Psalm 27 is one of those texts that never grow old. It is the prayer of a person standing on the border between fear and trust, loneliness and the desire for closeness with God – emphasizes Fr. Piotr Kwiatek, Capuchin, doctor of psychology, initiator of psalm therapy, in the Heschel Center KUL commentary on Psalm 27, sung on All Souls’ Day.
Fr. Kwiatek points out that “the psalmist does not run away from his emotions. He does not mask fear, he does not pretend to be a hero. He speaks openly about what hurts, yet at the same time he clings to hope like the last ray of light. And perhaps this is why this psalm moves us so deeply, because each of us knows this tension in which true prayer is born.”
All Souls’ Day on a Sunday and in Jewish tradition
The psalm commentator for the Heschel Center KUL reminds us that this year All Souls’ Day, celebrated on November 2, falls on a Sunday – a day that in itself is a feast of the Resurrection, of light and breath. “There is no accident here. The liturgy chooses Psalm 27 because it is like a bridge: stretched between the valley of fear and the hill of hope. In its words, shadow and light meet, the silence of a cemetery alley and the paschal pulse of life,” writes Fr. Piotr Kwiatek.
The Capuchin notes that Psalm 27 resounds during Yamim Nora’im – the “Days of Awe” between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. “At that time, when the heart beats faster and a person confronts his own fragility, these words become a mirror. They show how defenseless we are and how immense our hope can be when we base it on God. Two traditions, two calendars, one message: life and death are not enemies. They are two sides of the same mystery through which each of us passes—with fear, but also with hope that on the other side Light awaits.”
Light that frees from fear
“Fear focuses us on the threat, turning it into a giant. Faith, like a source of light, shifts the point of focus to the One who is greater than any darkness. If the Lord is my light, then I see what is essential. Not everything, but what is necessary for the next step,” writes Fr. Kwiatek. According to rabbinic tradition, “when God is your ‘light,’ nothing external can take away the peace that flows from within.”
Focus on one desire
“One thing I ask of the Lord, this I seek: to dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life” (Ps 27:4) – as Fr. Kwiatek writes, this is perhaps the most moving verse of the entire psalm. “There is no request for health, wealth, or triumph over enemies. There is no bargaining with God. There is one desire – to be close to Him,” comments the author of Psalm Therapy. “This verse is the heart of the psalm.”
As the commentator for the Heschel Center KUL notes, “when praying the psalms, we must ask ourselves that uncomfortable question, the one that turns our daily agenda upside down: What are we really striving for?”
Waiting as an art
Fr. Piotr Kwiatek reminds us how important a life skill waiting is. The psalmist calls for “active, disciplined patience” in waiting for the Lord. He does not say it will be easy. “He says: ‘Wait and trust.’ That is more powerful and more true. It forces us to question our rush and our obsessive fear of silence, emptiness, waiting and… the unknown. And the best part is that modern psychology, top-tier psychology, is rediscovering this truth,” emphasizes Fr. Kwiatek.
“In a world that measures human worth by the speed of one’s actions and the number of tasks in a calendar, Psalm 27 reminds us of something entirely different – the holiness of stopping. The art of living without pressure, without haste, with the courage to be ‘here and now.’ Because if we do not learn to stop, listen, and trust, we may miss not only the beauty of life but also God, who does not come in noise and flashes, but in the silence of everyday life.”
From the dark corridor of fear, through the bright hall of desire, to the terrace of hope with a view of the “land of the living”
Fr. Kwiatek notes that Psalm 27 is not a text for those who “have never experienced fear.” It is a psalm for those who know the taste of fear and seek a way to live with it without becoming enslaved by it. David does not offer cheap recipes or religious clichés. He offers something far more precious – the testimony of a man who walked through the valley of the shadow of death and came out the other side. Not without scars, not without questions, but with hope.
“Jesus in Gethsemane experienced the same fear as David,” notes the Capuchin. “But like the psalmist, He found strength in surrendering to the Father. This is the path of Psalm 27—not avoiding the darkness, but walking through it with the One who is light. And perhaps that is what we most need today—not assurances that everything will be easy, but the promise that we are not alone.” The Capuchin concludes: “the psalmic path of the heart reaches its end – the Face of God becomes the Face of a Friend.”
Piotr Kwiatek OFMCap – doctor of psychology, priest and friar of the Kraków Province of the Order of Friars Minor Capuchin. He completed a three-year Gestalt therapy program in Philadelphia (USA). He also trained at the Albert Ellis Institute in Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy (REBT) in New York. He teaches courses in positive interventions at SWPS University – studies recommended by the founder of positive psychology, Prof. Martin E.P. Seligman. He is the author of books in the series positive psychology and faith as well as Psalm Therapy and the Psalms Workbook. Creator of the free app “Dobroteka 2.0” supporting well-being, more at: www.piotrkwiatek.com
Heschel Center KUL
We publish the full text of the commentary
Existential commentary on the psalm
from the liturgy of the day for Sunday 02.XI.2025
(Psalm 27)
Fr. Piotr Kwiatek OFMCap
Commentary on Psalm 27
Between two lands
Psalm 27 is one of those texts that never grow old. It is the prayer of a person standing on the border between fear and trust, loneliness and the desire for closeness with God. The psalmist does not run away from his emotions. He does not mask fear, he does not pretend to be a hero. He speaks openly about what hurts, yet at the same time he clings to hope like the last ray of light. And perhaps this is why this psalm moves so deeply, because each of us knows this tension in which true prayer is born.
Before we enter the content of the psalm itself, it is worth asking: why does it appear in the liturgy on All Souls’ Day, a day when the Church commemorates all the faithful departed? Especially when November 2 falls on a Sunday – a day that is itself a feast of the Resurrection, a day of light and breath? There is no accident here. The liturgy chooses Psalm 27 because it is like a bridge: stretched between the valley of fear and the hill of hope. In its words, shadow and light meet, the silence of a cemetery alley and the paschal pulse of life. “In the land of the living I shall see the goodness of the Lord” we repeat in the refrain, not as an incantation, but as a confession of faith that has passed through the night. For it is Christ who passed through the realm of death and brought us into the light.
Interestingly, a similar echo is heard in Jewish tradition. Psalm 27 resounds during Yamim Nora’im – the “Days of Awe” between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. At that time, when the heart beats faster and a person confronts his own fragility, these words become a mirror. They show how defenseless we are and how immense our hope can be when we base it on God. Two traditions, two calendars, one message: life and death are not enemies. They are two sides of the same mystery through which each of us passes—with fear, but also with hope that on the other side Light awaits.
Light that frees from fear
“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?” (Ps 27:1). This question is not rhetorical. The psalmist asks it of himself and of us: whom do you really fear? Fear focuses us on the threat, turning it into a giant. Faith, like a source of light, shifts the point of focus to the One who is greater than any darkness. If the Lord is my light, then I see what is essential. Not everything, but what is necessary for the next step. Rabbinic tradition sees in this verse the essence of inner freedom: when God is your “light,” nothing external can take away the peace that flows from within. It is not the absence of difficulties but the presence of Light that defines the landscape of your soul. Your most effective weapon is not a defensive wall, but the awareness that you stand in the radiance of a Face that disperses every shadow.
In the Gospel Jesus says: “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows Me will not walk in darkness” (Jn 8:12). This is a promise that changes everything. It does not promise ease, but direction. It does not guarantee the absence of danger, but assures us that we are not in the darkness alone. Modern humanity often seeks light in technology, success, relationships, and all of this can fail. The psalm offers something else: a light that does not go out because its source is beyond us.
Focus on one desire
“One thing I ask of the Lord, this I seek: to dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life” (Ps 27:4). This is perhaps the most moving verse of the entire psalm. There is no request for health, wealth, or triumph over enemies. There is no bargaining with God. There is one desire – to be close to Him. This is the moment in which David’s heart speaks most simply and most truthfully: closeness to God is enough. This verse is the heart of the psalm. In it beats the deepest experience of faith: the discovery that true happiness is not born from what we have, but from the One we are with. David knows that the human heart is restless until it finds rest in God. Here one cannot help but recall the scene on Mount Tabor. Peter, dazzled by the light of the Transfiguration, says to Jesus: “Lord, it is good that we are here; if you wish, I will set up three tents…” (Mt 17:4). This spontaneous “it is good that we are here” echoes the same desire that burned in David’s heart—the desire simply to be with God. St. Paul later puts it bluntly: “I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord” (Phil 3:8). It is the same note—the awareness that everything else fades in comparison to the one thing necessary.
When praying the psalms, we must ask ourselves that uncomfortable question, the one that overturns our daily agenda: What are we really striving for? Do we not hear the echo of the words addressed to Martha: “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things, but only one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken from her” (Lk 10:41–42). Concerns, a thousand small tasks, constant hurry and chase. In this bustling about, do we not lose sight of the One Thing? As Feuer notes in Tehillim. The Books of Psalms: “Some people ask for one thing, while in their hearts they desire something else. David desired only this—spiritual joy, especially the spiritual treasure” (Feuer, 1985, p. 230). And in this closeness he finds salvation. Not in triumph, not in success, but in the awareness that there is Someone who will not abandon him. “For He will hide me in His shelter in the day of trouble; He will conceal me under the cover of His tent; He will set me high upon a rock” (Ps 27:5).
This is not a religious escape from reality. It is the mature discovery that there is a love that does not disappoint. A love that endures when everything else trembles.
Waiting as an art
Immersed in a culture of constant acceleration and “instant gratification,” where everything—from coffee to knowledge—is expected to be available immediately, we lose the most important human skill: waiting. And suddenly, at the very end of the dynamic, emotionally rich Psalm 27, King David throws at us that radical, ancient challenge which in our time sounds like total heresy: “Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!” (Ps 27:14). This is a double, emphatic call to active, disciplined patience. It sounds like a desperate piece of advice David gives himself, trying to stay upright in a world falling apart. He had to repeat it in order to believe it himself and strengthen himself. This is incredibly human!
Most of us, when in trouble, want to hear: “Don’t worry, everything will be fine! Tomorrow it will work out!” But David is radically honest. He does not say it will be easy. He says: “Wait and trust.” That is more powerful and more true. It forces us to question our speed and our obsessive fear of silence, emptiness, waiting, and… the unknown. And the best part is that modern psychology, top-tier psychology, is rediscovering this truth. Professor Walter Mischel, creator of the famous “marshmallow test,” proved that “delayed gratification” is one of the key life competencies. The ability to consciously refrain from immediate reward, the ability to give up “now” for something much greater “later.” Mischel showed that this ability is a better predictor of success and well-being in life than intelligence (Mischel, 2014). In other words, David already knew three thousand years ago what the key to happiness is.
In a world that measures human worth by the speed of one’s actions and the number of tasks in a calendar, Psalm 27 reminds us of something entirely different – the holiness of stopping. The art of living without pressure, without haste, with the courage to be “here and now.” Because if we do not learn to stop, listen, and trust, we may miss not only the beauty of life but also God, who does not come in noise and flashes but in the silence of everyday life. It is precisely in moments of stopping—when we do not chase, force, or escape—that true presence begins. And perhaps precisely when we “wait and trust,” as David says, we learn the most important art of modern life: living to the rhythm of the heart, not the clock.
Existential Questions for Meditation
If I were allowed to ask for “only one thing,” what would that really be?
How do I respond to fear? Do I allow it to take hold of my heart, or can I remain present and act despite it?
Is my faith an escape from reality, or a way of confronting it?
Therapeutic-Spiritual Exercise
The exercise of light
a) Every morning, before getting out of bed, place your hand on your heart and say three times: “The Lord is my light.” Feel the warmth of your hand and imagine the light spreading throughout your entire body.
b) Sit comfortably and close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Imagine a dark room. Now the light slowly appears—warm, gentle. Let it represent God’s presence in your life. Notice what this light illuminates in your heart—what fears, longings, wounds. Let them be. Breathe. Give thanks for this light.
Summary
Psalm 27 leads from the dark corridor of fear, through the bright hall of desire, to the terrace of hope with a view of the “land of the living.” It is not a text for people who have never experienced fear. It is a psalm for those who know the taste of fear and seek a way to live with it without being enslaved by it. David does not offer cheap solutions or religious clichés. He offers something far more precious – the testimony of a man who walked through the valley of the shadow of death and came out the other side. Not without scars, not without questions, but with hope.
Jesus in Gethsemane experienced the same fear as David – “My soul is sorrowful unto death” (Mt 26:38). But just like the psalmist, He found strength in surrendering to the Father. This is the path of Psalm 27 – not avoiding the darkness, but walking through it with the One who is light. And perhaps this is what we most need today—not assurances that everything will be easy, but the promise that we are not alone. Jesus in the Gospel develops this dynamic: “Do not be afraid… I am with you” (Mt 28:20) and “Abide in Me” (Jn 15:4). In Him the psalmic path of the heart reaches its end – the Face of God becomes the Face of a Friend.
Bibliography
Feuer, A. C. (1985). Tehillim: A New Translation with a Commentary Anthologized from Talmudic, Midrashic, and Rabbinic Sources (Two Volume Edition). Mesorah Publications.
Mischel, W. (2014). The Marshmallow Test: Mastering Self-Control. Little, Brown and Company.