The 150 Psalms of the Old Testament are collectively called the Psalter. The Psalter is divided into five books that remind us of the five books of the Torah: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. In addition to that five-fold division, there are different collections of Psalms within the Psalter. One of these collections is called the Psalms of Ascent. It's found in Psalms 120 to 134.
Psalms of Ascent were so named because they were prayed and sung by worshipers going up to the Jerusalem Temple. Regardless of geography or elevation, one always "goes up" to Jerusalem. Hence, the Psalms of Ascent. Jerusalem sits on a plateau, and the Temple sat on a hill. These Psalms of Ascent are also known as “Pilgrimage Psalms.”
These Psalms of Ascent are grounded in trust. Whoever composed these psalms trusted that God would act and deliver them. Despite this, however, they reflect a variety of emotions. Some are laments. The writer is grieved by the suffering of God’s people and the bad behavior of those responsible. Some of the psalms are so happy that the psalmist can't contain himself. But out of those, Psalm 126 is especially beautiful. One can almost see the psalmist with a far-off gleam in his eye as he longed for, even fantasized about, the renewal of Jerusalem and the restoration of God's favor.
Here is Psalm 126 from the Book of Common Prayer (1979) translation.
1 When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion, then were we like those who dream.
2 Then was our mouth filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy.
3 Then they said among the nations, "The LORD has done great things for them."
4 The LORD has done great things for us, and we are glad indeed.
5 Restore our fortunes, O LORD, like the watercourses of the Negev.
6 Those who sowed with tears will reap with songs of joy.
7 Those who go out weeping, carrying the seed, will come again with joy, shouldering their sheaves.
Going to Jerusalem was an act of trust. The people who set out for Jerusalem with their sacrifices weren't perfect people with perfect lives. They journeyed to the Temple carrying emotional burdens that may be familiar to us: the grief of lost loved ones, the fear of lost crops and revenue, and the fear of the tribes and nations around the corner who wanted what they had. Normal stuff.
But there was always hope. God was going to act. Whether that action would occur on their timetable was yet to be determined. But they still believed he would. This trust is highlighted in that phrase in v. 6,
Those who sowed with tears will reap with songs of joy.
Psalm 126 was probably composed when the people of Jerusalem were in Babylon. These exiles had lost everything, their city, the Temple, and everything in between. As a captive, the writer is writing about things that he knows have been lost. As far as he can tell, they no longer exist. Jerusalem, the city they would “go up to,” was just a burning stump.
The opening lines of the psalm demonstrate great faith or maybe foolishness; the writer’s hope defies reasonableness. Yet, his trust wins out. In time the Jewish captives return home, and city and Temple are rebuilt.
We rightly wonder how someone could trust in the face of such difficulty. It’s hard to say, but we do know that one way they conveyed this trust was with language from the farm. Jesus used this language, too—the language of sowing and reaping. The trust these planters had in crops coming to life aided their imaginations that, just maybe, God had “planted” them in Babylon in order to “harvest” them at the right time and “plant” them back in their own land.
Everyday life gave them the images they needed to feed their faith in dark times. Their God-given imaginations gave them visions for their future. Even now, our imaginations are altered as we pray the Psalms, even as we let the archaic imagery take root (see what I did there) in our hearts and minds.
N.T. Wright comments on the purpose of the Psalms in the Christian life. We do well to take his words to heart.
The Psalms, I want to suggest here, are songs and poems that help us not just to understand this most anceint and relevant worldview but actually to inhabit and celebrate it—this worldview in which, contrary to modern assumptions, God’s time and ours overlap and intersect, God’s space and ours overlap and interlock, and even (this is the really startling one, of course) the sheer material world of God’s creation is infused, suffused, and flooded with God’s own life and love and glory. The Psalms will indeed help us to understand all of this. But it will be an understanding that grows out of a deeper and richer kind of knowing—something that brings together imagination, insight, and love. (The Case for the Psalms)
I suspect that the kind of imagination Wright speaks of here is just what we need. Confidence born out of good and bad experiences creates a language that sustains us in tough times. Words like,
When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion, then were we like those who dream. Then was our mouth filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy.
Let’s pray God would give us imaginations large enough to trust him in extraordinary times and in the daily grind.