Psalm 6:2

Berean Standard Bible

Be merciful to me, O LORD, for I am frail; heal me, O LORD, for my bones are in agony.

King James Bible

Have mercy upon me, O LORD; for I am weak: O LORD, heal me; for my bones are vexed.

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Psalm 6:2 in Hebrew begins with חָנֵּנִי יְהוָה כִּי אֻמְלַל אָנִי — channēni YHWH ki umlal ani — “Be gracious to me, O LORD, for I am weak (or frail).” The opening verb חָנֵּנִי (channēni) comes from the root חנן (ḥānan), meaning to show favor, to grant grace, to act with unearned kindness toward someone in need. It is the same root that underlies the priestly blessing, “The LORD make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you.” The psalmist’s first word after the divine name is this plea for grace, indicating both urgency and dependence. This is not a polite request but an appeal that assumes no entitlement; it rests entirely on the character of God as compassionate.

The reason given for the plea — כִּי אֻמְלַל אָנִי (ki umlal ani) — is particularly striking. The term אֻמְלַל (umlal) is not the common Hebrew word for “weak” in the sense of lacking strength for a task; rather, it conveys a sense of being withered, languishing, brought low. It is used in Isaiah 24:4 to describe the earth itself as “languishing” under judgment. This word carries an image of vitality drained away, of something once flourishing now shriveled by hardship or affliction. In other words, the psalmist is not saying merely, “I am tired” or “I am injured,” but “my very life-force is drying up under this burden.”

The second half of the verse — רְפָאֵנִי יְהוָה כִּי נִבְהֲלוּ עֲצָמָי (rĕfa’ēni YHWH ki nivhalu ‘atzamai) — “Heal me, O LORD, for my bones are troubled,” adds both depth and intensity. The verb רְפָאֵנִי (rĕfa’ēni) comes from the root רפא (rapha’), meaning to heal, to restore, to make whole. This is used not only for physical recovery but also for emotional, spiritual, and even national restoration. It implies a holistic mending of what is broken. In Hebrew thought, true healing addresses the person as an integrated whole, so this request is as much about inner restoration as it is about outward relief.

The cause for this healing request is כִּי נִבְהֲלוּ עֲצָמָי — “for my bones are troubled.” The word נִבְהֲלוּ (nivhalu) comes from the root בהל (bāhal), meaning to be terrified, dismayed, or thrown into sudden alarm. It conveys the idea of being inwardly shaken, disturbed to the core, overcome with dread. Paired with עֲצָמָי (‘atzamai), “my bones,” the imagery deepens. In Hebrew idiom, the “bones” represent the innermost self, the essential framework of the person. To say that the bones are troubled is to say that the disturbance reaches into the deepest part of the being — the very structure of life feels destabilized.

When we hear “my bones are troubled” in English, it might sound poetic but distant. In Hebrew, it is visceral: the psalmist’s entire being, physical and spiritual, is in upheaval. The strength that holds the body upright, the inner courage that sustains the soul, both are quaking. This is more than illness or fear; it is existential vulnerability.

By pairing the plea for mercy with the plea for healing, the psalmist connects grace and restoration as inseparable. Mercy is not merely pardon for wrong but also the active mending of what sin, suffering, and weakness have fractured. The mercy sought in the first line is the soil in which the healing of the second line must grow. Without mercy, healing would be impossible; without healing, mercy would be incomplete.

Theologically, the Hebrew wording intensifies the relational dimension of the psalm. The psalmist’s choice of ḥānan (show gracious favor), umlal (languishing), rapha’ (heal), and nivhalu ‘atzamai (my bones are terrified) turns the verse into more than a cry for help — it is the confession of one who sees no hope in himself, who knows that without divine intervention, the inward collapse will only deepen. This prayer emerges not from a place of polite discomfort but from a state of deep personal unraveling.

For the modern believer, understanding the Hebrew nuance sharpens the application. There are seasons when the soul feels umlal — withered by guilt, exhaustion, disappointment, or loss. There are moments when the bones — the deepest part of who we are — feel nivhalu, shaken by sudden fear or prolonged distress. In such moments, Psalm 6:2 gives us permission to come before God without pretense, naming both our weakness and our inner disquiet, and appealing for the mercy and healing that only He can provide.

It is a reminder that God’s care extends to the very marrow of our being, that His mercy addresses not only what is seen but what is unseen, not only the outer wounds but the inner tremors. The God who hears “Have mercy on me, for I am languishing” is the same God who answers, “I will heal you, for I have seen your trouble, and I will restore your bones.”

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Beloved in our Lord Jesus Christ,

Grace and peace be multiplied to you from God our Father and from the Lord Jesus Christ, who is our refuge in weakness and the healer of our inmost wounds. I write to you concerning that word of the psalmist, “Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am weak; heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled.” In this brief cry there is a depth of truth that speaks to the whole life of faith, for it shows us both the humility of the believer and the power of the God who saves.

Consider, dear brothers and sisters, how the prophet begins not with a claim of strength but with the confession of frailty. He does not stand before God boasting of his ability to endure, but acknowledges, “I am weak.” In this, he teaches us that true strength is found not in concealing our need but in bringing it into the light of God’s presence. For the Lord resists the proud but gives grace to the humble, and the soul that knows it is withered and empty is the very soul most ready to receive the refreshing rain of His mercy. Do not think that to admit weakness is to dishonor Christ; rather, it is to honor Him as the source of all sufficiency. When we declare our dependence, we confess His all-sufficiency.

The psalmist pleads for mercy, and this mercy is not a mere easing of present pain, but the full kindness of God’s heart extended to one in desperate need. Mercy is God stooping to us, not because we deserve His attention, but because He delights to save the lowly. It is the same mercy that came to us in Christ when we were still sinners, the mercy that does not wait until we are strong but comes to us in our weakness, lifting us up and making us whole. This mercy is not earned by our prayers, but our prayers lay hold of what God is already inclined to give.

Then the prophet says, “Heal me, O Lord.” He does not stop at asking for relief from discipline or protection from enemies; he asks for the restoration of his very being. The healing of God is never partial. When He sets His hand to mend what is broken, He works not only in the body, but in the heart, the mind, and the soul. His healing reaches to the bones — to the very structure of who we are. The psalmist says, “my bones are troubled,” and in the sacred language this means the deepest core of the person is shaken. Have you not known such a time, when fear, guilt, or grief has not only touched the surface of your life but seemed to penetrate to your very marrow? When the strength you once relied upon seemed to dissolve and you could not even stand upright within your own soul? It is in such moments that this prayer becomes most precious, for it directs our gaze away from ourselves and toward the One whose power is made perfect in weakness.

Understand this, beloved: the God who disciplines is the God who heals. The trouble of your bones is not meant to end in their breaking but in their renewal. When the Lord shakes us, it is not to cast us down forever but to loosen the grip of all that would keep us from Him. And when He heals us, it is not to restore us to our former state but to raise us into greater strength, the strength of holiness, humility, and steadfast trust. This is why the apostle could say, “When I am weak, then I am strong,” for in the confession of weakness we lay hold of the power of Christ, and in the trembling of our bones we are made ready for the stability only God can give.

So I urge you, do not despise the day when you must say, “I am weak.” Do not imagine that your frailty is an obstacle to God’s work; it is the very place where His glory will be revealed. Bring your languishing soul and your troubled bones before Him in prayer. Ask Him not only to remove the pain but to restore the life-force of your spirit. Let your faith be bold enough to believe that He who made the bones can steady them again, that He who breathed life into dust can breathe new life into you.

And let the mercy you receive teach you mercy toward others. For if the Lord has stooped to heal you in your weakness, how shall you turn away from your brother or sister in theirs? Be quick to comfort the fainthearted, to strengthen the weak, to bear with the faltering, as God has borne with you. In this way, the healing you receive will bear fruit in the healing of the body of Christ as a whole.

May the Lord, who hears the cry of the languishing and heals the troubled inmost being, grant you steadfastness in the day of trial, humility in the hour of weakness, and joy in the season of restoration, until the day when there is no more sickness, no more trembling, and no more need to say, “Heal me, O Lord,” for we shall be made whole forever in His presence. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit. Amen.

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O Lord our God, Father of mercies and giver of all comfort, You who sit enthroned above the heavens yet stoop low to behold the things that are on earth, we come before You not with claims of strength but with the confession of our frailty. We do not boast in our ability to stand, for we know that apart from You we are like grass that withers and like a flower that fades. Therefore we cry with the psalmist, Have mercy on us, O Lord, for we are weak; heal us, O Lord, for our very bones are troubled.

You know, Lord, the measure of our frame; You remember that we are dust. You see not only the outward works of our hands but the secret tremblings of our hearts, the unrest that reaches into the core of our being. Our strength is not hidden from You, nor is our weakness. When our courage falters and the foundations of our soul quake within us, You are still our God, and You are still our refuge. Therefore we draw near, not because we have earned Your favor, but because You are rich in mercy to all who call upon You.

Grant us the mercy that does more than overlook our faults; grant us the mercy that restores what sin has disordered and suffering has undone. Let Your grace descend upon our withered souls as the rain falls upon dry ground, reviving what has languished under the heat of trial. And in Your mercy, O Lord, do not leave us in our present state, but lift us up, strengthen our hearts, and set our feet once more upon the path of Your commandments.

Heal us, Lord—not in part, but wholly. Touch the body, renew the mind, purify the heart, and steady the spirit. Let the healing that comes from You reach to the very bones, to the deep structures of our life, so that what was shaken is now made firm and what was wounded is now made whole. If our weakness has humbled us, let Your healing raise us up in true humility, so that we depend on You in all things and boast only in Your power.

Remember, O Lord, that our strength comes not from ourselves but from the One who for our sake became weak, that we might be made strong in Him. You have given us Your Son, who bore our infirmities and carried our sorrows, who entered into the depths of human frailty so that He might lift us into the life of God. In Him we place all our hope, knowing that He is both the proof of Your mercy and the pledge of our healing.

Therefore we do not despair, even when our bones are troubled and our spirit is cast down, for we know that the same God who wounds also binds up, the same Lord who disciplines also restores. We wait upon You, confident that You will renew our strength, so that we may walk and not faint, run and not be weary, stand and not fall. And when our healing is complete, let our lips give You praise and our lives bear witness that the mercy of the Lord endures forever.

To You, O Father, with the Son and the Holy Spirit, be glory and honor, dominion and power, now and to the ages of ages. Amen.