Psalm 137 is a raw and honest expression of grief, rage, and longing from a people who have experienced devastating trauma and exile. The psalmist sits by the rivers of Babylon, weeping for Jerusalem, unable to sing songs of joy in a foreign land. This lament is not sanitized or hidden; it is a sacred space where pain is voiced without shame. The psalm dignifies the process of moving through trauma, showing that God welcomes our most difficult emotions and that our honest cries can become sacred songs. [06:14]
Psalm 137:1-4 (ESV)
By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and wept, when we remembered Zion. On the willows there we hung up our lyres. For there our captors required of us songs, and our tormentors, mirth, saying, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!” How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?
Reflection: When have you felt unable to express joy or worship because of pain or loss? Can you bring your honest feelings before God today, trusting that He receives even your rawest lament?
The psalmist fiercely clings to memory, refusing to let go of Jerusalem or the hope it represents, even when remembering brings pain. He invokes a self-curse if he forgets, showing that remembering is an act of resistance and survival. Trauma often fragments memory, but here, the psalmist chooses to embrace the embodied pain of memory rather than dissociate, trading the craft of music for the craft of remembering. This act of remembering keeps hope alive and honors what has been lost. [25:38]
Psalm 137:5-6 (ESV)
If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget its skill! Let my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth, if I do not remember you, if I do not set Jerusalem above my highest joy!
Reflection: Is there a memory or hope you are tempted to forget because it hurts too much? What would it look like to honor that memory before God, even if it brings tears?
The psalmist’s curse against his enemies is shocking, but it is a true reckoning with the rage that trauma brings. Rather than suppressing or sanitizing his fury, he lets it move through him, refusing to freeze or dissociate. This honest expression is not about enacting vengeance but about allowing the full range of emotion to be voiced, which is a necessary part of healing. The psalm shows that even our darkest emotions can be brought before God, and that there is movement and hope beyond the rage. [33:04]
Psalm 137:7-9 (ESV)
Remember, O Lord, against the Edomites the day of Jerusalem, how they said, “Lay it bare, lay it bare, down to its foundations!” O daughter of Babylon, doomed to be destroyed, blessed shall he be who repays you with what you have done to us! Blessed shall he be who takes your little ones and dashes them against the rock!
Reflection: Are there feelings of anger or rage you have been afraid to acknowledge before God? How might you safely and honestly express these emotions in prayer, trusting that God can handle your deepest pain?
The act of hanging up the lyre is more than a refusal to play; it is a ritual of resistance and reclaiming agency in a time of powerlessness. The musician chooses not to perform for his captors, preserving his dignity and soul even when everything else has been taken. This act is a way of saying, “You cannot take my soul,” and of saving his gifts for places and moments that bring healing and blessing. Even in exile, there is a choice to resist dehumanization and to hold onto what is sacred. [21:27]
Romans 12:19 (ESV)
Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.”
Reflection: Where in your life do you need to reclaim your agency or dignity in the face of injustice or harm? What is one step you can take today to resist dehumanization and honor what is sacred in you?
The psalm is deeply embodied, with references to hands, tongues, and the physicality of music and trauma. The psalmist follows the cues of his own body, allowing feelings to flow and trusting that healing can come through honest expression and even through music. There is hope that, beyond the rage and lament, celebration and joy will return. God is present even when unmentioned, and the journey through trauma can lead to wholeness, restoration, and the ability to play and rejoice again. [38:11]
Isaiah 61:1-3 (ESV)
The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor; he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; to grant to those who mourn in Zion—to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit; that they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified.
Reflection: How is your body holding the effects of past pain or trauma? What gentle practice—such as music, movement, or prayer—can you try today to invite God’s healing presence into your embodied experience?
Psalm 137 is a song of exile, a raw and honest outpouring from a musician who has lost everything—home, community, and the very context in which his music once brought joy. Sitting by the rivers of Babylon, the exiles are consumed with grief, unable to sing the songs of Zion for their captors. The psalm is not just a historical lament; it is a deeply personal and embodied response to trauma, a refusal to let the oppressors take the last remnants of dignity and agency. The act of hanging up the lyre is more than a temporary pause; it is a ritual act of resistance, a way of saying, “You may have taken my land and my people, but you will not take my soul.”
The psalmist’s struggle is not only with external loss but with the internal battle of memory and forgetting. Trauma often fragments memory, yet the psalmist insists on remembering Jerusalem, even if it means embracing the pain and the physical symptoms that come with it. This is not a denial of suffering but a courageous movement through it, allowing the full force of grief and rage to be expressed. The curse at the end of the psalm, shocking as it is, reflects the depth of the wound and the need to voice even the darkest emotions as part of the healing process.
This journey through Psalm 137 invites us to honor our own experiences of loss and trauma, to recognize the dignity in honest lament, and to see that God is present even when we cannot name Him. The psalm dignifies the process of moving through pain, not by suppressing it, but by allowing it to flow through us, trusting that there is life and music beyond the rage. It reminds us that our sacred songs, our acts of creativity and resistance, can be part of our healing and the healing of our communities. In the end, the hope is not just to survive, but to celebrate again, to play and sing for the life of the world, and to join in the tender, healing way of Jesus.
Psalm 137 (ESV) —
> 1 By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and wept, when we remembered Zion.
> 2 On the willows there we hung up our lyres.
> 3 For there our captors required of us songs, and our tormentors, mirth, saying, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”
> 4 How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?
> 5 If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget its skill!
> 6 Let my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth, if I do not remember you, if I do not set Jerusalem above my highest joy!
> 7 Remember, O Lord, against the Edomites the day of Jerusalem, how they said, “Lay it bare, lay it bare, down to its foundations!”
> 8 O daughter of Babylon, doomed to be destroyed, blessed shall he be who repays you with what you have done to us!
> 9 Blessed shall he be who takes your little ones and dashes them against the rock!
So if this psalm is for anyone today, and it is, it's for those who are suffering today from forced displacement, from genocide. I don't mean so that they can enact vengeance, but that this could be their song. [00:12:08] (16 seconds) #SongsForTheSuffering
Well, it is this refusal, this resistance, this musician's taking agency in a time of ongoing traumatic events. He's as much as saying, you've taken my land, you've taken my people, you have. Well, you're not taking my soul. [00:21:07] (19 seconds) #MusicSavedForHealing
And I thought, I'm not going to play here, I'm going to save my music for places that bless. I'm going to save my music for places that bring healing and joy, not for places that harm. I'm going to use my music to work for something better. [00:22:33] (15 seconds) #MusicLivesBeyondInstruments
But the psalmist, who no doubt is experiencing some of that, he refuses to forget. He's fighting to remember. He's clinging to a larger truth. [00:26:49] (15 seconds) #HopeBeyondRage
So by allowing the rage to flow through him, he isn't stuck in a traumatic event. There's movement. He sees life beyond the rage, a country beyond the fury. After all, we are singing this psalm. His right hand can still play the canoar, even if he doesn't have the instrument. [00:34:46] (22 seconds) #GodWithUsInDarkness
``Christian hope says there's life beyond the rage. Christian hope ultimately says that we can be free to love our enemies, because God has the world in God's hands, and judgment is mine, declares the Lord, Romans 12. So we can be free of the need to get revenge. [00:35:08] (24 seconds) #SanctifyingTraumaThroughSong
Isn't it great that the psalmist wrote in the middle of his processing, not the end? Isn't it great that this psalm, in the middle of his processing, is in the Bible? Because we're often in the middle of our processing. The Bible's for us. [00:35:39] (19 seconds) #InspiredToPlayForLife
Psalm 137 is saying to us, God is with us in our darkest dark. God is with us when we have no awareness of him. God's only mentioned once in the psalm. Our song can still be sacred even when we forget to use God's name or can't use God's name. [00:36:41] (22 seconds) #MusicForJusticeAndHealing
This psalm sanctifies our strongest words even as we allow that trauma to move through us. It dignifies our process of moving through trauma, encouraging us to let our feelings to flow through us. [00:37:03] (15 seconds)
And it inspires me to create music so that we can dance together on injustice, so that we can create inclusive, joyful, healing communities and events and to invite ourselves and others into a tender way, that tender way of Jesus that doesn't produce harm, but healing. [00:39:05] (22 seconds)
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