The psalms signify a mystery operating on the soul.

They are the heartbeat of contemplation.

I am relearning this in the shared prayer space as I return to the discipline of psalmody. I know the feel of this: it is me dying, it is God everywhere: it is love. I allow the psalmist to build the framework of my day. It is a beautiful place.

The psalms create an environment, and it's not a contemporary environment. It's a place removed.

There is a hardness to the psalms. Moderns are tempted to censor the violence from the psalms, to soften them, to make them comfortable. This is a mistake.

Praying the psalms isn't about me possessing an experience, it's about me dying into Christ, so that God may prepare my soul for himself.

It's about listening patiently, even when I hear nothing. Or perhaps more, when what I hear makes me uncomfortable.

The psalms are Christ grasping hold of our interior life, and taking for himself the struggle and battle and joy of it. They are not about what makes us warm fuzzy comfy, which is a passing, worldy pleasure; no, the psalms are about the mysterious, eternal joy in Christ.