Our sense of contentment is usually linked to our external circumstances. When our circumstances meet our expectations we often feel content. Knowing this we often lower our expectations, or even resign from expectations all together to escape disappointment and anxiety.

Contentment for David however was not situational, it was relational. He found contentment despite his circumstance because he anchored it in a relationship. David writes: “O Israel, put your hope in the LORD both now and forevermore.”

He interestingly invokes the image of a baby with its mother. Just like an infant frantically rooting for her mother’s nipple, we are driven restless looking for that one ultimate thing to give us meaning and validation. “But I have calmed and quieted my soul,” David says, “like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me.”

Like a weaned child, no longer wanting his mother’s milk, David was content without that which used to seem indispensable. He testifies to his freedom in three areas of his life which modern folks today often find indispensable for our meaning and validation.

Autonomy: “My heart is not proud,”
Social status: “O LORD, my eyes are not haughty;”
Vocation: “I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me.”

As good as his independence, status and calling was, he no longer rooted for them desperately like an infant – as if they were ultimate. His desires grew up.

“Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” – CS Lewis, The Weight of Glory

The Psalmist was far away from his home (south) on the other side of the country (north) on some remote mountain top called Mt. Mizar.

It’s interesting how in his ‘thirst’ for God he addressed his soul first before addressing God. And notice how he address his soul.

1. He listens to his soul. Asked his soul WHY. He pours out his soul. And only then does he…
2. Tell his soul to HOPE

Pour out your soul. Give your soul a chance to speak. Listen to it. You say, “I don’t feel like there is anything there to pour out?” Then fine – talk about that. If nothing else, talk to God about how you are getting nothing out of it. If nothing else, talk to God about how much you miss him, or how much you don’t miss him. If nothing else, talk to the absent God about his absence. Give your soul a chance to speak to you before you speak to it.

This is self-examination at a profound level, which allows the psalmist to see the things that he puts his hopes in, which are not going to be able to sustain his soul unless he hopes in God.

That kind of prayer requires meditation.  Meditation is not bible study or praying your prayer list.  It’s a confluence of the two, it’s a bridge between the two, an overlap of the two.  You are listening, and reflecting, and communing with your own heart – thinking about the implications of God’s word until it begins to speak to you, affect you – so you can answer God with it.  That’s pretty important, and it’s not something that the average person has learned to do, nor does it come natural to us since it requires us to treat his word with authority in its entirety.

What do I mean?   If you have any kind of real relationship – you wrestle.  You come at each other.  You say, “I don’t think you are right.”  But if you don’t accept the bible in all its entirety, if you take out the parts that offend you, what you got is essentially a cartoon god – a god that can’t possibly wrestle with you – a god who is impotent – a god who can’t knock you down in any significant way. Buber puts it this way: unless the bible is law to you, it cannot be love.  Unless it can be authoritative it can’t prove to you what you don’t want to believe.

In Psalm 71 we look at an older fellow says that from his youth he has relentlessly worked at three things. Notice where he uses the word, “continually.”

1. He has continually taken refuge [rested] in God during times of distress (v.3) This has to do with how he has processed his suffering and disappointments.
2. He has continually praised God as an act of personal discipline (v.7) This practice has to do with daily prayer.
3. He has continually put his hope in God for his future. This is the most foundational of all. He does rigorous self-examination regarding the fundamental trusts of his heart. He is careful to know what he actually rests in and lives for, and he continually re-focuses his soul’s deepest hopes on God.

He recounts that he has never let anything turn him aside from these disciplines. Why? Because of duty sake? No. For beauty.