May the Lord hear you

And answer with strong wings

Beating on gale winds.

May your help come 

Even before the need is raised—

Swift as hunting hawks, fleet as falcons .

May he send you every help you ask,

Bigger than heart hoped, dream guessed, 

Or mind ever tried.

 

Then we will watch you and sing

Glad, great-hearted songs.

Then we will see that our God

Knows how to save.

We’ll know the silent sky

Can speak, and holy heaven 

Ring like struck bells.

Some laugh at our long odds

And hope in what their hands can touch,

But we brim and run over

Even when we raise

Empty hands the highest.

 

Lord, we rise and wait at hopefall

For the sound of hushed wings.

Hear us.

May the Lord hear you
And answer with strong wings
Beating on gale winds.
May your help come&nbsp;
Even before the need is raised&mdash;
Swift as hunting hawks, fleet as falcons .
May he send you every help you ask,
Bigger than heart hoped, dream guessed,&nbsp;
Or mind ever tried.
&nbsp;
Then we will watch you and sing
Glad, great-hearted songs.
Then we will see that our God
Knows how to save.
We&rsquo;ll know the silent sky
Can speak, and holy heaven&nbsp;
Ring like struck bells.
Some laugh at our long odds
And hope in what their hands can touch,
But we brim and run over
Even when we raise
Empty hands the highest.
&nbsp;
Lord, we rise and wait at hopefall
For the sound of hushed wings.
Hear us.

Listen to creative renditions of the Psalms.

Listen to creative renditions of the Psalms.

The Darkling Psalter

The Psalms were written to be sung, prayed, and heard. The Darkling Psalter presents original poetic reimaginings of the biblical Psalms by Andy Patton. These are not translations or paraphrases, but companion poems that seek to capture the movement, imagery, emotion, and theology of each psalm in fresh poetic language.

Each episode invites listeners to hear one of Scripture's oldest songs through a contemporary poetic imagination, offering a fresh way into lament, praise, confession, longing, and hope.

The Psalms were written to be sung, prayed, and heard. The Darkling Psalter presents original poetic reimaginings of the biblical Psalms by Andy Patton. These are not translations or paraphrases, but companion poems that seek to capture the movement, imagery, emotion, and theology of each psalm in fresh poetic language.
Each episode invites listeners to hear one of Scripture's oldest songs through a contemporary poetic imagination, offering a fresh way into lament, praise, confession, longing, and hope.

Psalm 20—We’ll Know the Silent Sky Can Speak, and Holy Heaven Ring Like Struck Bells

https://api.omny.fm/orgs/d699cc26-51ff-4875-9bdb-aa4e006494dd/clips/22ee5ed6-7d58-4afd-ad81-b4b6002240f3/transcript

Every fool knows God is gone,

So they give themselves to things

They can’t come back from;

Feed themselves on limelight;

Live by the hope of moving on.

Like everyone who has sold themselves,

They insist it was worth it.

 

The Lord looks down to see

If anyone has yet let

Goodness creep up on them,

Or let the hard hands of grief

Shake and wake them,

But he sees knurled knuckle hearts,

Hearts that snarl, hearts far gone.

Not even one is ready to do good.

 

They tell themselves they’ve tallied God—

Totted up his promises, but none solved,

None stacked against his wrongs;

All yielded impossible sums

Only a fool would count on.

 

None call upon the Lord.

Rather they eat God’s people

As one devours an oyster.

They would pry open our inner parts

And swallow us down with sauces.

They laugh at jokes that aren’t there,

And hollow themselves like bird bones.

At night, they grind panicseed

Between dull teeth and wake gasping,

Thinking they have heard a voice.

 

But God is a falcon. God has claws on.

His silence is a hunting hawk.

His wing shadow passes over

The weak, marks them.

His dread dives all down wilder.

His love is with them, prowling wider.

 

Oh, that salvation would find us,

Fall on us, hem us in,

Scatter back this rabble,

And make us glad again.

Every fool knows God is gone,
So they give themselves to things
They can&rsquo;t come back from;
Feed themselves on limelight;
Live by the hope of moving on.
Like everyone who has sold themselves,
They insist it was worth it.
&nbsp;
The Lord looks down to see
If anyone has yet let
Goodness creep up on them,
Or let the hard hands of grief
Shake and wake them,
But he sees knurled knuckle hearts,
Hearts that snarl, hearts far gone.
Not even one is ready to do good.
&nbsp;
They tell themselves they&rsquo;ve tallied God&mdash;
Totted up his promises, but none solved,
None stacked against his wrongs;
All yielded impossible sums
Only a fool would count on.
&nbsp;
None call upon the Lord.
Rather they eat God&rsquo;s people
As one devours an oyster.
They would pry open our inner parts
And swallow us down with sauces.
They laugh at jokes that aren&rsquo;t there,
And hollow themselves like bird bones.
At night, they grind panicseed
Between dull teeth and wake gasping,
Thinking they have heard a voice.
&nbsp;
But God is a falcon. God has claws on.
His silence is a hunting hawk.
His wing shadow passes over
The weak, marks them.
His dread dives all down wilder.
His love is with them, prowling wider.
&nbsp;
Oh, that salvation would find us,
Fall on us, hem us in,
Scatter back this rabble,
And make us glad again.

Psalm 14—Every Fool Knows God Is Gone

https://api.omny.fm/orgs/d699cc26-51ff-4875-9bdb-aa4e006494dd/clips/fc43b8cd-faae-4412-8ba1-b4ac000e150d/transcript

When trouble days came,

I rooted and waited for God.

Though the walls of the world give way,

And the mountains are upended,

And the foaming waves climb 

As high as the sky; I will stay settled here. 

I looked a fool, but my shelter stood.

 

Father, sweep me into your high hold

And seal the doors. River me in

And make me glad again. 

Though all the madness that ever was

Arrayed itself around your walls,

It can’t claim us. It takes no share of us.

No rage, nor waves can rise higher than God. 

 

He keeps an unimaginable summer

That evil can’t blacken or break.

He makes wars cease.

He breaks bows and splinters spears,

Sears chariots, seeds silence,

Raises his words above the din, 

And sets the world right again.

 

So be still. Be small. Go quiet.

Love and sing and wonder—

Unharmed and unarmed. 

Rest. Watch. 

He is God. 

He doesn’t need you to lift him up;

He is under your feet. He carries you.

When trouble days came,
I rooted and waited for God.
Though the walls of the world give way,
And the mountains are upended,
And the foaming waves climb&nbsp;
As high as the sky; I will stay settled here.&nbsp;
I looked a fool, but my shelter stood.
&nbsp;
Father, sweep me into your high hold
And seal the doors. River me in
And make me glad again.&nbsp;
Though all the madness that ever was
Arrayed itself around your walls,
It can&rsquo;t claim us. It takes no share of us.
No rage, nor waves can rise higher than God.&nbsp;
&nbsp;
He keeps an unimaginable summer
That evil can&rsquo;t blacken or break.
He makes wars cease.
He breaks bows and splinters spears,
Sears chariots, seeds silence,
Raises his words above the din,&nbsp;
And sets the world right again.
&nbsp;
So be still. Be small. Go quiet.
Love and sing and wonder&mdash;
Unharmed and unarmed.&nbsp;
Rest. Watch.&nbsp;
He is God.&nbsp;
He doesn&rsquo;t need you to lift him up;
He is under your feet. He carries you.

Psalm 46—No rage, nor waves can rise higher than God

https://api.omny.fm/orgs/d699cc26-51ff-4875-9bdb-aa4e006494dd/clips/a16294a0-e615-4c15-b466-b497018528c9/transcript

Psalm 28—You Are There When the Grace Gathers Around the Table at Dinner, in the Hallowed Halls of the Real World.

 

I forget how to begin, Lord.

Wait for me. It’ll take a minute

To find my way from here

To somewhere else.

 

I’ve been digging ditches all summer, 

Sweating through my graveclothes.

I can feel the beat, beat,

Beat of things going faster—my pulse, 

My pitted prayers, the waltzing clock.

I’ve been patting my pockets since June,

And I keep coming up short.

I thought I was only busy,

But I watched these holes getting deeper, 

And realized: one is as good as another.

 

All day a question runs in my head:

Will you meet me more than halfway,

Or will you drag me off with the wicked? 

I can find their every shortfall in myself. 

I have taken my sin in sips,

While I waited for time to eat away at my resolve.

I have settled for less

And insisted it was worth it.

I have pressed my hands to the wall

In the space between two trains

And hoped my fleeting pleas would pass for prayer.

 

You hold yourself silent,

But I know you are there.

You show yourself and dance away,

You made your rumor run 

Under the wind, wild as wolves, 

Catching, coy, quicksilver—

Purple in fingers picking blackberries,

Gasping in the azaleas,

Cascading in summer hollyhocks 

Grown head-high and higher. You are there 

In the throaty chuckle of ravens brooding 

Like a gang of black toads in the oak trees.

You are there when the grace gathers

Around the table at dinner,

In the hallowed halls of the real world,

Ready to be passed again from hand to hand

In bits of bread and cups of wine.

 

Lord, help me. Hear me.

Gird yourself and guard me.

Show up, my God, you plodder! 

I cannot give much more than this.

If you are not my help,

I have none. Shepherd, 

Carry me.

Psalm 28&mdash;You Are There When the Grace Gathers Around the Table at Dinner, in the Hallowed Halls of the Real World.
&nbsp;
I forget how to begin, Lord.
Wait for me. It&rsquo;ll take a minute
To find my way from here
To somewhere else.
&nbsp;
I&rsquo;ve been digging ditches all summer,&nbsp;
Sweating through my graveclothes.
I can feel the beat, beat,
Beat of things going faster&mdash;my pulse,&nbsp;
My pitted prayers, the waltzing clock.
I&rsquo;ve been patting my pockets since June,
And I keep coming up short.
I thought I was only busy,
But I watched these holes getting deeper,&nbsp;
And realized: one is as good as another.
&nbsp;
All day a question runs in my head:
Will you meet me more than halfway,
Or will you drag me off with the wicked?&nbsp;
I can find their every shortfall in myself.&nbsp;
I have taken my sin in sips,
While I waited for time to eat away at my resolve.
I have settled for less
And insisted it was worth it.
I have pressed my hands to the wall
In the space between two trains
And hoped my fleeting pleas would pass for prayer.
&nbsp;
You hold yourself silent,
But I know you are there.
You show yourself and dance away,
You made your rumor run&nbsp;
Under the wind, wild as wolves,&nbsp;
Catching, coy, quicksilver&mdash;
Purple in fingers picking blackberries,
Gasping in the azaleas,
Cascading in summer hollyhocks&nbsp;
Grown head-high and higher. You are there&nbsp;
In the throaty chuckle of ravens brooding&nbsp;
Like a gang of black toads in the oak trees.
You are there when the grace gathers
Around the table at dinner,
In the hallowed halls of the real world,
Ready to be passed again from hand to hand
In bits of bread and cups of wine.
&nbsp;
Lord, help me. Hear me.
Gird yourself and guard me.
Show up, my God, you plodder!&nbsp;
I cannot give much more than this.
If you are not my help,
I have none. Shepherd,&nbsp;
Carry me.

Psalm 28—You are there when the grace gathers around the table at dinner, in the hallowed halls of the real world.

https://api.omny.fm/orgs/d699cc26-51ff-4875-9bdb-aa4e006494dd/clips/a6b40785-53df-436f-878d-b48b010e3952/transcript

Psalm 20—We’ll Know the Silent Sky Can Speak, and Holy Heaven Ring Like Struck Bells

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