Psalm 119 is not a collection of cheap consolations. It does not offer magical solutions. Rather, it points the way from a sense of existential confusion to deep rootedness in what is unchanging – emphasizes Fr. Piotr Kwiatek, a Capuchin, doctor of psychology, and initiator of “psalm therapy,” in his commentary for the Heschel Center of the John Paul II Catholic University of Lublin (KUL) on the psalm sung on November 13.
As Fr. Kwiatek notes, “in an age that fetishizes ‘your truth’ and ‘my truth,’ shamelessly pushing aside the question of Truth itself, this ancient poem sounds like an alarm bell. It reminds us of something fundamental: there exists a reality deeper than our fears, desires, and opinions.”
“Live, despite the chaos of the world—not by escaping uncertainty, but within it, deeply anchored in the One who is ‘the same yesterday, today, and forever’ (Heb 13:8),” writes Fr. Kwiatek, describing the invitation the psalmist extends to the reader. “For this is the paradox of faith: the greatest freedom comes not when we can do everything, but when we have Someone in whom we can be ourselves. True stability is found not in control but in trust. And the fullness of life is found not in avoiding fragility, but in anchoring ourselves in what cannot be destroyed. This is the path of Psalm 119—long, demanding, beautiful, but open to all.”
We live in an age of paradox
The Capuchin notes that modern humans have access to more information than at any point in human history, and yet they feel more lost. “Truth has become fluid, relative, negotiable. And in all this—in the constant noise, in this cacophony of voices—something within us desperately seeks a point of reference,” he writes.
According to Fr. Kwiatek, Psalm 119 is one of the strangest and at the same time most fascinating texts of the Bible. It has 176 verses. It is the longest of the psalms. “It is not a hymn praising rules and paragraphs, but rather a song of longing for something lasting—for a foundation that will not be blown away by the first gust of change. It is the cry of a heart tired of constant drifting,” we read in his commentary. “This is likely why the psalm can speak to us today even more than to its first hearers, for if they lived in the uncertainty of exile or oppression, we live in the uncertainty of meaning,” he adds.
Foundation in the very heart of chaos
“The Hebrew tradition carries a fascinating idea. In the ancient commentary on the Book of Genesis, known as Bereshit Rabbah, the rabbis teach that before God created the world, ‘He looked into the Torah and created’ (Bereshit Rabbah 1:1),” notes Fr. Piotr Kwiatek. “Imagine this Word not as an addition to the world, not as instruction or a code, but as the very source code of reality. Just as DNA contains the blueprint of life for every organism, so the Word constitutes the source code of all reality. As if God were programming the universe, and His Word were the fundamental language in which everything was written.”
The commentator for the Heschel Center writes: “The Word ceases to be merely a text to be read and becomes the very foundation on which the structure of being rests. It is not a moral supplement to life, but rather the substrate of life itself. And here something therapeutic happens—in the deepest sense of the word. When the world around me trembles, when I wake at three in the morning with fear in my heart and everything feels fragile, the awareness that there exists a foundation deeper than my chaos is more than consolation. It is almost a physiological relief.”
Light that teaches us to see
As the Capuchin notes, “Viktor Frankl, a psychiatrist who passed through the hell of Auschwitz, had no doubt that the deepest driving force of the human being is the pursuit of meaning. The Word of God, as the psalmist describes, does not impose meaning on us from the outside. It reveals it and helps us find it in our own story, in our relationships, and even in the very heart of suffering. Here we arrive at the point where Christian meditation on this psalm takes on dizzying depth.” He adds: “This Word-Foundation, this Word-Light, is no longer only a text. It has a face and is a Person—Jesus Christ.”
A relationship that gives life
Fr. Kwiatek notes that the psalmist brings the reader to “the most intimate sphere, to the heart. And although the text speaks of the Law, it is not a legal treatise. It is a love letter and the song of someone who is in love. ‘Let Your face shine upon Your servant’ (Ps 119:135)—this is not a request for more rules or clearer guidelines but a longing for a gaze and a cry for presence. The Hebrew word paniym (פָּנִים), used for ‘face,’ means more than just the physical face; it refers to the whole person—attention, favor, and love. The psalmist no longer wants merely to read about God; he wants to feel God’s gaze upon him.”
The Capuchin concludes: “In this gaze one finds the ultimate sense of worth and security that no ideology or life success can give. Contemporary psychology, in the person of Martin Seligman and his concept of well-being, seems only to confirm this ancient intuition, emphasizing the quality of relationships as one of the absolute pillars of a happy life. The psalmist has known this for a long time. For him, the relationship with God is not a burdensome duty but a source of life. It is oxygen that allows the soul to breathe and—naturally as a consequence—to praise.”
Piotr Kwiatek OFMCap
Piotr Kwiatek OFMCap is a 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). He also trained at the Albert Ellis Institute in New York in Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy (REBT). He teaches courses in positive interventions at SWPS University—studies recommended by Martin E.P. Seligman, founder of the field of positive psychology.
He is the author of the book series “Positive Psychology and Faith,” as well as Psalmoterapia and the Workbook for the Psalms. He is the creator of the free “Dobroteka 2.0” app supporting well-being. More: www.piotrkwiatek.com
Heschel Center, KUL
We publish the full commentary text
Existential Commentary on the Psalm
from the liturgy of Thursday, Nov. 13, 2025 (Psalm 119)
Fr. Piotr Kwiatek OFMCap
AN ANCHOR IN A SHAKING REALITY
We live in a time of strange paradox. We have access to more information than at any time in the history of humanity, yet we feel more lost. Every day we are bombarded by hundreds of messages, algorithms decide what we see, and what was certain yesterday turns out doubtful today. Truth has become fluid, relative, negotiable. And in all this—in this constant noise, in this cacophony of voices—something within us desperately searches for a point of anchoring. For something that simply is. Something that does not change from day to day like weather forecasts or trends on Twitter.
Psalm 119 is one of the strangest and at the same time most fascinating texts of the Bible. With 176 verses it is the longest of all psalms, almost monumental in its persistence, and it speaks essentially about one thing: love for the Law of God. On paper it sounds rather… dry? Maybe even stiff? And yet this ancient poem contains something deeply moving and deeply human. It is not a hymn praising regulations and paragraphs, but a song of longing for something enduring—for a foundation that will not be blown away by the first gust of change. It is the cry of a heart that is tired of constant drifting.
This is probably why this psalm can speak to us today even more than to its first listeners, for if they lived in the uncertainty of exile or oppression, we live in the uncertainty of meaning. In a world that shakes not only because of wars or calamities, but because the very ground beneath our feet has ceased to feel secure. What is true? Whom can we trust? What is this all for? Psalm 119 responds: there is something that lasts. Something that does not erode under the pressure of time or trends. It invites us to root our lives in precisely this. The psalm offers us this anchor.
1. Foundation in the very heart of chaos
“Your word, Lord, is eternal; it stands firm in the heavens” (Ps 119:89).
If we lived two thousand years ago, this verse would strike us differently. The heavens were then a symbol of absolute stability—the sky does not change, the stars follow their unaltered paths, the cosmos is steady. Today we know that stars explode, galaxies drift apart, and the universe keeps expanding. And yet… the psalmist hits on something deeper, because this is not about astronomy but about the architecture of reality.
The Hebrew tradition carries a fascinating thought. In the ancient commentary on Genesis known as Bereshit Rabbah, the rabbis teach that before God created the world, “He looked into the Torah and created” (Bereshit Rabbah 1:1). Imagine this Word not as an addition to the world, not as instruction or a legal code, but as the very source code of reality. Just as DNA contains the blueprint of life for every organism, so the Word constitutes the source code of all reality. As if God were programming the universe, and His Word were the fundamental language in which everything was written. It changes the perspective, doesn’t it?
The Word ceases to be only a text to be read and becomes that on which the very structure of being rests. It is not a moral supplement to life but the substrate of life itself. And here something therapeutic occurs in the deepest sense of the word. When the world around me shakes, when I wake at three in the morning with fear in my heart and everything feels fragile, the awareness that there exists a foundation deeper than my chaos is more than consolation. It is almost a physiological relief.
Psalm 119 does something similar on an existential level. It says: beneath all this chaos, beneath your fear and disorientation, there exists something unbreakable. Not because the psalmist was naïve or detached from reality—on the contrary, the text is filled with references to persecution, suffering, confusion. But right in the middle of all this, the psalmist discovers a point of support. Not in himself or in circumstances, but in the Word that is “firm in the heavens.”
2. Light that teaches us to see
“The unfolding of Your words gives light; it gives understanding to the simple” (Ps 119:130).
It is fascinating how the psalmist connects understanding with illumination. This is not about intellectually absorbing data but about a transformation of perception. It is like stepping from a dark room into the sunlight and suddenly everything takes on shape, color, and meaning.
Psychologists call this “insight” or the “aha! effect”—that moment when scattered pieces of a puzzle suddenly fall into place and form a coherent picture. The moment when everything becomes clear.
This is how the Word of God works. It does not hand us ready-made answers but teaches us to ask the right questions. It allows us to see reality in its true light, rather than through the filter of our wounds, prejudices, and projections. It becomes a pair of glasses correcting spiritual myopia.
Viktor Frankl, a psychiatrist who survived the hell of Auschwitz, had no doubt that the deepest driving force in humans is the search for meaning. The Word of God, as the psalmist writes, does not impose meaning from the outside. It reveals it and helps us find it in our own story, in relationships, and even in the very heart of suffering. Here Christian meditation on this psalm reaches dizzying depths. When St. John wrote his Gospel, he chose the Greek word Logos. It means Word, but also Meaning, Reason, Primal Principle. He writes: “In the beginning was the Word… and the Word was God… And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (Jn 1:1;14). This Word-Foundation, this Word-Light, is no longer only a text. It has a face and is a Person—Jesus Christ.
3. A relationship that gives life
And yet, after all these cosmic and intellectual journeys, the psalmist brings us back to earth. To the most intimate sphere—to the heart. And although the text speaks of the Law, it is not a legal treatise. It is a love letter and a song of someone who is in love.
“Let Your face shine upon Your servant” (Ps 119:135)—this is not a request for more rules, for clearer guidelines, but a longing for a gaze and a plea for presence. The Hebrew word paniym (פָּנִים), meaning “face,” refers to more than just the physical face; it implies the whole person—attention, favor, and love. The psalmist no longer wants simply to read about God; he wants to feel God’s gaze upon him.
It is in this gaze that one finds the ultimate sense of worth and security that no ideology or personal success can provide. Contemporary psychology—in the work of Martin Seligman and his concept of well-being—seems only to confirm this ancient intuition, pointing to the quality of relationships as one of the key pillars of a flourishing life. The psalmist has long known this. The relationship with God is not for him a burdensome obligation but a source of life. It is oxygen that allows the soul to breathe, and—quite naturally—to praise.
Questions for meditation:
Where do I seek my unchanging point of support when the world around me trembles?
What “darknesses” in my thinking or feeling could God’s Word illuminate today?
Is my prayer more a list of requests and obligations, or a longing for encounter with His Face that gives life?
Therapeutic–spiritual exercises:
Anchor in chaos:
When you feel a surge of fear or overwhelming thoughts, close your eyes and repeat three times, slowly:
“Your word, Lord, is eternal; Your word is a lamp for my feet.”
Feel in your body how this truth, like gravity, draws you down, giving stability and support.
Conclusion
Psalm 119 is not a collection of cheap consolations. It does not offer magical solutions. Rather, it points the way from a sense of existential confusion to deep rootedness in what is unchanging. In an age that fetishizes “your truth” and “my truth,” shamelessly pushing aside the question of Truth itself, this ancient poem sounds like an alarm bell. It reminds us of something fundamental: there exists a reality deeper than our fears, desires, and opinions.
Jesus, whom John called the Word made flesh, once said something worth remembering: “The words I have spoken to you are spirit and life” (Jn 6:63). They are not theory or ideology but life—breath and heartbeat.
And this is ultimately the invitation of the psalm: live, despite the chaos of the world—not by escaping uncertainty but within it, deeply anchored in the One who is “the same yesterday, today, and forever” (Heb 13:8). For this is the paradox of faith: the greatest freedom comes not when we can do everything, but when we have Someone in whom we can be ourselves. True stability is found not in control but in trust. And the fullness of life is found not in avoiding fragility, but in anchoring ourselves in what cannot be destroyed. This is the path of Psalm 119—long, demanding, beautiful, but open to all.
Bibliography
Biblia Tysiąclecia. Pismo Święte Starego i Nowego Testamentu (5th ed.). (2003). Pallottinum.
Frankl, V. E. (2006). Man's Search for Meaning. Beacon Press.
Freedman, H., & Simon, M. (Eds.). (1939). Midrash Rabbah: Genesis. Soncino Press.
Seligman, M. E. P. (2011). Flourish: A visionary new understanding of happiness and well-being. Free Press.