Psalm 74

Today is the 14th of July, the French national holiday (as I’m sure you know). This is the day on which we think about our country, we celebrate our country, and we’re supposed to be inspired to be thankful for and proud of our country.

But what if, attached to all the pomp and circumstance of this holiday, there were also prophecies that promised that our country would be prosperous and influential over all other countries in the world? Imagine how that would change our perception of this holiday—when it wouldn’t just be a celebration of what we have, but a certainty of what we will have? And imagine that this certainty had been in our minds for centuries, since the beginning of the Republic.

And now, imagine if we were invaded by a foreign nation much more powerful than we were, like during World War II. Imagine how disorienting it would be—we’d always heard one thing about this great nation of ours, and we’d always believed it. And now, here is this invasion that seems to just blow away everything we’ve ever believed about who we are as a people.

That’s exactly the situation we see in Psalm 74.

We spent the first several months out of this year following the story of the people of Israel as God rescued them from slavery in Egypt, into the wilderness where he gave them his law, and promised to give them the land of Canaan as their home. 

Spoiler alert: God made good on his promise. He gave them the land of Canaan, and there, they established their kingdom—the kingdom of Israel. For a while, under the reigns of kings like David and Solomon, the kingdom of Israel was thriving.

But things went bad pretty quickly: while some kings were good, others were not. The kingdom was split in two, the people were under the influence of idolatry, and for a long period they completely forgot God’s law. The prophets warned them what would happen as a consequence, and around the sixth century B.C., what the prophets warned about came to pass: Babylon invaded Jerusalem, destroyed almost all of the city, put their false gods in the temple, and took the people away into exile.

Psalm 74 describes a situation that is difficult to ascribe to any other event. If the author (as is written) is the Asaph we know, he was writing prophetically—that is, God showed him what would happen later, and he wrote in reaction to what he saw. (Another option is that this was another Asaph who lived at the time of the exile.)

That is the context of this psalm: it seems like everything in the world is fighting against God’s plan, and we don’t see how what is happening around us could possibly be a part of it.

This is a wildly strange prayer, because it is so far from the way most of us would often pray. But it is the right way to pray in these kinds of situations.

Asaph’s Complaint (v. 1-11)

So let’s go to the beginning and take it little by little—in this first part, Asaph is basically venting, and it’s good for him to vent: this is just what’s happening. v. 1: 

1  O God, why do you cast us off forever?

Why does your anger smoke against the sheep of your pasture?

Two things to see really quickly before we keep going. First: can you see the first question is slightly exaggerated? Why do you cast us off FOREVER? 

I had a discussion with a young couple recently who discovered one of the singular joys of marriage: the irritation that can grow because one person says, “You always do this,” or “You never do this.” We’re all guilty of this; we all say it at some time or another. And it’s always annoying.

Now, obviously when we say that, we know we’re not speaking literally. It’s a figure of speech—a way of saying you do this often enough that it seems like you always do it.

That’s what’s happening here. Asaph, like any good Israelite, knows perfectly well that God has not cast off his people forever—but it sure feels that way.

C.H. Spurgeon writes: “God is never weary of his people so as to abhor them, and even when his anger is turned against them, it is but for a small moment, and with a view to their eternal good. Grief in its distraction asks strange questions and surmises impossible terrors. It is a wonder of grace that the Lord has not long ago put us away as people lay aside cast-off garments, but he hates putting away, and will still be patient with his chosen.” (1)

Secondly, he asks, Why does your anger smoke against the sheep of your pasture? The answer to that question is obvious as well—it’s the people’s sin and idolatry that led to their exile and the destruction of Jerusalem. At least it’s obvious to anyone who has all the facts. It’s quite possible that Asaph received a prophetic word from God about what would happen to Jerusalem, but he wasn’t told why it would happen. That’s one possibility.

Or maybe he feels that even the people’s sin shouldn’t be able to send God’s plan onto what seems like such a massive detour. Which is why he says (v. 2): 

2  Remember your congregation, which you have purchased of old,

which you have redeemed to be the tribe of your heritage!

Remember Mount Zion, where you have dwelt.

We’ll come back to this in a bit, but he sets the stage by calling on God to remember—to remember his people, how he rescued and redeemed them for himself, and to remember the home God has made for himself among them (that’s what he means when he refers to “Mount Zion”: the place where God dwells).

That’s where he’ll go in a little while. But first, he describes the situation as it stands. V. 3: 

3  Direct your steps to the perpetual ruins;

the enemy has destroyed everything in the sanctuary!

4  Your foes have roared in the midst of your meeting place;

they set up their own signs for signs.

5  They were like those who swing axes

in a forest of trees.

6  And all its carved wood

they broke down with hatchets and hammers.

7  They set your sanctuary on fire;

they profaned the dwelling place of your name,

bringing it down to the ground.

8  They said to themselves, “We will utterly subdue them”;

they burned all the meeting places of God in the land.

9  We do not see our signs;

there is no longer any prophet,

and there is none among us who knows how long.

10  How long, O God, is the foe to scoff?

Is the enemy to revile your name forever?

11  Why do you hold back your hand, your right hand?

Take it from the fold of your garment and destroy them!

So this is pretty bleak. 

The enemy has destroyed everything in the sanctuary (v. 3). Idolatrous emblems used in war have been set up in the temple (v. 4): as Spurgeon described it: ”an insulting token of victory, and of contempt for the vanquished and their God.” The sanctuary in the temple, and all the synagogues throughout the land, have been set on fire. The people no longer see any “signs” (v. 9): no more Urim and Thummim on the high priest’s chest, the means by which God often communicated his will; no more smoke of sacrifice or incense rising from the temple; no more feasts; no more circumcision (the covenant sign of the people of Israel, and forbidden by the king of Babylon); no more prophets.

Perhaps worst of all, at the end of v. 9, we see that there is none among us who knows how long. When there is no end of suffering in sight, that suffering is amplified exponentially.

All of this amounts to the same thing: God is seemingly absent from his people, and the people don’t understand his absence. 

Asaph’s Reminder (v. 12-17)

Many of us would do one of two things here: we would either complain like Asaph, and just stop, wallowing in our misery. Or would we would go directly to what we call the “intercession”—that is, we’d ask God to do something to change our situation. 

But Asaph doesn’t go straight there. He does something first that is crucially important: he speaks of who God is. V. 17: 

12  Yet God my King is from of old,

working salvation in the midst of the earth.

13  You divided the sea by your might;

you broke the heads of the sea monsters on the waters.

14  You crushed the heads of Leviathan;

you gave him as food for the creatures of the wilderness.

15  You split open springs and brooks;

you dried up ever-flowing streams.

16  Yours is the day, yours also the night;

you have established the heavenly lights and the sun.

17  You have fixed all the boundaries of the earth;

you have made summer and winter.

So he insists on three different aspects of who God is.

First of all, he speaks to the fact that God is a saving God. God my King is from of old, working salvation in the midst of the earth. God, the King of all things, takes pleasure in saving those who need saving.

Secondly, he says that God is powerful over human powers. V. 13 will be familiar to anyone who’s been in Exodus with us these last months: You divided the sea by your might; you broke the heads of the sea monsters on the waters. The “sea monsters,” this “Leviathan” of v. 14, is a mythical, dragon-like monster, and stands in here for Egypt, the superpower who had been holding God’s people in slavery for centuries. God came in and with works of incredible power, rescued the people from their oppressors.

Third, he says that God isn’t just powerful over humanity, but over all creation—the entire universe. The day, the night, the stars and the sun, the earth and its seasons. He is sovereign over everything.

Now, I said earlier that instead of just moving directly on to intercession, Asaph takes time to remember who God is, and I said that’s a vitally important step. Why is it so important? 

For three main reasons:

First: What he says here is a reminder that God is totally in control of what’s happening. Babylon did not “beat” God or thwart his plan. If he’s sovereign over the greatest movements and the greatest powers of the earth, he is also sovereign over this situation.

Secondly, it seems like Asaph is reminding God of who he is, but obviously God hasn’t forgotten. As is almost always the case when we pray and speak of who God is, the goal isn’t just to tell God that we know who he is; the goal is to remind ourselves of who God is. And the reason why this is so important to do is because in this particular situation, at this particular moment, God seems to be hiding from his people. He seems to be standing off at a distance, just watching while his people are sent into exile, his city plundered, and his plan sabotaged. It’s not true, but that’s how it feels.

So it is crucially important to help ourselves remember that no matter how it feels, it’s not true. God is the God of salvation. He is the God who has proven himself faithful to his people in the past. And he is sovereign over absolutely each aspect of creation. None of this is a surprise to him, and none of it means he will turn his back on his people now. 

You see, when we remind ourselves of what is true, it levels us. Most of us know that feeling of being on a boat that’s being rocked on the sea; and most of us know what it’s like to finally step back on to dry land after so much movement. Reminding ourselves of the truth gets our feet back on solid ground.

The third reason why this is so important is because once we’re “re-stabilized,” this regained stability gives us the confidence we need to make our intercession, and to not just base it on emotion. It makes it possible for us to pray, not only based on how we feel, but based on truth. 

Asaph’s Intercession (v. 18-23)

And that is what we see Asaph do next. After laying out his complaint before God, and after recentering himself by proclaiming who God is, he makes his prayer—and it’s a very interesting prayer. V. 18: 

18  Remember this, O Lord, how the enemy scoffs,

and a foolish people reviles your name.

19  Do not deliver the soul of your dove to the wild beasts;

do not forget the life of your poor forever.

20  Have regard for the covenant,

for the dark places of the land are full of the habitations of violence.

21  Let not the downtrodden turn back in shame;

let the poor and needy praise your name.

22  Arise, O God, defend your cause;

remember how the foolish scoff at you all the day!

23  Do not forget the clamor of your foes,

the uproar of those who rise against you, which goes up continually!

So just look at the contents of this prayer for a moment. Remember your people, he says in v. 18-19. Remember your covenant, v. 20. Fight for the praise of your name—defend your cause, v. 21-22. Be offended by the sin of our enemies, v. 22-23. 

There are two things that bugged me about this prayer for a long time. 

The first is that, especially after everything he said before about who God is, it all seems so incredibly obvious—he’s just asking God to do what God is supposed to do, what he has already promised to do.

The second is that—let’s be frank—it seems almost manipulative, doesn’t it? “Look at how the enemy scoffs! A foolish people is reviling your name! Let the poor and needy praise your name! Defend your cause! They’re laughing at you!”

This always seemed weird to me, because it’s not like God’s not going to see through that. It’s not like God’s not going to see what Asaph’s trying to do, that he’s trying to focus the attention on God, and how his name is being slandered, as a way to convince him to act. It always seemed a little too calculated to me.

Why would he argue like this? Isn’t he preaching to the choir?

The answer is, of course, yes. But he’s not doing it in a manipulative way; he’s doing it because he is firmly aware of the relationship God has established with his people.

Our kids do the same thing to us all the time: they’ll bring up things that we said before, as a way to convince us to give them what they want now. 

“But you said we could have ice cream!”

“I didn’t say you could have it right now, right before bed; that would be bad for you.”

“But you said—”

They have one fixed goal in mind—the ice cream—and don’t realize that we, as parents, have bigger goals. We’re still good to our word (hopefully), and the kids will get ice cream—we’ll keep our promise. But it may not be exactly when or how the kids want it.

We see a similar dynamic going on here, which is pretty shocking, because it’s so familial. The psalmist Asaph is addressing God in a way that presumes to understand what is important to God and what God is like; he’s praying in a way that implies an intimate relationship. For any other culture at this time or place, such behavior towards their gods would have been unthinkable.

The amazing thing here is that this is in the Bible: God wants us to know that it’s okay to pray like this. It’s okay to not understand his plan, and it’s okay to bring up things that God has said when we pray, like kids do. “You said you would do this—please do it!”

“Remember your people!” Asaph prays—to which God responds, I will. He already said he would.

Remember your covenant! I will. He already said he would.

Defend your cause. I will. He already said he would.

Be offended by their sin! I am. He already said he is.

Such familiarity with the God of the universe is incredible. The fact that God lets us try to convince him to do what he said he would do is a miracle of grace.

Risks and Encouragements

There are two big risks involved when you want to start praying like this. 

The first is assuming that whatever you want is God’s plan, when it may well not be. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve had this conversation. Someone comes and tells me, “I believe that this is God’s plan for my life,” and then they tell me what that plan is. I’m supposed to be married to this person. I’m supposed to have X number of children. I’m supposed to live in this city. I’m supposed to work in this job. 

Now, maybe they’re right, and maybe they’re wrong—only time will tell. But these people cannot count on these things being God’s plan when they pray—at least not with the kind of confidence Asaph shows in Psalm 74. They can’t do that, because God did not promise in his Word that you would marry this or that person; God did not promise in his Word that you would definitely have kids; God did not promise that you would live in any particular city, or do any particular job. These are just not things God has promised us.

And so we cannot say, “God, defend your cause! Have regard for your covenant!” and then attach our prayer request onto that. You can ask him to do it, but you can’t use his character or his covenant as a defense for that prayer. 

Even if it’s something you desire incredibly deeply—a felt need that causes you a lot of pain—don’t assume that what you want is definitely God’s plan, because it might not be. That’s the first risk.

The second risk is sort of the flip-side of that: it’s assuming that whatever is happening in your life can’t possibly be a part of God’s plan. Remember what Peter’s reaction was when Jesus told him that he was about to go to Jerusalem to be killed? He said (Matthew 16.22): “Far be it from you, Lord! This shall never happen to you!”

Jesus’s response was brutal: “Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me. For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man” (Matthew 16.23). 

Peter couldn’t even conceive of the possibility that such a horrible thing—the death of his Master, the Messiah, at the hands of the religious leaders—could ever be a part of God’s plan. But it absolutely was. It was through Christ’s horrible death and miraculous resurrection that we are now freed from our sin, united to Christ, and declared righteous before God. You never would have guessed it ahead of time, but this was definitely God’s plan.

Several of you have gone through situations in the recent past—are still going through situations—about which we could easily say, “This couldn’t possibly figure into God’s will for me, or for the church.” We can’t see how any good could come from some things that have happened.

But what does Asaph say? “Yet God our King is from of old, working salvation in the midst of the earth.” He is the eternal Savior, whose perfect plan of salvation was establish before he ever created the world. He knows what he is doing, and he is faithful.

Those are the risks. Now let me give you some encouragements.

First of all: don’t ever be afraid to tell God what you’re feeling. We all know what it’s like when someone says hi and asks how you’re doing, and you put on a brave face and say, “I’m good, thanks,” when in fact you’re just barely holding it together. Some of us do that with God. Sometimes when we pray, we pray what we feel like we should pray, and never express to God what we’re actually feeling or thinking. Like we’re worried he’s going to be offended if we don’t use the right formula, or if we pray a prayer that sounds immature.

Asaph doesn’t hesitate to pray exactly what he’s thinking. Why are you doing this, God? Why have you cast us off? Why aren’t you speaking to us? How long is this going to last? 

This is not an immature prayer, because he doesn’t stop there—he moves on to more solid truths as he progresses. But it is an honest prayer. It is a prayer that holds nothing back. 

Don’t ever be afraid to tell God how you’re actually feeling. You might as well, because he already knows it anyway, and he is not in the least put out by prayers that might seem stupid, but that are honest. Talk to him. Even if it’s just to say, “I don’t get it!” Keep those lines of communication open.

Secondly: don’t ever be afraid to tell God who he is. Of course this might seem pointless, because God already knows who he is far better than we do. But it’s really not. A few years ago we were visiting my family in the U.S., and I was driving somewhere with my dad. He was discouraged about something going on in his job, and I just started telling him what I saw. My dad was pretty young when I was born, so I was twenty years old when he was the age I am now; I remember what he was like as a younger man. So I’ve actually been able to observe his progress in his faith over the years—to see what he’s gotten wrong, yet, but also to see what he’s done well, as a father, as a husband and as a man of God.

So I just told him what I saw. There was no forethought to it, there was no plan, I just started talking. And as I was talking, two things happened. He was encouraged, of course, but I think I may have gotten more out of that conversation, because as I talked about what kind of a man my dad is, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for him—for the fact that I got to have him as my dad, that I got to be a part of his life. Telling my dad who he is made me appreciate him even more than I already did.

Don’t ever be afraid to tell God who he is. He doesn’t need encouragement, but it pleases him to hear us praise him like this, and it helps us to appreciate in deeper and deeper ways just how amazing God is, how powerful he is. It gives us deeper confidence in him, and allows us to pray confidently, secure in the knowledge of who he is.

Thirdly: don’t ever be afraid to pray God’s promises back to him. Lord, remember your covenant. Lord, deliver your people. Lord, defend your cause. These are things God has already promised to go, and Asaph just sends God back to his own promises.

Now of course, this suggests that we need to learn what God has actually promised us in his Word, and we need to be aware of whom those promises were given to. I grew up hearing Christians in America misappropriate promises God gave to the people of Israel in the Old Testament, and apply them to America, when God never gave those promises to America. So we need to always be learning in this area.

But when we learn what God has promised his people, we must never be afraid to lean on those promises in prayer. For example, the type of prayer we see in v. 18-23, we can pray in just the same way when we look at our own lives and see a gap between what God has promised and what seems to be happening.

“Lord make me like you! Help me to walk in your paths! Let me find my joy in you! Help me see that I am united to your people! Be here with me in my sin and my suffering!” We can pray these things with total and absolute confidence, because God has promised to do every one of them. 

Which brings us to the last encouragement: always remember that God’s plans never fail, and he is faithful even when you don’t see him. God has promised to do all kinds of things for his people—but sometimes it seems as if he has forgotten those promises. Sometimes it seems like we as individuals, or the church as a body, have strayed very far from the ideal God has set out for us. Sometimes we may despair of ever getting back to where we should be; or we may despair of other Christians ever being what God says he plans for his people to be.

But even in the most dire circumstances, God’s plans never fail, and he is always faithful. Sometimes his ways seem circuitous to us; but he knows what he’s doing. We can rest in him. We can trust him. We can always know that our pain, our mistakes—even the mistakes of God’s people—will never be wasted. God is working for our good and for his glory.

So speak to him. Tell him how you feel. But don’t stop there. Tell him who he is. Pray his promises back to him. And know that no matter what, you are in good hands.

(1) (Spurgeon, C. H. (1993). Psalms (p. 313). Crossway Books.)