Ps 38

an honest psalm

(Psalm 38)

Jason Procopio

This psalm has a lot to say about sin. Sin is the inclination we all have toward attitudes and behaviors that aren’t in line with God’s will for us—it’s our instinct to rebel against him, and the behaviors and attitudes that arise from that instinct. Some sins are obvious (like murder—no one’s surprised to find out murder is a sin); others are less obvious. We can be a Christian for years sometimes without ever learning that some of the attitudes we find “normal” are actually sinful. (We’ll be looking more into that starting next week.)

But when we come to faith, something happens un us: we feel a desire to put our sin to death, as God commands—to fight against sin wherever we see it in ourselves, to not give in to temptation. And over time, through the Holy Spirit, we grow in our ability to do that: to fight our sin, and to live as Jesus lived.

But the line from unbeliever, living in sin and not caring, to a believer who has been made like Christ, is far too often not a straight one.

This church will be seven years old next week. As you know, the majority of our members and those who come here are in the 20- to 30-year-old range. And even though I don’t want to generalize, there is a common tendency I’ve noticed over the last seven years as pastor of this church, and it’s one of the most painful things for me as a pastor. I’ve seen so many young people, who are passionate about the Bible, who have a deep desire to know God…and who at the same time excuse sin in their own lives with staggering indifference. Not all sin, but areas of sin which they know are against God’s will for them, but which they allow because they just want it too much.

This problem comes up all the time, and it’s serious—as John Owen said: “Be killing sin, or sin will be killing you.”

Or as Paul said it in Romans 8.13: For if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. This could not be more serious.

The truths we love, and our growth in obedience in every area of life, go hand in hand. If we are not growing in obedience in every area of life—or if we turn away from opportunities to grow when they are presented to us—then we don’t really love the truth as much as we say we do.

The good news is that God is aware of this, and because he loves us, if we belong to him, he won’t let it remain this way. He’ll use whatever means necessary to rip us from our stupor—like a dentist pulling a rotten tooth.

That’s what today’s psalm, Psalm 38, is about. This psalm is a lament, but of a very particular sort. It is the lament of a man who is suffering terribly, and who has realized that his suffering is the result of his own sin. This is (perhaps second only to Psalm 51) the most honestly a person could speak about his own sin. 

And for that reason, this is a difficult psalm for us. We don’t like to be broken, we don’t like to feel down, particularly if it goes on for extended periods of time. So reading this psalm, we immediately find it depressing and over the top. We feel like David’s exaggerating, that he should just get over it and accept God’s forgiveness. 

And that’s another problem for us: our gut reaction to this psalm is to imagine that David’s not taking God’s grace into account. We feel like because of what Christ did for us, we shouldn’t need to go through periods where we feel like this—as if Christ died in order to save us from the temporary pain of grief and sadness over our sin. When in fact he died to save us from our sin which deserves such grief.

We can learn a lot from this psalm, and we need to learn from it. Here we see the heavy burden of a humble sinner, turning to the only refuge he has.

The Heavy Burden (v. 1-8)

David begins by saying (v. 1):  

O Lord, rebuke me not in your anger, 

nor discipline me in your wrath! 

Now, we shouldn’t take this to mean David is asking or expecting God to treat him unfairly, and act as if his sin were of no consequence. This is an emotional request, not a theological one. He’s already under the weight of God’s discipline, as we’ll see, and emotionally speaking, he feels like he just can’t take it anymore. He knows he deserves it, but also can’t bear it. And he explains why next (v. 2):  

2  For your arrows have sunk into me, 

and your hand has come down on me. 

3  There is no soundness in my flesh 

because of your indignation; 

there is no health in my bones 

because of my sin. 

4  For my iniquities have gone over my head; 

like a heavy burden, they are too heavy for me. 

5  My wounds stink and fester 

because of my foolishness, 

6  I am utterly bowed down and prostrate; 

all the day I go about mourning. 

7  For my sides are filled with burning, 

and there is no soundness in my flesh. 

8  I am feeble and crushed; 

I groan because of the tumult of my heart.  

David is poetically and beautifully rendering a description of his utter and total misery. He’s describing both physical pain, and emotional pain. But it goes even deeper than that; David acknowledges two very important things here.

Firstly, David acknowledges that his pain comes from God. He says, YOUR arrows have sunk into me; YOUR hand has come down on me; there is no soundness in my flesh because of YOUR indignation. 

This runs counter to most advice Christians will naturally give one another these days—the advice the guy I spoke to recently received from his own Christian friends. Our natural response to someone who has sinned is one of compassion; and let’s be clear, that’s a good and admirable response. We should feel compassion for sinners, because we’re sinners too. But our compassion should never lead us to downplay the gravity of that sin, or cause us to excuse it.

Because God certainly doesn’t. Everything that God hates, he hates because of sin. And because God loves us, because God is gracious to his people, he disciplines us. Because he loves us, he will not allow us to go back into the prison from which he freed us. He will use whatever means necessary to make us hate sin as much as he does.

Which of course is the second thing David acknowledges: God’s indignation is a result of his own sin. V. 3: There is no soundness in my flesh because of your indignation; there is no health in my bones because of MY SIN. David’s not blaming God for his suffering; he is affirming that God is right to be disciplining him, because he has sinned against him.

David doesn’t say exactly which sin he committed to bring this situation about; and he doesn’t give any details about how his sickness is related to the sin he committed, if that is even the case.

In the end it doesn’t matter. What matters is that David’s suffering has opened his eyes; because of his suffering, David is now aware that his sin is more grievous than he had imagined. His suffering has made him aware of the weight of his own sin. V. 4: For my iniquities have gone over my head; like a heavy burden, they are too heavy for me. 

This was not the case before. It’s not as if David was terrified of a lion and, in his terror, still stuck his head in the lion’s mouth. No one sins against God with a full and heavy awareness of sin’s horror. We sin against God when we take sin lightly. When we see it as less serious than it is. 

But now, because of what he has been suffering, David understands more clearly. He has an actual, visible, tangible picture of how terrible sin is. 5  My wounds stink and fester because of my foolishness, 6  I am utterly bowed down and prostrate; all the day I go about mourning. How terrible is my sin? As terrible as my suffering, and even worse.

The Humble Sinner (v. 9-14)

Up to now, David has merely spoken of the suffering that has come to him from what he himself has done. But in v. 9, he turns to suffering which comes from outside. And he does so while humbly accepting this too as part of God’s discipline.

9  O Lord, all my longing is before you; 

my sighing is not hidden from you. 

10  My heart throbs; my strength fails me, 

and the light of my eyes—it also has gone from me. 

11  My friends and companions stand aloof from my plague, 

and my nearest kin stand far off. 

12  Those who seek my life lay their snares; 

those who seek my hurt speak of ruin 

and meditate treachery all day long. 

In v. 9, David submits himself to God in humility. We see this because of the way he addresses God. He doesn’t call God by his name (Yahweh, most often translated in English by the word “LORD” in capital letters), but rather by his title: “Lord”, or to put it another way, “Master.” He is placing himself in God’s hands with what he is enduring, and with the growing threats around him.

Because there are threats. There are those who seek his life, and they are laying their snares. They are thinking about how they can best trap him. 

And not only that: he now finds himself completely alone. V. 11: My friends and companions stand aloof from my plague, and my nearest kin stand far off. Sadly, this is often a natural result of our sin—when our friends find out what we’re really like, they often leave. 

Now obviously, David is going to respond to his situation, beginning in v. 15. But before he gets to that response, we see another, less obvious response. I say it’s less obvious because it is so far from the way we often respond to our sin. David doesn’t go on the defensive; he doesn’t try to deflect, by pointing out the sins of those who are accusing him, or of those who have left him.

Instead, he just takes it.

V. 13:  

13  But I am like a deaf man; I do not hear, 

like a mute man who does not open his mouth. 

14  I have become like a man who does not hear, 

and in whose mouth are no rebukes. 

In 1656, the Puritan pastor and theologian John Owen wrote what is probably the most well-known book about fighting sin in our lives, called The Mortification of Sin in Believers. In this book, he breaks down what the Bible says about putting our sin to death, and one of the most important things he says—the thing that has always stuck with me the most—is this. 

He says, “Take heed you not speak peace to yourself before God speaks it… [It] is the great prerogative and sovereignty of God to give grace to whom he pleases… [and] As God creates [peace] for whom he pleases, so it is the prerogative of Christ to speak it home to the conscience...” 

In other words, there are times when we need to feel the weight of our sin, and we shouldn’t make efforts to push that feeling away too quickly, no matter how uncomfortable it is. To not feel the weight of our sin is to run the risk of repeating it, because we took it too lightly.

David doesn’t do this. Although he is weighed down nearly to the point of breaking, he doesn’t fight it. He takes it—from God and from others around him. He doesn’t try to defend himself against man, and he doesn’t try to defend himself against God, because he knows that he actually does deserve what he is suffering—and he knows that in due time, God will pull him out of it.

waiting for his rescue (v. 15-22) 

And that is where David concludes his psalm. He doesn’t try to defend himself or brush aside his guilt too quickly. He humbly places himself under God’s discipline.

Now of course when you talk like this, there is a risk that you will stop there, at v. 14. You might be tempted to say, “I’m getting what I deserve, so I’m just going to stay there.” And what you have left at the end is depression and hopelessness. In other words, it is possible to think rightly about your sin, and to forget to put your faith at work in that moment.

David doesn’t do that. In that moment—in the thick of God’s discipline—he shows us what faith looks like.

David says (v. 15), 

15  But for you, O Lord, do I wait; 

it is you, O Lord my God, who will answer. 

16  For I said, “Only let them not rejoice over me, 

who boast against me when my foot slips!” 

17  For I am ready to fall, 

and my pain is ever before me. 

18  I confess my iniquity; 

I am sorry for my sin. 

19  But my foes are vigorous, they are mighty, 

and many are those who hate me wrongfully. 

20  Those who render me evil for good 

accuse me because I follow after good. 

21  Do not forsake me, O Lord! 

O my God, be not far from me! 

22  Make haste to help me, 

O Lord, my salvation! 

You see, rather than desperately seeking to find a solution to his problem, David proclaims that he will wait for God. He asks God to come—he even asks God to hurry—and help him…and he says, “Until you come, until you help me, I will wait.”

Do you see the difference between what David does and what we so often do? When we realize we have sinned, our gut reaction is far too often to run. For example, we run to Romans 8 (There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ…) and we say to ourselves, “Since there is no condemnation for me in Christ, everything’s okay.”

But that’s not what David does. David says, “Father, I’m waiting for you. Come help me.” That’s what faith looks like in that moment. 

I’m not saying we shouldn’t run to Romans 8 in a moment like that; but there is a particular way to run. It’s one thing to say, “Since there is no condemnation for me in Christ, everything’s okay,” and quite another to say, “Father, I believe there is no condemnation in Christ, and I am waiting for you to speak this truth to my soul. And until you do, I’ll wait for you; please let your discipline do its work.”

That’s what David does. Why? Because he knows that at any moment, what happened to him before could happen to him again. He knows that the only refuge he has from future sin is the grace of God to protect him from it. That’s why he says in v. 17, I am ready to fall, and why he continues in v. 18 by confessing his sin. 

He places himself in God’s hands, waiting for God to come and apply grace to his heart, because he knows that he doesn’t have to strength to put his own sin to death. He doesn’t have the strength to dig himself out of the ditch he’s fallen into. 15  But for you, O Lord, do I wait; it is you, O Lord my God, who will answer… 21  Do not forsake me, O Lord! O my God, be not far from me! 22  Make haste to help me, O Lord, my salvation! 

You see, there is nowhere else David can go—not if he actually wants to change. If he wants to ignore the gravity of his sin and simply brush it aside, he can easily do that. But if he wants to change, that change cannot come from him. It must come from God.

So he waits. And he trusts that no matter how it feels right now, God is coming to his rescue. God will speak peace to his heart. God will defend him; God will raise him up; God will heal him. 

In the meantime, David is waiting. And so must we.

You can see why this psalm is hard for us. It’s painful to read. But it’s honest—far more honest than we usually are with God. Think of how easily we forgive ourselves. Think of how quick we are to say, “Oh no, I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry, help me to do better,” and then how quick we are to just move on and go about our lives as if it never happened.

And we wonder why we keep falling into the same sin time after time—it’s like taking some ibuprofen to get rid of cancer; it may help a bit with the pain, but it will do nothing to actually kill the disease. For that, we need something stronger.

But first we need to know we need something stronger. And that’s why God disciplines us; that’s why he allows us to suffer the consequences of our sin, and why sometimes he lets us suffer things that have nothing to do with our sin, but which open our eyes to the actual state of our souls. Our sin is far worse than we imagine—and God disciplines us to help us see its seriousness.

When we realize that that’s what he’s doing, we can more easily see that his discipline is grace, not punishment. God is just, and if we have placed our faith in Christ, then God already punished Christ for our sin, in our place; he will not punish the same sin twice.

But discipline? Absolutely. God poured his wrath our on Christ, so there is no more wrath reserved for us. Christ went into the fire, so we don’t have to…but occasionally God lets us get close to the oven, to feel the heat coming off of it, so that we might understand the seriousness of our offense.

And if you’ve been through something like what David describes here, then you know the difference it makes. It’s one thing to realize your sin is bad. It’s another thing to feel the gravity of your sin because God is lovingly disciplining you for it. When that happens, God’s mercy and grace lay their roots in our hearts in a very different way, because we no longer see his grace as inconsequential or light; heavy as our sin is, his grace is heavier. Where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more.

In this psalm, David is showing us how to confront our own sin. So let me rephrase what David’s doing here as simply as I can, as encouragements for us.

• Don’t defend yourself, but confess your sins to your God.

• Don’t be in a hurry to feel better, but wait for God to come to your rescue and speak peace to your soul.

• Don’t look for comfort; look for change.

Some of you I know quite well; others of you I know less well. But I don’t need to know you well to know that there are some of you here who actively identify with what David is describing in this psalm. The pain he’s feeling, you feel it. You feel the weight of your sin and your guilt, and you feel like you’re about to break under the weight of it. If that is you, don’t go on the defensive; don’t try to resist it, and don’t be in too big a hurry to make it go away. Humble yourselves before God, confess your sin, and wait for him. Trust that he is coming to your rescue, and that his conviction of your sin is a gift.

And I know there are others of you who know you have sinned, but who are resisting the Spirit’s conviction with everything in you, because you don’t want to feel it. You don’t want to feel burdened down by it, and endure the pain of your guilt.

If that’s you, understand something: you will never understand the good news of the gospel—of what Christ did for you—until you know, in your guts, the horror of your sin. If you resist that realization, not only will you not truly confess your sin today, but you will all the more easily fall into it again tomorrow, because why not? You think it’s not that big a deal.

Friends: if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. This could not be more serious.

So if this is you, I’ll encourage you—I’ll implore you—to do the same thing I told the others. Humble yourselves before God, confess your sin, and wait for him. Don’t resist the pain of your guilt, because only when you feel it will you understand why Christ’s sacrifice for you is such a gift. And only then will you actually take the fight against your sin seriously enough to put it to death.

I’m sure you noticed that we didn’t have a time of confession before the message; that’s because we’re going to take it now. I’m going to give us all a minute or two in silence, to examine ourselves and confess our sin to God—to humble ourselves before his justice and recognize our need for a Savior. And then after that, we will come back and remind ourselves of what our Savior did for us to free us from our sin, by taking Communion together.

…

Now, I know what some of you may be feeling—like all of this has reinforced an idea many Christians have without thinking about it. It’s that impression people have that God hates you, and is only taking you because he said he would. And that it’s the same for the rest of us: that if we knew even a tenth of what you were actually like, we’d ask you to leave.

This is why people feel they have to get themselves “cleaned up” before coming to church, that they have to pretend—put on a nice mask, say everything’s fine, and hope no one notices you’re not doing as well as you thought.

I hope you can see that passages like Psalm 38 should disabuse us of this idea.

We talked a few weeks ago about Psalm 23, about God leading us beside still waters and restoring our soul… This place should be the place were we feel that, above all other things. This is not the place where you should have to brace yourself, where you feel like you need to put your armor on before walking in the door. This is the place where if you are wounded, if you are grieved by your own sin, if you are disgusted with yourself…you are right at home with us. Because we all have the same sin in our hearts, and we have all received the same grace from our Lord to forgive it. 

That is what Communion is all about.

We have bread, and we have juice, which represent Christ’s body which was broken for us, and Christ’s blood which was shed for us. And when we take these elements together, after confessing our sins before God, we are reminding ourselves and each other that Christ’s sacrifice is sufficient to cover all of our sin. That no one who has faith in Christ is excluded from this family, because it is only his faith which saves us.

After falling to our knees to confess our sin before God, Communion is the time when collectively, the church is meant to pick you back up, put your arms over our shoulders, and say, “We’ll help carry you.”