 118:152. Of old I have known from Your testimonies that You have founded them forever.

The law of forming oneself according to God’s commandments consists in first beholding in them the Lord the Lawgiver who is present near us, and then having Him near and within us. This law is eternal; it is established for all time and can be neither abrogated nor changed. This is what the prophet speaks of here, adding from where and when he came to know it.

“Of old”—that is, from the very first time. As soon as he became conscious of himself, as soon as he began to live according to the commandments, he immediately knew that they are founded forever. But how did he come to know this? — “From the testimonies.” If we take “testimonies” simply as evidence, the meaning is: I knew it from Your testimonies and assurances, O Lord. You Yourself, in giving the commandments, declared that they are eternal and unchangeable. But if by “testimonies,” as throughout the psalm, we understand directly the commandments given by God and confirmed by His authority, then the meaning is: I knew it from the commandments themselves—from their character, their content, their effect—that they are eternal. The seal of immutability lies upon their face; I had only to look and I saw that it is so.

By this conviction he seals all the expressions of his resolutions and impulses toward life according to the commandments used before: “I will seek, I will keep.” He says, as it were: there is no other way. Such is the structure of my spiritual nature, such is the will of the Almighty God, such are the ordinances of all that exists, that I must live as is depicted in God’s commandments and in no other way. Why, then, does he seal this in his consciousness, or summon it forth from it? In order to bring his moral and religious powers to full tension and energy. The decisive “there is no other way” gives rise to a sense of inescapability, and this sense does not allow one to sit with idle hands. Whoever sees that he must either act in such and such a way or perish cannot hold himself back—however much he might intend to—from beginning to act immediately; for who would allow himself to perish when there is a way out, however difficult it may be? From where do violators of the commandments draw their boldness to violate them? — From the false self-assurance that “perhaps nothing will come of it; one can live this way too.” But he in whom conscience is alive—what does he say to his own and others’ suggestions to transgress some commandment? — No, I cannot. He is told that one can live otherwise, but he keeps repeating: no, I cannot; whatever you may say—I cannot. And this “I cannot” saves him from transgression. An unimpaired conscience is precious precisely because within it this wall of protection stands firm and unmovable: “I cannot.”