“we are drained of every very last tear”

Ps. 73:3

The 73rd Psalm begins the third of the five books of Psalms and is prefaced by a superscription: “A psalm of Asaph.” 

We’ve met Asaph before, at the beginning of Psalm 50, and he’s also mentioned as the author of the next ten chapters. According to I Chronicles 6, Asaph ben Berechiah ben Shimea was one of the leading singers of King David’s court, mentioned, along with his sons, often enough to convince scholars that he founded a specific musical school.  

There is one curious tradition that claims that Asaph is of the Sons of Korach - the mythical musicians who did not die along with their famous father who rebelled against Moses back in the Book of Wilderness - but who are alive forever on the cusp of consciousness, singing eternal songs of repentance and yearning. 

There is one reference in today’s psalm that echoes this sentiment of repentance and regret. The poet describes how close he was to digression from the true path. But the transgression mentioned is not an action - but a thought. As he looks at the evil and wicked people who are in charge of the world, the leaders lost to corruption, greed and lack of empathy - he regrets that he almost envied them and wanted to be on their winning side.  In the face of the fact that the divine is all goodness and hope must persist - this mere thought seems to the poet to be a shameful act of betrayal:

מִזְמ֗וֹר לְאָ֫סָ֥ף אַ֤ךְ ט֖וֹב לְיִשְׂרָאֵ֥ל אֱלֹהִ֗ים לְבָרֵ֥י לֵבָֽב׃

וַאֲנִ֗י כִּ֭מְעַט נָטָ֣יוּ רַגְלָ֑י כְּ֝אַ֗יִן שֻׁפְּכ֥וּ אֲשֻׁרָֽי׃ כִּֽי־קִ֭נֵּאתִי בַּהוֹלְלִ֑ים שְׁל֖וֹם רְשָׁעִ֣ים אֶרְאֶֽה׃ לָכֵ֤ן ׀ יָשׁ֣וּב עַמּ֣וֹ הֲלֹ֑ם וּמֵ֥י מָ֝לֵ֗א יִמָּ֥צוּ לָֽמוֹ׃

A psalm of Asaph:

God is truly good to Israel, to those whose heart is pure.

As for me, my feet had almost strayed,

my steps were nearly led off course,for I envied the wanton;

I saw the wicked at ease.”

Ps. 73:1-2

One can sympathize with his sentiments, and understand the sense of envy at the bad guys who’ve got it good, seemingly above the law and absolved from guilt -- while the poet and all the other decent people are submerged in sorrow.  And yet to succumb to such envy  is to let go of the faith that justice can and will prevail. Such negation of hope can  lead to the slippery slope of being on the wrong side of morality and of history. 

How to not succumb to this despair? 

Many of us are echoing this ancient doubt, asking this question these troubled days. 

For Asaph the poet, as he describes in the latter part of the poem  - a ray of light within will shine, a moment of illumination will remind him  - and us -- to not give up on goodness and not to aspire to be like those corrupt leaders in charge, because every evil will, one day, be accounted for, and goodness will, some day, somehow, prevail. 

But how long must one wait for the good days to rise?? 

How does one not lose faith and hope in the face of such devastating despair?  That’s the gist of this poem that somehow preaches patience. 

This attitude, and these questions, bitter and brittle, earned Asaph the title of ‘Job, Jr.’ - prefacing the famous biblical book we’ll get to in a few months in which the theology of suffering is the focal point. 

Psalm 73 leads us into this big baffling minefield of life’s toughest questions. 

One of the most harrowing images in this psalm is the immense sense of suffering that causes total exhaustion - the relentless rogues that are in charge are so mean to their own people  that there are no tears left.  This feels, again, like the crises of current events:

לָכֵ֤ן ׀ יָשׁ֣וּב עַמּ֣וֹ הֲלֹ֑ם וּמֵ֥י מָ֝לֵ֗א יִמָּ֥צוּ לָֽמוֹ׃

“So they pound our people again and again,

until we are drained of every very last tear.”

Ps. 73:3

Norman Fisher’s Zen inspired Psalms translate this confusing verse -- 

“And when the thirsty return from their long journeys, the cup is dry, for they have drained it.” 

This psalm inspired yet another poet to pour out words that have to do with emptiness and loss. 

Joy Ladin writes about the feeling of being drained to the last drop of everything: 

“I want to give you something
I need to give
But tonight I’m empty

Of raspberries, of sexual thoughts,
Of cruel things to say,
Of my children’s faces, of love

And the memory of love, even love
As empty as a night like this
In which no sun will ever rise

Because there are no suns left, because
the only sun

Is emptiness
I want to give you

Because emptiness is all I have,
A cup of emptiness,
No, not a cup, or the form of a cup--

There are no forms left--
A cup emptied of whatever makes a cup
Brimming with whatever emptiness is

When it’s emptied of everything
But the need to give.”

Poets leave us with the words that help us cope, and maybe questions that can guide us through the dry terrain of doubt and despair. Hold my hand, the poet tells us, hold each other’s hands and don’t forget that we are part of a big picture that has our best outcomes outlined, even if we go through troubling traumatic periods. 

Is this good enough to help us manage?  Good enough to help us hang in there and hold each other up? 

That is up to each and every one of us, as we take turns -- sometimes when your cup is drained, I’ll lend you tears from mine, until the next time. 

 Despair is not a strategy. We’ll drink to life, hope, healing, peace and justice — and drain the cup of hurts, again, and again, and again.

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