If you listen closely, you can almost hear Elijah whispering these words. Can you imagine him sprawling under a bush or wandering on his forty-day and -night journey to Horeb going over and over recent events in his mind? My whole being thirsts for the living God. When will I come to see God’s face? An angel provides food and water, but Elijah remains convicted by the question that hangs in his heart, Where is your God now?

A lament psalm isn’t simply a sad prayer. It’s a call for help. But whom does the psalmist call upon? Who, exactly, is expected to bring help?

The psalm moves ever inward, from remembrances of joy in the presence of God to the painful questions of the present. Why, I ask myself, are you so depressed? It is as if by drawing a straight line from joy to sorrow, the distance between them could be bridged: Loneliness could bloom into connection, and isolation could melt into reunion. Hope in God! The psalm demands of itself, as if by shaking itself hard enough hope will pop out of the desolation in which it is lost. And yet, there is awareness that what is really needed is God. Not just memories of God but the living God.

How often are we stuck in our own laments of self? I imagine Elijah on his journey through the wilderness trying to self-diagnose and heal his lack of faith, when only an experience of God will set his heart right again.

When we lose our nerve or lose our faith, it is easy to become stuck within ourselves, trying to jump-start our faith internally. But is this really what God asks of us?