Musings of a Follower

Refusing Comfort

To the chief Musician, to Jeduthun, A Psalm of Asaph.

I cried unto God with my voice,
even unto God with my voice; and he gave ear unto me.
In the day of my trouble I sought the Lord:
my sore ran in the night, and ceased not:
my soul refused to be comforted.
I remembered God, and was troubled:
I complained, and my spirit was overwhelmed. Selah.
Thou holdest mine eyes waking:
I am so troubled that I cannot speak.

Psalm 77:4

            In this Psalm of Asaph, we see a psalm that expresses the sentiments of the Jews toward the end of their exile in Babylon.  It comes to us in the lament of a single man – not a nation – crying out to God.  As a psalm that struggles with sorrow and doubt, it would fit the memory of a man looking back on his experience when he first entered exile.  Even though it might have been written during the days of David, it is a psalm that expresses a sentiment similar to the other Psalms of Asaph in the “cluster” of psalms (Psalms 73-83) that speak to that time in Israel’s history.  

The psalm is the cry of a man who is trying to reconcile his faith with his circumstances.  His anguish was real – he was shrieking out to the Lord with his voice.  The Hebrew word for “cry” in verse one is the same word used for the sound of Abel’s blood crying out from the ground for justice (Genesis 4:10), the sound of Esau’s “great and exceeding cry” when he realized that Jacob had cheated him out of his birthright (Genesis 27:34), and the cry of the nation of Egypt that went out to Pharaoh for bread during the time of Joseph (Genesis 41:55).  The cry of the man in this psalm was a cry of anger, frustration, and desperation.

But it was also a cry of faith – he directed his cry to Elohim. He cried with his voice (repeated in verse one for emphasis), and God listened. Verse two brings us deeper into where this man was emotionally. The Amplified Bible describes his situation in this verse:

In the day of my trouble I [desperately] sought the Lord;
In the night my hand was stretched out [in prayer] without weariness;
My soul refused to be comforted.

Even though he stretched out his hands to God in prayer, his soul still refused to be comforted.  The King James version presents the picture of his soul as an oozing, infected sore that causes agony all through the night.  His soul refused to be comforted. 

The phrase “refused to be comforted” occurs two other times in the Old Testament.  The first time we see it is in the life of Jacob when his sons brought the bloodied coat of many colors that had belonged to Joseph (Genesis 37:35).  Jacob was convinced his favored son had been torn apart by wild beasts.  Even though his sons and daughters had tried to comfort him, he was so overcome with his loss that he refused their comfort.  The situation of the psalmist was similar – even though this man was crying out to God in his desperation, and God was listening intently, his soul was refusing the help God was trying to give! 

The word is also found in Jeremiah 31:15 (a prophecy we see fulfilled in Matthew 2:18 in what is called the “Slaughter of the Innocents”): 

Thus saith the LORD;
A voice was heard in Ramah,
lamentation, and bitter weeping;
Rachel weeping for her children
refused to be comforted for her children, because they were not.

            The phrase refers to a loss that was sudden and devastating.  One that overwhelms the soul, like the sudden loss of a loved one. 

It was a beautiful spring day in Texas when I came home from work. I had just called my wife thirty minutes earlier to talk about things she wanted me to pick up for a trip we planned to New York State to visit family. When I walked into our apartment I called out to her but there was no answer.

It was then that I found her collapsed in our shower.  She had passed away suddenly from a stroke – probably just a few minutes after we had talked.

I shrieked, I let out a “great and exceeding cry,” and cried out to God to bring her back.  I called 911 and they talked me through what I should do but it was of no avail.  She was declared dead by the ER doctor an hour later. When I saw her body on the stretcher in the ER I cried like I had never cried before. 

Later, after I returned to the apartment, my daughter and her family came over to see how I was doing. Her husband offered to stay the night with me but I declined – I just wanted to be alone.

After they left, I thought I would try to follow Job’s example. I got down on my knees and said, “Lord you gave Wendi to me and now you have taken her.  Blessed be your name.” I waited for peace to wash over me, but it did not come.  There was no relief from the grief, only the bleakness of a broken heart and I knew why.  I had said it through clenched teeth. I did not really mean what I said.  

I did not feel any comfort because my soul was refusing to be comforted.  

My loss was too sudden, too catastrophic, and too devastating. Just as I did not want anyone around, I was not willing to accept God’s comfort either. It wasn’t that I did not need it – I just was not willing to receive it.  I just wanted my wife back.

Like the psalmist in our Selah – I remembered God and was troubled.  I was cascading into a major life change that I did not choose, did not want, and dreaded.  I complained and my spirit became feeble.  I was able to sleep but it was restless.  I could talk, but not for very long before I would start crying again. 

Have you had a pause, a Selah, similar to this?  It could have been an unexpected divorce, an unfaithful spouse, or – like me – the sudden death of a loved one.  If you have, you know what the man who wrote this psalm was going through when he said his soul refused to be comforted. The psalmist remembered what it was like to witness the slaughter of loved ones and to watch the survivors led away in chains.  He was in distress – trapped in a life he did not choose, did not want, and dreaded.

Like our psalmist, when our soul is in tight spaces, oozing with the pain of sudden loss, it is easy to refuse God’s comfort – but there are consequences. When we refuse His help, it changes our perception of Him.  We begin seeing God as a “taker,” not as a “giver.” Instead of rendering the praise of Job, we murmur the complaints of the children of Israel.  This only prolongs the pain.  When we complain, our souls become enveloped in a shroud of gloom. 

To be comforted by God in a time of shocking tragedy, you have to trust His wisdom and His love more than ever before. The trauma of being exiled, or suddenly losing someone you love, can cause you to hold on even tighter to what is left.  We can even question God’s motivations. He cannot comfort you if you don’t let Him. He cannot bring you out of exile if you don’t trust Him enough to lead you. It may take you a while before you can get there, He understands that, but you need to get there.  

How do you get there?  Do what David did – do not stop seeking the Lord.  Keep stretching out your hand in prayer through the long night of your grief.  Through the work of His Spirit and His Word, your soul will eventually respond and be comforted.  Your spirit will be strong again.  

I know, it happened to me. I awoke on the third anniversary of Wendi’s passing and I was able to sincerely – even joyfully – thank God for the thirty-seven wonderful years we had together and for the hope, through Christ, of seeing her again.  

Even in His “taking,” He is still the “Giver.”