“Why do You stand afar off, O LORD? Why do You hide in times of trouble?” (v. 1). Few prayers expose the human condition with greater clarity than this one. The psalmist surveys a world warped by cruelty—the arrogance of the wicked, the calculated greed of oppressors, the systematic crushing of the vulnerable—and experiences the ache of divine silence. The wicked boast openly, stalk their victims with predatory patience, and ambush the poor as though unseen (vv. 2-9). Their audacity culminates in a chilling confession: “ ‘God has forgotten; He hides His face; He will never see’” (v. 11). Those words cut deeply because they sometimes echo our own unspoken fears. Evil advances. Justice stalls. God seems indifferent. Psalm 10 refuses to suppress that tension. It teaches us to carry confusion into prayer rather than allowing it to calcify into despair. Questioning God’s apparent distance is not an act of unbelief; it’s the language of faith seeking Him in the dark.
Yet the psalm doesn’t allow appearances to dictate reality. “But You have seen, for You observe trouble and grief, to repay it by Your hand” (v. 14a). The wicked and faithful alike misinterpret God’s patience—His longsuffering—as indifference, mistaking restraint for absence. In truth, nothing escapes His sight. Every act of violence, every quiet injustice, every grief borne in silence is fully known. God reveals Himself as the Helper of the fatherless (v. 14b), the Defender of the afflicted, and the Judge who shatters the power of the violent at its root (v. 15a). Those who seem untouchable fade into obscurity while the confession stands firm: “The LORD is King forever and ever” (v. 16a). What feels like divine distance often conceals divine action operating beyond human perception. What feels like delay unfolds according to a wisdom unbound by urgency. Not everything requires an immediate response. The psalm redirects our gaze from human cruelty toward the unassailable certainty of God’s reign.
Psalm 10 belongs to seasons when injustice dominates the horizon—when headlines overwhelm, when personal suffering lingers, when prayer feels unanswered. It gives language to the faithful who struggle to reconcile God’s promises with present reality. The psalm invites perseverance in prayer precisely when clarity is lacking. God’s timing doesn’t signal neglect; it reflects deliberate care. And because the Lord aligns Himself with the weak, His people are drawn into that alignment as well—protecting the vulnerable, advocating for the overlooked, and refusing to accept oppression as irreversible. Lament and courage belong together here—grief over evil accompanied by trust that evil doesn’t define the final outcome.
The psalm closes with quiet assurance: “LORD, You have heard the desire of the humble; You will prepare their heart; You will cause Your ear to hear, to do justice to the fatherless and the oppressed, that the man of the earth may oppress no more” (vv. 17-18). God hears. That promise anchors the entire prayer. In Christ, it takes bodily form. Jesus entered the world of affliction, bearing poverty, rejection, and violence (Isaiah 53:3-7). On the cross, divine silence seemed complete, yet that moment marked God’s deepest engagement with human suffering. There, sin was judged, the devil’s power was broken, and the unraveling of oppression began. The resurrection declares the psalm’s ultimate answer: injustice does not endure, and the humble are not forgotten. Until that day is fully revealed, Psalm 10 remains our prayer—spoken in hope, sustained by trust, confident that the God who sometimes feels distant is, in truth, closest to those who suffer.
The Lutheran Column 