Psalm 122 is more than just an ancient song. It is a record of the rhythm of the human heart, longing for home. In its words pulses the entire dynamics of faith: decision, movement, encounter, and finally finding peace in community – points out Fr. Piotr Kwiatek, Capuchin, doctor of psychology, initiator of psalmotherapy, in a commentary for the Heschel Center KUL on Psalm 122, sung on the Feast of Christ the King of the Universe, November 23.
As Fr. Kwiatek emphasizes, Psalm 122 “is a song of the road, which pilgrims sang while ascending to Jerusalem. Every step upward, every breath, brought them closer. To the temple, to God, or perhaps most of all – to themselves.” On the Feast of Christ the King of the Universe, “the liturgy places us at the same gates of symbolic Jerusalem, not for admiring the architecture, but to ask ourselves the fundamental question: where am I really heading? And what – or Who – is my true home?”
A Song of the Heart’s Ascent
The psalm commentator for the Heschel Center KUL reminds us that Psalms 120–134 are originally called šīr ha-ma‘ălôt, meaning “songs of ascents” or “songs of steps.” “The Babylonian Talmud recounts that the Levites sang them on fifteen steps that in the Jerusalem temple led from the women’s court to the men’s court – he explains. – Others see in them the songs of exiles returning from Babylon – people who literally climbed from the lowlands of slavery to the heights of freedom. The great medieval commentator Rashi suggested something even deeper: that it is about the soul’s ascent. Each psalm is a step on Jacob’s ladder, by which we climb from fear to trust, from despair to comfort.”
Fifteen songs formed a spiritual map for the Jewish pilgrim. “The journey from Galilee or Samaria lasted days. Dust of the road, the sun scorching the neck, exhaustion sinking into muscles. But when the walls of the City of David appeared on the horizon, the heart began to beat differently” – reads the commentary. Pilgrims were driven forward by the joy of approaching the Holy City, which made the entire climb more bearable.
As the Capuchin points out, “in the context of today’s feast, this psalm gains a powerful, eschatological dimension,” because “the Kingdom of Christ we speak of is not a distant land beyond seven mountains.” “Psalm 122 thus becomes the song of those who recognized the ruler in the Crucified One, and on the way to Golgotha found the path home,” emphasizes the friar.
Joy that Sets You in Motion
“Barbara Fredrickson, in her broaden-and-build theory, proves that positive emotions, such as joy, literally broaden our thinking horizon and motivate action – reads the commentary. – Fear makes us curl up and run away. Joy opens us to the world, to people, to the future. The psalmist feels joy not because he has arrived, but because he knows where he is heading. That is the fundamental difference.”
Fr. Piotr Kwiatek adds that “faith does not arise in a vacuum; it arises in relationship. God almost always calls through someone – a friend, a parent, a community, and sometimes a stranger.”
“The great Jewish thinker Abraham Joshua Heschel once wrote that ‘Jerusalem begins where pretense ends’ – reminds Fr. Kwiatek. – It is a city of truth. You cannot enter its gates wearing a mask.”
The Throne that is Service
The final verses of the psalm show Jerusalem as a place of order and encounter. “It becomes a mirror in which we learn to see ourselves without distortion. Faith that does not lead to another person easily becomes an illusion. The pilgrimage was a ritual of unity: different tribes, different stories, but one Name on their lips – the Name of the Lord,” writes the author of psalmotherapy.
Jesus sits not on a golden throne in a palace, but on the cross. “His Kingdom is radically inverted: the greatest is the one who serves, power manifests in washing feet, and the throne is an instrument of torture,” we read.
“The throne of Jesus is the throne of truth. Not military power, not coercion, but truth that exposes falsehood and names things as they are. When the Church sings Psalm 122 today, it does not long for a political theocracy. It longs for a world where truth reigns, justice is not an empty slogan, and goodness has the last word. And it is precisely in this radical, evangelical logic that we find the deepest meaning of the psalmist’s joy: ‘I was glad when they said to me, Let us go to the house of the Lord.’ For this house is not a building, but the heart. And the King is the One who knocks and waits for us to open the door,” writes Fr. Piotr Kwiatek for the Heschel Center.
The Kingdom of God is Not a Utopia
As the Capuchin writes, the Kingdom of God “is here and now – everywhere we choose to walk together toward good. It is in every threshold we cross with faith. It is in every Eucharist, when we stand shoulder to shoulder and confess the same longing. Jesus, the King on the cross, does not rule by force, but invites with love. And He waits, with the same patience with which Jerusalem awaited pilgrims climbing the rocky paths of Judea.”
“Faith is not a static doctrine; it is a pilgrimage. It is movement. It is climbing the steps of life, with a song on the lips and hope in the heart. And Jesus, our King, walks with us. Not as a distant monarch, but as a Companion on the road. ‘Let us go with joy to meet the Lord’ – these words of the refrain are not a liturgical ornament. They are a life program. A manifesto of faith that does not fear the journey, because it knows that at its end awaits Home,” concludes Fr. Piotr Kwiatek.
Piotr Kwiatek OFMCap
Doctor of psychology, priest, and friar of the Krakow Province of the Order of Friars Minor Capuchin. He completed a three-year Gestalt therapy program in Philadelphia (USA) and trained at the Albert Ellis Institute in Rational-Emotive Behavioral Therapy (REBT) in New York. He teaches positive intervention courses at SWPS University – recommended by the founder of positive psychology, Prof. Martin E.P. Seligman. Author of books in the series Positive Psychology and Faith as well as Psalmotherapy and Workbook for Psalms. Creator of the free application “Dobroteka 2.0” enhancing well-being. More: www.piotrkwiatek.com
Heschel Center KUL
Full Commentary
Feast of Christ the King of the Universe
Existential Commentary on the Psalm
From the liturgy on Sunday, November 23, 2025 (Psalm 122)
Fr. Piotr Kwiatek OFMCap
The Pilgrim Psalmist Who Found His Home
Introduction
When was the last time you felt that pure, childlike joy at the thought of going somewhere? Not out of duty, not out of habit, but from the depth of your heart, from that primal “I want to be there!”? Psalm 122 is precisely a record of such stirring. It is the song of the road, which pilgrims sang while ascending to Jerusalem. Every step upward, every breath, brought them closer. To the temple, to God, or perhaps most of all – to themselves.
Today, on the Feast of Christ the King, the liturgy places us at the same gates of symbolic Jerusalem, not to admire architecture, but to ask ourselves the fundamental question: where am I really heading? And what – or Who – is my true home?
1. A Song of the Heart’s Ascent
Psalms 120–134 are originally šīr ha-ma‘ălôt – “songs of steps” or “songs of ascents.” Why this name? Tradition, as always, provides several beautiful hints. The Babylonian Talmud recounts that Levites sang them on fifteen steps that in the Jerusalem temple led from the women’s court to the men’s court. Others see in them the songs of exiles returning from Babylon – people literally climbing from the lowlands of slavery to the heights of freedom. The great medieval commentator Rashi suggested something even deeper: it is about the ascent of the soul. Each psalm is a step on Jacob’s ladder, by which we climb from fear to trust, from despair to comfort.
For the Jewish pilgrim, these fifteen songs formed a spiritual map. The journey from Galilee or Samaria lasted days. Dust of the road, the sun scorching the neck, exhaustion sinking into muscles. But when the walls of the City of David appeared on the horizon, the heart began to beat differently. “I was glad when they said to me, Let us go to the house of the Lord.” This is the sigh of relief of a person who knows that his loneliness is ending and that in a moment he will see the faces he has longed for. More than that, he will finally stand before the One who always waits. Psychology calls this “anticipatory joy,” the ability to enjoy not only what is, but what is coming. It is joy that carries us forward and makes the entire ascent bearable.
In the context of today’s feast, this psalm gains a powerful, eschatological dimension. The Kingdom of Christ, of which we speak, is not a distant land beyond seven mountains. It is not a power of force, but presence: “The kingdom of God is in your midst” (Lk 17:21) – says Jesus. Our “Jerusalem” is not a city of stone, but the human heart, which lets the King in. The ruler of the world, who allows himself to be crowned with thorns (Jn 19:2–5). Psalm 122 thus becomes the song of those who recognized the ruler in the Crucified One and, on the way to Golgotha, found the path home.
2. Joy that Sets You in Motion
What happens in a person when someone invites them home? Not: “you must come,” but: “come, let’s go together.” The Hebrew word samachti – “I was glad” – is not a delicate smile. It is joy that engages the whole body. It is a heartbeat leap, a shout, energy in the legs. The psalmist does not say: “duty commanded me” or “tradition dictates.” He says: “I was glad.” Joy came first. Only then came movement.
Modern psychology seems to confirm this ancient intuition. Barbara Fredrickson, in her broaden-and-build theory, proves that positive emotions, such as joy, literally broaden our thinking horizon and motivate action (Fredrickson, 2001). Fear makes us curl up and run away. Joy opens us to the world, to people, to the future. The psalmist feels joy not because he has arrived, but because he knows where he is heading. That is the fundamental difference. A person in depression does not see the road; a person full of hope, as C.R. Snyder would say, has a map in mind and the courage to take the first step (Snyder, 2002). Psalm 122 is the text of a person who has received a map with a clearly marked goal: “the house of the Lord.”
There is one more subtle but crucial detail: “they told me.” Someone had to invite him. Faith does not arise in a vacuum; it arises in relationship. God almost always calls through someone – a friend, a parent, a community, and sometimes a stranger. Someone says: “come with me.” And suddenly, a road that seemed lonely and steep becomes a shared adventure.
The great Jewish thinker Abraham Joshua Heschel once wrote that “Jerusalem begins where pretense ends” (Heschel, 1955). It is a city of truth. One cannot enter its gates wearing a mask. “Our feet already stand within your gates, Jerusalem” – the psalmist has arrived, but he arrived as himself: tired, sweaty, real. And it is precisely there, in that authenticity, that he found God.
3. The Throne that is Service
The final verses of the psalm present Jerusalem as a place of order and encounter. “To him ascend the tribes” – not a single person, but the whole community. It becomes a mirror in which we learn to see ourselves without distortion. Faith that does not lead to another person easily becomes an illusion. Pilgrimage was a ritual of unity: different tribes, different stories, one Name on their lips – the Name of the Lord.
“Judicial thrones” symbolize justice, peace, and inner order born of truth. On the Feast of Christ the King, this image becomes a powerful prophecy. Jesus, the “Son of David” (Mt 1:1), sits not on a golden throne in a palace, but on the cross. His Kingdom is radically inverted: the greatest is the one who serves, power manifests in washing feet, and the throne is an instrument of torture.
When Pilate, a representative of earthly power, asks: “So you are a king?” Jesus answers: “My kingdom is not of this world.” But he immediately adds something crucial: “I was born for this, and I came into the world to bear witness to the truth” (Jn 18:36–37). The throne of Jesus is the throne of truth. Not military power, not coercion, but truth that exposes falsehood and calls things by their name. When the Church sings Psalm 122 today, it does not long for political theocracy. It longs for a world where truth reigns, justice is not an empty slogan, and goodness has the final word. And it is in this radical, evangelical logic that we find the deepest meaning of the psalmist’s joy: “I was glad when they said to me, Let us go to the house of the Lord.” For this house is not a building, but the heart. And the King is the One who knocks and waits for us to open the door.
Questions for Meditation and Reflection
When was the last time I felt joy in where I am heading, not just in what I already have? What was my “house of the Lord” on the horizon?
Who in my life was the one who said: “let’s go together”? Can I invite others on such a shared path, or do I rather close my gates?
Is Christ a real King in my life – in my decisions, relationships, priorities – or just a symbolic ruler I honor on holidays?
Therapeutic-Spiritual Exercises
1. Map of Joy. For the next three days, in the evening, write down one thing you are genuinely looking forward to: a meeting, a moment of silence, a prayer, a conversation. Describe what you feel thinking about it now. This simple exercise teaches you to savor the future and discover that joy begins in anticipation.
2. Gesture of Invitation. Think of one person who may feel lonely or lost. This week invite them somewhere – for coffee, a walk, to Mass. You don’t need ready answers or golden advice. Simply say: “Come, let’s do something together.” Sometimes one such gesture changes everything.
3. Threshold Ritual. Before entering a church, home, or starting prayer – pause at the threshold. Take a deep breath and say in your mind: “I enter. I am here. Thank you.” This is a small mindfulness gesture inspired by the psalm – consciously crossing the boundary between the external and the sacred.
Conclusion
Psalm 122 is more than just an ancient song. It is a record of the rhythm of the human heart, longing for home. Its words pulse with the entire dynamics of faith: decision, movement, encounter, and finally finding peace in community.
Today, on the Feast of Christ the King, this psalm reminds us that the Kingdom of God is not a distant utopia. It is here and now – everywhere we choose to walk together toward good. It is in every threshold crossed with faith. It is in every Eucharist, when we stand shoulder to shoulder and confess the same longing. Jesus, the King on the cross, does not rule by force, but invites with love. And He waits, with the same patience with which Jerusalem awaited pilgrims climbing the rocky paths of Judea.
Perhaps today it is worth pausing and asking: Where am I going? With whom am I going? And can I enjoy the journey itself? Faith is not a static doctrine; it is a pilgrimage. It is movement. It is climbing the steps of life, with a song on the lips and hope in the heart. And Jesus, our King, walks with us. Not as a distant monarch, but as a Companion on the road. “Let us go with joy to meet the Lord” – these words of the refrain are not a liturgical ornament. They are a life program. A manifesto of faith that does not fear the journey, because it knows that at its end awaits Home.
Bibliography
Bible Tysiąclecia. (2003). (5th ed.). Pallottinum.
Fredrickson, B. L. (2001). The role of positive emotions in positive psychology: The broaden-and-build theory of positive emotions. American Psychologist, 56(3), 218–226. https://doi.org/10.1037/0003-066X.56.3.218
Heschel, A. J. (1955). God in search of man: A philosophy of Judaism. Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
Snyder, C. R. (2002). Hope theory: Rainbows in the mind. Psychological Inquiry, 13(4), 249–275. https://doi.org/10.1207/S15327965PLI1304_01
Strong, J. (1890). The exhaustive concordance of the Bible. Abingdon Press.