Psalm 130: an unfinished journey out of the depths

1 Out of the depths I have cried to You, O Lord;

2 Lord, hear my voice!

Let Your ears be attentive

To the voice of my supplications.

3 If You, Lord, should mark iniquities,

O Lord, who could stand?

4 But there is forgiveness with You,

That You may be feared.

5 I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,

And in His word I do hope.

6 My soul waits for the Lord

More than those who watch for the morning—

Yes, more than those who watch for the morning.

7 O Israel, hope in the Lord;

For with the Lord there is mercy,

And with Him is abundant redemption.

8 And He shall redeem Israel

From all his iniquities.

There are psalms of lament in the Bible where the depths are not of my making and I pour out my distress to God about the situation I find myself in - a situation not of my making.  My enemies are gloating, evildoers have ruined my life, I feel forsaken...

This psalm doesn't have the feel.  It feels like the psalmist recognised that these depths are at least in some respects self-imposed.  The psalmist hopes for forgiveness rather than vindication, for mercy rather than rescue.

It also feels more like a community lament than a personal one.  There is a sense that the psalmist knows that even if he directly has not caused this, the general going astrayness of the people of God has made this situation, whatever it is, inevitable.

When I hear this psalm I instictively hear the voice of Sinead O'Connor, it never fails to move me deeply as I think she has caught the sadness of this psalm alongside an unshaken faith in God perfectly.

Out of the depths I cry to U oh lord

Don't let my cries for mercy be ignored

If U keep account of sins oh who would stand?

But U have forgiveness in your hands

And I've heard religion say you're to be feared

But I don't buy into everything I hear

And it seems to me you're hostage to those rules

That were made by religion and not by U

And I'm wondering will u ever get yourself free

Is it bad to think U might like help from me?

Is there anything my little heart can do

To help religion share us with U?

For oh you're like a ghost in your own home

Nobody hears U crying all alone

Oh U are the one true really voiceless one

They have their backs turned to you for worship of

Gold and stone

And to see U prisoner oh makes me weep

Nobody hears U screaming in the streets

And it's sad but true how the old saying goes

If God lived on earth people would break his windows

I long for U as watchmen long for the end of night

I simply LOVE her lines: 

"Is there anything my little heart can do to help religion share us with U?"  and

"If God lived on earth people would break his windows"

There's a more conventional setting with less poetic license - but also quite beautiful by Karin Simmons:

This Psalm has had resonance in lives well beyond the pious few.

In 1897 while imprisoned in Reading Gaol, Oscar Wilde wrote a long, confessional letter to Lord Alfred Douglas, reflecting on his downfall, betrayal, suffering, and the search for spiritual renewal.  His letter borrows its title directly from the Latin Vulgate rendering of Psalm 130 (De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine).

The first section focuses heavily on his turbulent relationship with Bosie.  Wilde recounts how Bosie had been reckless, demanding, and financially draining during their relationship.  He claims Bosie urged him into extravagant spending, lawsuits, and public scandals, ultimately contributing to his ruin. There’s real bitterness here, but also an underlying yearning for reconciliation.

Wilde portrays prison not just as punishment but as an experience that stripped him of vanity and forced self-examination.  He reframes suffering as a path toward deeper humanity, even creativity — echoing biblical and Christ-like models of redemptive suffering.  He writes: “Where there is sorrow there is holy ground.”

Wilde blends his aesthetic philosophy with Christian spirituality. He sees Jesus not merely as divine but as the supreme artist of life — the one who embodied forgiveness, compassion, and beauty in action. 

Wilde’s Christ is a figure of empathy rather than rigid moralism.

The letter’s closing pages shift from recrimination to a softer tone — he begins to accept that moving forward requires letting go of bitterness.  Wilde urges himself toward forgiveness, though it’s clear this is a difficult and incomplete process.  The title De Profundis (“Out of the depths”) directly invokes Psalm 130, signalling that Wilde sees himself speaking from the same spiritual low point — yet also clinging to hope for redemption.

Some prayers start in polite conversation, prayerful small-talk,

this one begins in the depths —

the place where breath is short,

light is scarce,

and hope feels far off.

The psalmist cries out to God

with urgency and raw honesty:

no posturing, no hiding.

It’s a reminder that God’s presence

is not only in the high places of pilgrimage

but also in the valleys where we can’t see the road ahead.

The psalmist knows the truth:

if God kept a ledger of our wrongs,

none of us could stand.

Yet God’s power is not in meticulous record-keeping,

but in forgiveness —

the kind that awakens awe,

not fear of punishment but reverence born of mercy.

So he waits.

Not a bored, fidgeting wait,

but a leaning-forward, first-light kind of waiting —

like the watchman on the city wall

straining for the first trace of dawn.

Waiting is hard when you’re still in the depths,

but hope has a heartbeat:

God’s word, God’s promise,

God’s character of steadfast love.

The psalm ends where the journey always leads —

beyond the individual voice

to the whole community:

“O Israel, hope in the Lord.”

Because redemption is not a private rescue —

it is the renewal of a people,

lifting everyone from the depths

into the wide mercy of God.

Prayer:

God who creates and builds;

who fashions and shapes;

who plants and nourishes —

hear our cry from the depths.

When guilt and grief weigh heavy,

let Your forgiveness free us to stand again.

Teach us the holy patience that waits for the dawn,

and keep hope alive in us

until Your mercy redeems us all.

Amen.