Psalm 42 // Disordered thirst and holy longing // Joe Valenti
I was driving down the road today when I noticed a car, covered in snow, sitting at the bottom of a steep driveway that hadn’t been plowed. Maybe you’ve been in a situation like that—where you can’t seem to get to where you want to go. It might have been a stuck car, a delayed flight, or the Metro bus that never shows up—leaving you unable to get where you need to go.
That’s the situation we’re invited into in Psalm 42.
The psalm places us with someone who is unable to visit the temple. Many scholars believe the obstacle may be physical—that the person has some kind of infirmity that prevents them from getting out of bed and traveling. We catch hints of this in the psalmist’s longing to appear before God and in the memory of once leading a joyful procession to the house of God. Whatever the cause, the result is clear: a downcast soul, marked by deep sadness and deep longing to once again be near to God.
That longing doesn’t remain vague or abstract. The psalmist describes his desire for God as an intense thirst, like that of a deer desperate for water. Around here, deer can usually find water without much trouble, so the image might be lost on us. In the ancient Near East, this picture would have communicated danger and desperation—severe dehydration, even the threat of death. The image is meant to make us uncomfortable. This longing for God is not merely intellectual; it is visceral. The psalmist is desperately in need of God.
That’s important to notice, especially in a season like Lent. We often assume that spiritual maturity looks like composure—that faith is calm, collected, and unshaken. But Psalm 42 gives us freedom to be honest about our neediness. This entire psalm is marked by pain. Here, faith expresses itself not through satisfaction, but through longing.
And the psalmist is not ashamed of that thirst. He doesn’t rush to silence it or spiritualize it away. Instead, he names it honestly before God.
My soul thirsts.
My tears have been my food day and night.
Why are you cast down, O my soul?
Notice what he does not do. He doesn’t scold himself for feeling this way. He doesn’t tell himself to “be grateful” or “have more faith.” He doesn’t pretend that remembering past joy makes present sorrow disappear. In fact, as he remembers the past, the pain seems to intensify. Memories of songs, celebration, and closeness now sit alongside absence.
This is a particular kind of suffering—not the loss of belief, but the loss of access. God still feels real to the psalmist, just not near.
Have you ever felt that way?
I have. It’s terrible.
Many of us know this experience well. We aren’t rejecting God. We aren’t walking away. We’re simply unable to get to where we once were—or where we long to be. Prayer feels difficult. Scripture feels quiet. Worship feels distant. The road that once felt open now feels blocked.
Psalm 42 gives us permission to say that out loud. And I love that. The Psalms give us language we might not think we’re allowed to use with God. Can we be angry, sad, exhausted—at the end of our rope—before Him? Yes. The Psalms say we can.
But we’re not meant to stop with ourselves and our emotions. This psalm shows us that longing itself can be a form of prayer. The psalmist does not resolve his sadness by the end. The refrain repeats. Hope is named, but not yet felt. It still feels somewhere out there in the distance.
Lent is not a season for forcing resolution. It’s a season for staying present. For noticing what hunger reveals. For allowing desire to surface rather than numbing it. The psalmist’s thirst does not disqualify him from faith—it is evidence of it. His ache points toward relationship, not failure.
Perhaps the most hopeful aspect of Psalm 42 is not the declaration of hope, but the honesty that comes before it. The psalmist refuses distraction. He doesn’t replace longing with noise or escape discomfort by pretending everything is fine. He brings his unsettled soul directly into God’s presence—even when that presence feels far away.
This is the invitation Psalm 42 offers us during Lent: to stop rushing past our thirst. To notice what we long for and feel it, so that we can be honest about those unmet desires and bring them to God.
You may not feel close to God right now. You may feel delayed, stuck, or held back by circumstances you cannot change. Psalm 42 reminds us that longing itself can be a faithful posture. God meets us right in the middle of the thirst.
A Question to Consider
What longing or thirst has been most present in your heart lately, and how have you been responding to it?
A Prompt for Prayer
Bring that longing honestly before God. You don’t need to resolve it or explain it. Simply name it. If words are hard to find, that’s okay. Romans 8 reminds us that the Holy Spirit prays for us even when we don’t know what to pray. You might simply sit quietly and say, “Holy Spirit, I need You to take this one—I don’t know what to say.” Ask God to meet you not by removing the ache, but by being present with you in it.
