John Hobbins has been posting a series of translation comparisons of Psalm 26:1-3. (1, 2, 3, 4, 5). I considered writing a scathing review of his review but that’s hardly the way to begin your week. And in fact much of what he is saying, despite pounding us with cryptic terms like “syntagm” and other high-falutin’ phrases, is right on the mark. My question is more practical: How would you preach Psalm 26? My first inclination was to say that this is a classic depiction of self-righteousness that proceeds from observance of the law. The whole Psalter provides a spectrum of self-righteousness. It begins with the proto-good guy of Psalm 1 and ends with exaltation of God in Psalm 150. I think that’s a good picture of how our faith should progress. Certainly a realization of the moral standards of a holy God should cause us to flee wickedness and strive for holiness. But a better still is to take our eyes off people both good and bad and turn them on God. Every creature and with every means at our disposal should sing Hallelujah to the one in heaven who is alone righteous.
If I were preaching Psalm 26, I might mention Luke 18, in which Jesus lampoons Pharisaical smugness and instead praises the contrite unholy. The tax collector of parable becomes flesh and blood in the person of Zachaeus in Luke 19 and his story is, it turns out, the climactic moment of Luke’s Gospel. “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”
Still if we merely use Psalm 26 as a counter-example for justification by faith, we miss an important truth of this Psalm and the whole Jewish worldview. This Psalm is based firmly on a notion of God’s goodness, his theodicy working itself out in our practical striving for perfection in the expectation that his justice demands our acquittal.
The puzzle of Psalm 26 is the opening, “Judge me.” How best to translate this in English? With Hobbins, I think “vindicate” or “acquit” is the wrong metaphor here. God is a judge in a heavenly court of sorts but he is not passing judgment on the Psalmist’s innocence but rather mediating between two parties in conflict. The metaphor here is of Moses deciding cases between Israelites in conflict in Exodus 18. This verb in Hebrew is commonly used in the sense of “mediate between” two parties. “
Psalm 26:1 jingles
I’m a righteous dude / But I’m being sued
Get me off the stand / I’m an innocent man
I’m in the hot seat / I’ve got a rap to beat
Clear my name / Don’t let me take the blame
John mentions metaphorical language outside the realm of the judicial and I found that very helpful. One metaphor that intrigues me is in verse two:
proba me Domine et tempta me ure renes meos et cor meum (Vulgate)
Lord, preue thou me, and asaie me; brenne thou my reynes, and myn herte. (Wycliffe)
Prove me, O Lord, and try me; burn my reins and my heart.(Douay-Rheims)
Examen me O LORDE, and proue me: trie out my reynes and my hert. (Coverdale)
Most English translations say something like “examine my heart and mind.”
Following Alter’s “Burn pure my conscience and my heart,” Hobbins suggests, “with fire refine my heart and core!” I like that a lot. It reminds me of Yeats’ “I feel it in the deep heart’s core.”
After all of this I’m still not sure how I’d preach this Psalm. Perhaps I need to pound a pulpit and see what I say.
Maybe we should just keep Coverdale:
God, try out my reins, let’s see where you take me.
I think this Psalm and a few others are misunderstood by pious Christians. We have been trained to approach God with a sense of guilt in hand, even false guilt, because that is how we’ve learned to feel good about ourselves.
The psalmist chooses instead not to manipulate God or his self-presentation before God with the brazenness of a pious Christian.
He reminds me of a shopowner in the Sicilian town I pastored in. He was quiet, self-educated, a straight shooter, with a family, young children of his own. He sold newspapers and knick knacks and textbooks to school-age children.
He had one flaw. He refused to pay protection money to the Mafia. They put a bomb in his store and damaged it heavily.
I won’t ever forget the look in his eyes as he picked up the pieces of his life and re-opened the store, still unbowed. In the reflection of his eyes, shame, sadness, defiance, and love of God all rolled into one, I heard Psalm 26:
Be my judge, Lord!
For I have walked with integrity . . .
My eyes on your kindness,
I walk in reliance on your faithfulness. . . .
Do not sweep my life into the custody of . . . blood-guilty men,
in whose hands are plots,
whose right hand is full of bribes.
As for me, I shall walk with integrity:
redeem me, grant me grace!
That’s the trouble with Psalm 26. It can only be prayed by those who stand up to the prevarication of evildoers, who risk their violence at every turn, have paid a steep price for doing so, and have no one to turn to but God.
Everyone else should leave this psalm alone.
Or learn to stand up to evildoers, and pay the consequences.
In the aftermath, we would be able to pray this psalm with a pure heart. It would become our prayer, and there would not be an ounce of self-righteousness expressed by it.
Thanks for commenting, John.
Correct me if I’m wrong but haven’t the old translations confused “reins” with “kidneys” in Latin? It didn’t dawn on me until I thought about Portuguese “rins.”
Maybe a fellow philologist can help us out here.