Ps 19

God Reveals Himself

(Psalm 19)

Jason Procopio

We just got back from three weeks of vacation. We spent two weeks in the mountains near the Italian border, and one week in Bordeaux, both times benefitting from the generosity of Christian friends who let us bunk up in their homes. Over these three weeks we have seen almost every kind of sky imaginable. When we arrived in the mountains, the fog was more impressive than I’d ever seen: huge, rolling banks of fog that climbed up over the peaks in front of us. When the fog cleared, we were greeted by clear blue skies in the day and stars at night you can never see in Paris. Outside of Bordeaux, Jack and I went through a corn maze at night, saw the sun setting over the cornfield. Then driving back home from Bordeaux, we spent hours in flat country, where the horizon and the clouds stretched so far, it was like looking at mountains upside down. 

I was reminded over and over during our vacation why the sky is a completely appropriate subject for the first half of this psalm.

Psalm 19 is a celebration of God’s revelation to his people. David (the psalmist) begins by celebrating God’s revelation in creation—focusing on the “heavens”, or the sky—and then transitioning to God’s revelation in Scripture. And then he brings it back down to earth and reminds us of what our response to God’s revelation should rightly be. 

The Heavens (v. 1-6)

He begins his psalm by saying,  

1  The heavens declare the glory of God, 

and the sky above proclaims his handiwork. 

Of course if you’ve read your Bible, this isn’t news—we’re told that all creation displays the glory of God. (“The glory of God” is simply God’s attributes—his power, his goodness, his mercy and wisdom—made visible for all to see.) When you look at the world, you can see God’s glory, because he’s the one that created it. And though this world has been marred by our rebellion against God—our sin—the overwhelming majority of what we see in creation is still beautiful, and reminds us of the genius Creator who not only imagined all these things, but had the power and desire to make them real.

This is particularly true of the sky, because whether it’s cloudy or clear, calm or turbulent, it’s nothing if not impressive—the sheer size of it boggles the mind. And there is nowhere on earth where it is invisible—no human being, unless they’re born blind, has ever not seen the sky. That’s what he means in v. 2-4, when he says that  

2  Day to day pours out speech, 

and night to night reveals knowledge. 

3  There is no speech, nor are there words, 

whose voice is not heard. 

4  Their voice goes out through all the earth, 

and their words to the end of the world. 

Nothing the sky wants to say to us about the glory of God will go unheard, because we have all seen it. We’re all aware of its size and scope. All we have to do is go outside and look up.

Even at nighttime, the sky sings its song. And night is a particularly good time to see God’s glory in the sky, because as Derek Kidner said, “without the night skies man would have known, until recently, nothing but an empty universe.” At night you can see stars, and know there’s something else up there besides blue and clouds—that this universe is bigger than our little globe.

Same thing in the day—David says (at the end of v. 4):  

In [the sky] he has set a tent for the sun, 

5  which comes out like a bridegroom leaving his chamber, 

and, like a strong man, runs its course with joy. 

6  Its rising is from the end of the heavens, 

and its circuit to the end of them, 

and there is nothing hidden from its heat. 

We don’t often think of God having fun with his creation, but we can see it here. The Holy Spirit inspires David to describe the sun as a man about to get married, running to meet his bride; an athlete giving his all to the race, just for the joy of running. 

It’s easy to become blasé about the sky, because we see it all the time. We so rarely go outside, look up, and realize the magnitude of what is over our heads. Only when we’re on vacation do we take the time to look, and even then it’s not usually until the sky is framed just so by something else incredible. But if we realized that every time we go outside and look up at the sky, God is actively speaking to us, we might do it more often. I have a tendency to look down when I walk, mostly because I tend to trip easily, and because in Paris you can run across poop of all kinds on the sidewalk. (The danger is real.) But if I remembered that God’s glory is displayed for me every time I look up, I’d do it more often.

The point of all of this is that God is a God who speaks. He doesn’t remain distant or remote. He reveals himself to his creation, through his creation. He shows us what he is like by the things he has made. 

But of course if you stop there, you either don’t get very far; or you end up in the wrong place. If you stop there, you’ll come away with a vague sense of God’s greatness and majesty (which, Paul says in Romans 1, is actually enough to deserve our worship). But that vague sense of God’s power isn’t enough to know everything there is to know about him, or everything he desires to tell us. It’s like looking at a random photograph of someone we don’t know. We can get a vague idea of what that person might be like, but we won’t know what that person’s name is, or what that person’s dreams were, or what they really desire.

If we stop at creation, we’ll get some sense of God, but we won’t know anything personal about him. And we won’t know what he expects of us, beyond maybe a vague inspiration to be creative ourselves. To know God personally, you need a personal revelation—a specific and detailed revelation, given in words we can understand.

Which is way David transitions pretty abruptly toward an even better source of revelation: Scripture.

Scripture (v. 7-11)

In v. 7-11, David describes God’s revelation of himself in Scripture, using various words to name it. He talks about “the law”, which is the comprehensive term for the will of God that he has revealed. He talks about “the testimony” of God, which is the truth as God affirms it, the declaration by which he affirms his covenant with his people. He talks about the “precepts” and “commandment” of the Lord, which are terms of authority and precision—God telling us what we are to do. He talks about the “fear” of the Lord, which is our reverent response to his revelation. He talks about the “rules” (or judgments) of the Lord, which are judicial decisions God has made about what human beings do.

We shouldn’t try to hard to make strong links between these nouns and the adjectives David uses to describe them; it’s not as if God’s testimony is the only part of his revelation that makes us wise (as opposed to his law or his precepts). It’s best to take most of these as synonyms describing the whole of God’s revelation. Because from the very beginning, God hasn’t been content to let his people decypher clues left in nature. He has spoken to his people. He has audibly addressed them. He has inspired them to write specific things about him.

This revelation is what we find in the Bible. 

When we think about the Bible, what are the adjectives that which frequently come to mind, if we’re honest? Many of us would probably say, Long. Or difficult. Or complex. Or—let’s just say it—boring. (Particularly if you’re not a big reader.) 

This just shows us how skewed our relationship to Scripture has become. How does David describe God’s revelation of himself in Scripture?

Let’s read it together—v. 7:  

7  The law of the Lord is perfect, 

reviving the soul; 

the testimony of the Lord is sure, 

making wise the simple; 

8  the precepts of the Lord are right, 

rejoicing the heart; 

the commandment of the Lord is pure, 

enlightening the eyes; 

9  the fear of the Lord is clean, 

enduring forever; 

the rules of the Lord are true, 

and righteous altogether. 

In God’s perfect revelation of himself in Scripture (v. 7), our weary souls are revived—they are nursed back to health after illness.

By Scripture (v. 7), we have assurance, and we are made wise—we grow in knowledge of who God is, and in confidence of who we are in him.

In Scripture (v. 8), we have a right knowledge of what God wants, and we find joy in that knowledge—nothing is better than knowing precisely what we are meant to do, and wanting to do just that.

In Scripture (v. 8), we see that what God wants is what is good; we are able to see things as they really are, as God sees them—we finally see good as good, and evil as evil, not in terms defined by us, but in terms defined by the One who created good.

In Scripture (v. 9), we learn how to respond to God—in reverence and submission to his gracious will to us.

And in Scripture (v. 9), we see that what God says is true and right—when he tells us something is good for us, and other things are bad for us, he is telling us the truth, and he tells us the truth because he loves us.

This is not the way many modern teachers would go about explaining the benefit of Scripture. They would expose the content of Scripture—the 66 books of the Old and New Testaments, without error in their original manuscripts, complete in their revelation of the will of God, the only standard for life and godliness,  bearing the authority of God himself, and all the rest. And all of these things are important and true—the Bible is all of these things.

But it’s not these things that David concentrates on. He isn’t giving us a summary of the intellectual content of Scripture; rather, he is appealing to our emotions. He’s telling us why we should want to read Scripture. Why we should want to immerse ourselves in God’s Word. Why what we have in the Bible is so precious.

And that’s exactly where he goes in v. 10-11—he gives a kind of summary statement of everything he’s been saying since v. 7:  

10  More to be desired are they than gold, 

even much fine gold; 

sweeter also than honey 

and drippings of the honeycomb. 

11  Moreover, by them is your servant warned; 

in keeping them there is great reward. 

Why is Scripture beautiful and to be desired? Let’s take a cue from David—think of the sky. In the sky we find beauty; we find protection from the vacuum of space; we find warmth and water and light. Not just things we need, but things that are good. 

The sky should remind us of its source—the Maker of light and life, the source of beauty and goodness. The beauty of the sky is a pale reflection of true beauty, the beauty of its Maker. 

God is the source. He is the Creator. He is the beauty and goodness from which all other beauty and goodness comes.

And in Scripture, we know him. Not just a reflection of God, but God himself.

You see, while a solid knowledge of the makeup of Scripture—the stuff we would cover in a course on hermeneutics—is essential and should not be left behind, I’d suggest that this knowledge isn’t what is most essential. Because a solid knowledge of the makeup of Scripture isn’t enough to make you desire it, more than the most precious wealth imaginable. A knowledge of the institution of the Canon of Scripture, and how the books we have here were transmitted and preserved and translated for us, isn’t enough to make you say that Scripture is sweeter also than honey and drippings of the honeycomb. 

David speaks of the great reward that comes from Scripture. To attain that reward, you have to do two things, as David says here: you have to know it, and you have to keep it. You have to live it. You have to obey it. You can’t obey what you don’t know, and you’ll never obey it if you don’t think it’s worthwhile to do so. The more we truly know Scripture, the more we want to obey. And the more we obey Scripture, the more we realize how glorious God’s revelation in these pages actually is.

humble obedience (v. 12-14)

But ultimately, David’s own application of this psalm isn’t an action plan. It’s not a five-step process to enjoying Scripture more. 

It’s a prayer. 

12  Who can discern his errors? 

Declare me innocent from hidden faults. 

13  Keep back your servant also from presumptuous sins; 

let them not have dominion over me! 

Then I shall be blameless, 

and innocent of great transgression. 

14  Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart 

be acceptable in your sight, 

O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. 

This is a prayer that David’s heart might align with God’s. A prayer that his thoughts and his actions might reflect what he has already seen in Scripture a thousand times.

He acknowledges, firstly, that there are sins in his own heart he’s not even aware of. He says, “Who can discern his errors?” He asks that God might protect him from hidden faults, and presumptuous sins. In other words, this is how far gone we are. None other than God is fully aware of all the corruption in our own hearts. We can never see and know the depth of our own depravity—and if we ever were able to see it, we’d refuse to acknowledge it, because we are presumptuous; we are arrogant. We are quick to assume that we are so-called “good people.” And yet, there isn’t a corner of our hearts that sin hasn’t reached. 

It’s like when you go to the beach. You sit on the sand and enjoy it for even a short time, and without even realizing it, you’ve managed to get sand into every pocket, every corner of your handbag, all over your body. You’re cleaning it out for days. 

Sin has so completely infiltrated humanity that it has gone everywhere. Even on our best days, when we feel like we’ve managed to live well and do what God has called us to do, there are a thousand sinful instincts that lay waiting below the surface, and many came out in our thoughts and actions without us ever realizing it.

David prays that God might protect him from, and forgive him for, these kinds of sins. Not just obvious, overt disobedience to his commands, but deeply ingrained instincts that run counter to God’s will. Because he knows that if God changes us on that level—on the inside—it will protect us on a more obvious, surface level. We will be innocent of great transgression, because the instincts that drive us to sin against God will be slowly and surely washed away.

And that is the aim of God’s revelation to us—he makes himself known to us that we might admire him, praise him, find our joy in him…and ultimately, be like him.

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart 

be acceptable in your sight, 

O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. 

In case you haven’t noticed it, this is a very simple psalm. But, as always, it is problematic for us, for multiple reasons. For starters, even Christians have a tendency not to nourish the instincts David encourages here. We look up at the sky, and we see the sky. Loanne and I were looking out the window at the clouds earlier this week, and complaining about how bad the weather has been this year. The sky is so often in front of our eyes that it’s become as ordinary as anything else in our lives.

In the same way, Scripture has become of little consequence to us too. Either out of familiarity, or difficulty with the subject matter, or just the fact that it’s so long, our Bibles very often sit on our shelves collecting dust. And if we ever take the time to pull it off the shelf and read it, we get through it as quickly as possible so we can move on to other things.

On top of all that, we can be exposed to both creation and Scripture without ever responding the way David does here. We’ve become so familiar with these things that we assume we’ve grasped them—so we’re not driven to the kind of humble confession David makes here, recognizing that there is sin in our hearts we don’t even suspect…and that lack of humility and contrition over these “hidden sins” is exactly the kind of hidden sin David is talking about! 

This is an impossible situation for all of us, because sin has been hard-wired into our human nature. We were talking to Jack the other night about this—we are all free to do what we want, provided it’s in our nature to do that thing. I’m not free to fly like a bird, because I'm not a bird; I’m a human being. It’s not in my nature to fly. So we’re free, but our freedom is obviously limited.

If we have a sinful nature, we are absolutely free to sin as much as we want, and we do; but we are not free to glorify God, because it’s not in the nature of sinners to obey him. 

For that, we need a new nature. Which is exactly what Jesus Christ gave us.

When Christ, the Son of God, took on a human nature, he united himself to our nature. And when he took our sins on himself and took on the punishment for our sins, he allowed us to be spiritually reconciled to him—he shared his nature with us. His Holy Spirit saved us and gave us a new nature—not a divine nature, but a holy nature, a nature by which we can finally want to glorify God, and effectively do it. A nature which is finally able to look up at the sky and see not an empty void, or the bravado of an unknowable and hostile god, but the handiwork of a gracious Creator. A nature which can look at Scripture and see, not a list of arcane rules and stories, but the revelation of God himself, in plain terms which can be understood. A nature which is able to respond to that revelation of God in humility and confession, asking for his help to be like him.

Christ gave us the ability to sing and pray this psalm honestly.

So when we read Psalm 19, our response should be very, very simple. 

Look up. Look down. Then trust in Jesus and obey.

Go outside when you leave this building and look up at the sky. Whether it’s cloudy or sunny or raining, the heavens declare the glory of God and the sky above proclaims his handiwork. Nothing the sky wants to say about the goodness of our God can be hidden by clouds or rain. The great God who made this world also sustains it, and controls its movements, down to the weather we enjoy, or the weather we complain about. Look up, and see the infinitely great God who made what you’re seeing.

Then look down. Open your Bible, and pay attention to what you see there. Pay attention to how God describes himself in these pages, what he says about his character and his power. Pay attention to what he says about us, in whose image we were created and how that image was scarred by sin. And pay attention to God’s plan to save us from that sin—the plan he set forth in Christ to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth (Eph. 1.9-10), his plan to redeem us and forgive us, to bring us from death to life, to adopt us into his family and to give us an inheritance in Christ.

The plan we see set out in those pages is no less immense, no less incredible, than the sky above our heads. In fact, God gives us the sky to help us understand just how great and wise he is—and if he is great and wise enough to create something like that, how much greater must his love for his creation be, and his plan to rescue it and renew it and heal it? 

This active looking we are called to do here isn’t an isolated act. It’s not something we do occasionally. It’s a way of seeing and thinking that should occupy every minute of every day. This is how we should look at everything; this is how we grow.

So every minute of every day, look up; then look down…then trust in Jesus, and humbly obey, as David himself prays he might. Admit that you need his help to live like this, and trust that he has given us his Spirit to help you live like this, to steadily make you more like Christ, even helping clean out the hidden sins you aren’t even aware of. Trust that as we grow in him, David’s prayer for himself will become ours, and as we grow, that prayer will be answered more and more fully:  

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart 

be acceptable in your sight, 

O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.