Psalm 122: A centuries-old unfinished journey to shalom in Jerusalem
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| Debbi Cooper’s 1988 iconic black and white picture of two young boys, one in a yarmulke and the other with a keffiyeh wrapped around his neck. |
I knew this one was in the stack somewhere, it has often made me uncomfortable. But I have been pleased to grapple with it and come to some kind of accomodation with it.
I was glad when they said to me,
“Let us go into the house of the Lord.”
Our feet have been standing
Within your gates, O Jerusalem!
Jerusalem is built
As a city that is compact together,
Where the tribes go up,
The tribes of the Lord,
To the Testimony of Israel,
To give thanks to the name of the Lord.
For thrones are set there for judgment,
The thrones of the house of David.
Pray for the peace of Jerusalem:
“May they prosper who love you.
Peace be within your walls,
Prosperity within your palaces.”
For the sake of my brethren and companions,
I will now say, “Peace be within you.”
Because of the house of the Lord our God
I will seek your good.
I was glad when they said to me,
“Let us go into the house of the Lord.”
Our feet have been standing
Within your gates, O Jerusalem!
It begins with an invitation — perhaps one that’s been said many times over the years, but still stirs something inside. The call to worship, yes, but also the buzz of a shared journey, a special trip. Maybe it’s festival time, and someone in the household has clapped their hands and said, “Come on, let’s go!” The kind of moment when children spill out of doorways, sandals are hastily fastened, and bags are slung onto backs. Not just duty, not just devotion — but a sense of joy, of occasion, of going together. This isn’t a solitary prayer; it’s a crowd scene. Friends, neighbours, whole clans moving in cheerful procession.
By the time verse two is spoken, they’ve made it — at least to the city. "Our feet have been standing within your gates, O Jerusalem!" But the Temple itself is still some way off. The streets are bustling; the air is thick with dust and spices and song. It takes time to press through the crowd, like Shrek fighting his way through the Disney World queuing ropes! Like all festivals, there’s a tangle of noise and waiting, a bit of overwhelm, and yet still that thrill — we’re here. It’s worth remembering that in the ancient world, and later in medieval Europe, pilgrimage was about more than piety. It was also a chance to travel, to break routine, to see a little of the world — and each other — in a new light. Faith and fun, God and gladness, all jostling together in the crowd.
Jerusalem is built
As a city that is compact together,
Where the tribes go up,
The tribes of the Lord,
To the Testimony of Israel,
To give thanks to the name of the Lord.
Jerusalem is not like home. Home is scattered farmsteads, rough tracks, low stone walls. But here — here the city is compact, solid, built up and bound in on itself. There’s a sense of permanence in the stone, in the tight winding streets and thick walls. You can almost feel the weight of generations pressed into the architecture. For a visitor from the hills or fields, it’s overwhelming. Awe-inspiring, even. And it should be — because this isn’t just any town. This is the place where God’s name dwells, where heaven brushes up against earth.
And the people! All the tribes, every last one, are drawn here. Some you haven’t seen since the last festival. Some you’ve never seen before. All different — and yet all bound by the same covenant, the same story, the same promise. They are the “tribes of the Lord,” gathered to the “Testimony of Israel” — not just the Temple, but the very heart of their identity as a people. They’ve come to give thanks — but also to remember who they are. Worship in Jerusalem is not just about singing the right words or bringing the right offerings. It’s about standing shoulder to shoulder with your people, remembering that you belong — to each other, and to the God who called you.
For thrones are set there for judgment,
The thrones of the house of David.
Pray for the peace of Jerusalem:
“May they prosper who love you.
Peace be within your walls,
Prosperity within your palaces.”
“Thrones are set there for judgment.” That’s the line before the call to pray for peace — and it matters. Because in Hebrew thought, shalom — peace — is never just the absence of fighting. It’s wholeness. Justice. Wellbeing for all. And judgment, here, isn’t about punishment but wise discernment, fairness, equity. The vision is of a city where authority is used not to dominate but to uphold justice — for everyone. So when we’re told to pray for the peace of Jerusalem, it’s not a cheap or easy prayer. It is a cry for justice to be done — for peace that is hard-won, fair, and shared.
And we have to say this plainly: this psalm is not an endorsement of modern political ideologies. “May they prosper who love you” — it’s not saying, “May those who love Israel, whatever it does, prosper.” It is a prayer for the city — for Jerusalem — a place holy to Jews, Christians, and Muslims; a place lived in by Jews and Palestinians, divided, complicated, bruised. And with the horrors unfolding in Gaza, with lives shattered and trust shattered and children grieving on both sides of the wall, it’s clear this peace has not yet come. But if shalom means anything — if this psalm is still worth praying — then it must be a vision of a Jerusalem where justice is real, and Jews and Palestinians can live together in safety, dignity, and hope. It feels a long way off. But still — we pray.
For the sake of my brethren and companions,
I will now say, “Peace be within you.”
Because of the house of the Lord our God
I will seek your good.
There's a change of tone... There’s something moving about that shift — it’s no longer about the Temple or the throne or the crowds. It’s about people. Neighbours. Friends. The ones you travelled with. The ones who call this complicated city home. For their sake, peace is prayed for. Not because everything here is fine — it isn’t — but because people matter. It’s easy to get swept up in the symbols of power or the grandeur of worship, but this brings us back to the human cost. To love Jerusalem is to love the people who live there. All of them.
And then the psalm closes not with a declaration, but with a promise: “Because of the house of the Lord our God, I will seek your good.” It’s a choice. A commitment. Not just to pray words, but to seek the good — to long for justice, to act for peace, to keep walking toward shalom even when the road is rough and winding. For those of us far from Jerusalem, and far from the power to change its politics, this is still a powerful invitation: to live in such a way that we seek the good of God’s dwelling place — wherever God’s presence breaks in. In divided cities. In fractured communities. Among people who, by God’s grace, are still our brothers and companions.
A Prayer
God of justice and mercy,
we pray for the peace of Jerusalem —
not the peace of silence,
but the peace that comes with truth told,
walls broken down,
and neighbours no longer enemies.For the sake of all who live there —
Jew, Christian, and Muslim,
Israeli and Palestinian —
we pray: let shalom take root.And for ourselves, wherever we live,
give us courage to seek the good,
to walk the road of peace with honesty,
and to love our own companions
as if your house were built between us.
Amen.
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