Why We Sing (Psalm 95)

I’ll be honest with you—there is a part of every church service that, all my life, has made me moderately uncomfortable. And that is the part of the service in which we sing.

It’s sort of a strange thing to do, isn’t it? Plenty of us enjoy singing, and many of us do it when we’re alone, but I’ve tried to think of other situations in ordinary life in which people sing when they’re assembled in a group, and there aren’t many. People sing “Happy Birthday” at a birthday party. People sing “We Are the Champions” or that “Oooooohh-oooohhh” chant at football games. People sing the national anthem on national holidays (or at football games). People sing along with their favorite songs at concerts or clubs.

I’m sure there are other situations in which people do this, but none of them quite resemble what we do when we gather together to worship. When we come to church, we stand, usually all facing the same direction, and we sing together. And unless you’re going to a church that is—let’s face it—more of a concert than a church, the songs we sing aren’t party songs like “We Are the Champions”—we’re not singing these songs because they’re catchy. Often the songs are slow, and old, and not particularly easy.

And the songs are always about the same thing. They’re about God, and who he is, and what he has done.

But we have other ways of talking about God, and who he is, and what he has done. We have the Bible, which we read. We have prayer, in which we speak to God by repeating what the Bible has said. We have study and discussion, in which we try to get to the bottom of what the Bible means.

The songs come in, it would seem, from two places: from the long tradition of God’s people singing about him for millennia, and from the Psalms, which is the original songbook of God’s people.

But that still doesn’t answer the question I asked myself when I was a kid: WHY do we sing? Why do we stand together and sing several songs whenever we gather?

There are a lot of answers to that question, but this psalm in particular gives us two very good ones. The first answer is quite easy to see, but the second is a little trickier. So we’re going to have one point on the first answer, and two on the second.

Why do we sing? First answer:

Reason 1: We Sing to Awaken Our Affection for God (v. 1-7).

In v. 1-7, we see essentially the same thing twice. The first is a call to worship (specifically in song), and the second is the grounds for our worship. And in the call for us to sing praises to God, the psalmist gives us particular characteristics of worship that should be there.

V. 1:

Oh come, let us sing to the LORD;
      let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation!
            2       Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving;
      let us make a joyful noise to him with songs of praise!

So the first thing we see here is that when we sing, we ought to sing with joy. Make a joyful noise, he says, to the rock of our salvation. Make a joyful noise with songs of praise.

Next he says that we should be thankful. “Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving,” he says in v. 2.

And he thirdly, the psalmist says our worship should be characterized by humility. V. 6:

6       Oh come, let us worship and bow down;
      let us kneel before the LORD, our Maker!

Why should our songs be characterized by joy, by thanksgiving, by humility? The simple answer is that those emotions are the proper response to who God is.

The psalmist goes back and forth between invitations to worship in a certain way—with joy, with thanksgiving, with humility—and the reasons why God deserves that kind of worship. He says, first of all, in v. 1, that God is “the rock of our salvation”. All of our hopes for a life of meaning, a life in which we are fulfilling the reason why we were created, an eternal life of peace and happiness and fulfillment—all of these hopes are resting on him, and he will make good on our hopes. He is the rock of our salvation, a solid foundation for our hope.

Then we see (v. 3):

3       For the LORD is a great God,
      and a great King above all gods.
4       In his hand are the depths of the earth;
      the heights of the mountains are his also.
            5       The sea is his, for he made it,
      and his hands formed the dry land.

Our great God, who is King above all authorities on earth, is the Creator and sustainer of the earth itself. From the deepest ocean trench to the highest mountain, the seas and the land are all his and all come from him. And what he created, he sustains.

Think about how many intricate things have to go right in order for us to take a breath every second. If you’re breathing in right now, if your heart is beating, it is because God is sustaining your life. And that is true of every thing on this earth; if God decides to let the earth tilt on its axis by a single degree, all life is over. All of existence is in his hand. If we’re here, we have reason for joy; we have reason to be thankful; we have reason to be humble, because we’re here—we exist. This is something everyone can say.

But the psalmist goes even further than that. Look at v. 7:

7       For he is our God,
      and we are the people of his pasture,
      and the sheep of his hand.

This is something that not everyone can say. Everyone can find reason for gratitude in God’s care for the earth he created, but not everyone can say that God is my God, and I am one of his people. He is not just the God over all the earth; he is our God, and we are his people. The psalmist calls us “the sheep of his hand”. God cares for us, the way a shepherd cares for his sheep, and far beyond.

It’s not for nothing that this description of God carried over to Jesus when he came. Jesus called himself the Good Shepherd, who lays down his life for his sheep (John 10.11). He lived the obedient life we should have lived; he took our disobedience on himself; he was punished for our sin; and he gave us his perfect life in exchange. This Shepherd’s care for his sheep goes far beyond the care of an ordinary shepherd; he takes the place of his sheep, letting the danger come to him instead of to them.

If you here have placed your faith in Christ for your salvation, then you are his people; this God is your God, and he will continue to care for you the way he already has cared for you in Christ.

We sing to express things, and to feel things, we don’t ordinarily get to express. I grew up watching Old Hollywood musicals. They’re silly, sure—but there is something satisfying about watching Gene Kelly fall in love with Debbie Reynolds, then walk outside in the rain and feel so overwhelmed with happiness at finding her that he just starts singing and dancing in the rain. Or seeing Oliver Twist mourning the absence of his mother and letting out his grief in song, in the basement of a funeral home. They let themselves do that in these musicals (and it helps that an orchestra is always with them, playing the background music). There’s a part of us that sort of wishes life works that way, that we could do the same thing—that we could express grief or joy or gratitude or humility in this emotionally-charged way.

Well, when we come together to worship, that’s essentially what we’re doing: we’re letting the reality of our situation drive us to the response that we can’t have when we’re just out walking in the streets. We think about who he is and what he has done, we lift our eyes to him…and we can sing. We’re not alone, so we don’t have to feel weird about it. And we have musicians playing along with us (like we never do in our day-to-day lives), so we won’t get lost.

We sing because he is that good; we sing because we need to feel that he is that good.

But that’s not the only reason why. But before we get to that second reason, we need to look at the next four verses, because they can be a bit disorienting.

Warning: Do Not Harden Your Hearts (v. 7b-11)

At the end of v. 7, there is a fairly dramatic change in tone. Up until now, it has been nothing but calls to worship God, and reasons why we should do so. But at the end of v. 7, there is a command, accompanied by a warning.

v. 7b:

Today, if you hear his voice,
            8       DO NOT HARDEN YOUR HEARTS, as at Meribah,
      as on the day at Massah in the wilderness,
            9       when your fathers put me to the test
      and put me to the proof, though they had seen my work.
            10       For forty years I loathed that generation
      and said, “They are a people who go astray in their heart,
      and they have not known my ways.”
            11       Therefore I swore in my wrath,
      “They shall not enter my rest.”

So this part of the psalm references something that happened to the people of Israel earlier in their history, in Exodus 17. In this passage, God has just rescued the people of Israel from slavery in Egypt; he has miraculously brought them through the Red Sea, and led them into the wilderness. At this point, he has already provided miraculous food for them, and provided water. But now they’ve moved on to a new part of the wilderness; God is still providing food, but there is no water for the people to drink.

It’s surprising how quickly desperation can take hold: even though they’ve seen God’s provision for them, and recently, the mere idea that they might go without water is enough to make them wonder whether his provision will continue. So they quarrel with Moses, saying, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and our livestock with thirst?” So God tells Moses to take his staff and go to a certain rock. Moses does what God tells him to do: he strikes the rock, and water begins to come out of it.

Moses named the place “Massah and Meribah,” because Massah, translated, means “testing,” and Meribah means “quarreling”.

So why did the people “harden their hearts” against God? Simply put, because they were thirsty (physically), and they lost sight of God’s promises of provision because of their need. That’s all. Though they had seen his work (v. 9), they doubted.

And the consequences, according to the psalm, were dire: that generation of Hebrews didn’t enter the rest of the Promised Land.

But here’s what’s interesting. This consequence, of being unable to enter the Promised Land, didn’t happen because the people doubted God at Massah and Meribah. God doesn’t say, “Because you grumbled about water, you won’t enter the Promised Land.” He doesn’t say it here, and he doesn’t say it much later in Numbers 20, when the exact same thing happens again.

But if you read the rest of the book Exodus, and Leviticus, and Numbers, and Deuteronomy—which every Israelite at the time this psalm was written would have known well—you see that the hardening of the people’s hearts at Meribah and Massah in Exodus 17 wasn’t an isolated event. This was the beginning of a pattern that continued.

We get a little closer to the root of this pattern if we look at Hebrews 3, where this psalm is extensively quoted.

Let’s just read Hebrews 3.12-19:

12 Take care, brothers, lest there be in any of you an evil, unbelieving heart, leading you to fall away from the living God. 13 But exhort one another every day, as long as it is called “today,” that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin. 14 For we have come to share in Christ, if indeed we hold our original confidence firm to the end. 15 As it is said,
                  “Today, if you hear his voice,
                  do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion.” [There’s Psalm 95.7-8.]
16 For who were those who heard and yet rebelled? Was it not all those who left Egypt led by Moses? 17 And with whom was he provoked for forty years? Was it not with those who sinned, whose bodies fell in the wilderness? 18 And to whom did he swear that they would not enter his rest, but to those who were disobedient? 19 So we see that they were unable to enter because of unbelief.

Why were they unable to enter their rest? It wasn’t because they doubted one time when they were thirsty. It’s because they came to have evil, unbelieving hearts that led them to fall away from the living God. They didn’t enter their rest because of unbelief.

So that is the warning of the second half of this psalm—don’t fall into unbelief like the Hebrews did in the wilderness. God has provided rest for his people in Christ; he is a great God, and a great King above all gods; in his hand are the depths of the earth; the heights of the mountains are his also. The sea is his, for he made it, and his hands formed the dry land. He is our God, and we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand.

So don’t be like the Hebrews. Don’t be so focused on the difficulty in front of you that your hearts become hardened to the God who has provided everything for you in Christ. Do not let yourself have an evil, unbelieving heart, leading you to fall away from the living God. Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.

Reason 2: We Sing to Protect Ourselves Against Unbelief.

So here’s the question we need to ask. What do the first half of Psalm 95 and the second half of Psalm 95 have to do with each other? Why do v. 1-7 come before this warning in v. 8-11?

And here, I think, is the answer. Remember that the psalms are songs, meant to be sung by God’s people when they are gathered together to worship. Several things happen during these assemblies—God’s people will pray; they will hear the Word of God preached; they will encourage one another; and yes, they will sing. That means that if the priests (for the Israelites) and the pastors (for the Christian church today) do their jobs, then God’s people will be constantly reminded of who he is. They will be constantly reminded of what he has done. They will be constantly be reminded of the glory he deserves.

And there will always be a right way and a wrong way to respond to what we hear.

Both the right way and the wrong way are present in this psalm. We see the wrong way described in the second half—it is unbelief. And it’s scary, how easily unbelief can creep in, without our even being aware of it. How easy is it for us to listen to a sermon, or listen to Scripture being read aloud, and barely register the words, and feel nothing? How easy is it to hear the Bible itself—the Word of God—read aloud, and in the back of our minds have a voice that says, “Yeah, I don’t know.” We’d never say it out loud, but it happens all the time.

So here is why the two halves of this psalm fit together so perfectly. I said earlier that there are two reasons why we sing. The first is that we sing because God deserves it; that’s what we saw in the first half of the psalm. The second reason why we sing is because singing together in gathered worship to God is a weapon against unbelief. That’s what we see in the second half, and that is why this warning is given.

So here’s the question: how do we protect ourselves from unbelief? How do we protect ourselves from hardness of heart?

We sing the way he told us to in v. 1-7. If you’ve got the story of Israel in the back of your minds when you read the beginning of this psalm, you see that the psalmist is reminding us of everything the Israelites forgot: that God is a great God, that he is sovereign over all creation, and that he cares for his people, as a shepherd cares for his sheep.

So there is a way to sing that feeds our faith, that feeds our affections for God, that protects us from unbelief and hardness of heart.

I thought long and hard about how to describe this way we are called to sing, but in community group this week one of our members put it perfectly: he said that this psalm is an invitation to worship actively. Most of us, when we worship, are very passive. We let the words come up on the screen, and we sing along when the people leading worship show us when to sing.

But that’s a far cry from the way the psalmist calls us to sing. He says, “Make a joyful noise to the Lord”—he doesn’t just say, “Make noise.” He says, “Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving”—he doesn’t just say, “Come into his presence.” He says, “Let us worship and bow down”—he doesn’t just say, “Get on your knees.”

He’s inviting us to make a choice: to expose ourselves to the revelation of who God is, and to remind ourselves, actively, that God should make us joyful; that we should be thankful; that we should be awed and humbled by his power.

God wants us to worship in a way that makes us feel something. A video went sort of viral a few months ago; it showed John Piper reading a prayer that was written by ChatGPT. It was a beautiful prayer, in which the gospel was elaborately laid out. After reading the prayer, he asked the crowd, “Is this worship?” And then he answered with a resounding “NO.” Why? Because computers can formulate words better than we can, but they don’t feel anything. A computer can make noise, but it can’t be joyful. It can’t be thankful. It can’t be humble.

That is the exclusive domain of creatures who were made in the image of God and who are moved to love and affection when we remind ourselves in song of who God is and why he has been so good to us.

So think about this (and I’ll close): when you sing, how do you sing? I’m not talking about how loud you are, or whether you raise your hands, or whether or not you clap; those things will vary greatly from person to person. I’m talking about what you feel when you sing. When you sing to God, do you think about what you’re singing? When you sing to God, are you aware that you’re singing to God? When a song calls you to be joyful, are you reminding yourself of why you should be joyful? Are you allowing yourself to be reminded by the song, and by your brothers and sisters around you, why you should be thankful? Why you should be humble?

We sing because we need what our corporate worship provides. We need more fuel for our souls than “Happy Birthday” or “We Are the Champions” provide. We sing together because singing together gives us the opportunity to feed right affections for God in ourselves—joy, and thankfulness, and humility, and many others. And we sing because when we expose ourselves to the truth of who God is, we strengthen our faith; we protect ourselves against unbelieving hearts that will, eventually, lead us away from him.

So let us sing actively. Let us sing consciously. Let us sing with feeling. He deserves it, and we need it.

God’s Vengeance and Discipline (Psalm 94)

Those of you who know me know that I love movies. The revenge film is a peculiar subset of cinema that I enjoy. I won’t make a list, but a good recent example is the John Wick series. At its core, it’s a simple story: a man named John Wick has just lost his wife to cancer, and just before her death she gave him a little dog. This dog is his final memory of his wife. One night, a gang comes, breaks into his house, steals his car, and in the scuffle, a member of the gang kills the little dog.

So John Wick—who happens to be an ex-professional assassin—takes his revenge.

There’s a reason why people like revenge movies: it’s quite satisfying to see someone who has been wronged get back at the people who wronged him.

But there’s always a problem in revenge movies, and that is that the revenge always goes wrong, or at least off the rails. Even if only one person killed his dog, and only four people broke into his house, John Wick ends up killing about a hundred people. These films, even though they can be satisfying on multiple levels, show why men are not able to manage vengeance well.

God, on the other hand, is more than able to handle it.

We see at the end of Psalm 93—the psalm that came just before today’s text—that “your decrees are very trustworthy, and holiness befits your house, O Lord, forevermore.” At its core, vengeance is a good thing, because it is justice rendered against an injustice committed. Men are not well-suited to render justice in the right way, because we are also unjust. That’s why we have laws and judges, to keep us from rendering justice in the wrong way. But God is a perfectly holy, perfectly just God, so when he renders justice, it is always well measured, always perfect.

It’s really important to know this, because the question of injustice is a constant in the Bible. Injustice—of any kind—is an affront against the God of the universe, a crime that takes on cosmic proportions.

With that in mind, let’s begin our reading. We don’t know exactly what situation brought on the writing of Psalm 94, but it doesn’t matter—from Genesis 3 on, the situation he describes is always current.

The Wicked Deserve Judgment (v. 1-7)

O LORD, God of vengeance,
      O God of vengeance, shine forth!
            2       Rise up, O judge of the earth;
      repay to the proud what they deserve!
            3       O LORD, how long shall the wicked,
      how long shall the wicked exult?
            4       They pour out their arrogant words;
      all the evildoers boast.
            5       They crush your people, O LORD,
      and afflict your heritage.
            6       They kill the widow and the sojourner,
      and murder the fatherless;
            7       and they say, “The LORD does not see;
      the God of Jacob does not perceive.”

In these first verses, the psalmist isn’t talking about “ordinary” sinners. He’s not talking about the guy who cheated on his taxes or had an extra-marital affair. The psalmist is talking about those people whom we would consider the “big bads”—the enemies of God’s people, the oppressors of the weak.

These people, he says, deserve God’s judgment because of their pride; because they exult in their power and pour out arrogant words.

They deserve God’s judgment because they crush God’s people.

They deserve God’s judgment because they murder people who can’t protect themselves—the widow, the foreigner, the orphan.

And throughout it all, they imagine that they can do it with impunity—they deserve God’s judgment because they don’t believe God is watching, and they mock God’s people because they seem to continue to act with no consequences. “The Lord does not see,” they say. “The God of Jacob does not perceive.”

Think of those people throughout history who have amassed power for themselves, and who, because of their power, imagine themselves above the law, imagine themselves above all authority, and who act in their own selfish interests, to the detriment of anyone in their way, because they think that no one will be able to stop them.

Of course no one’s power lasts forever. Every wicked empire sees its end eventually. But that’s little consolation to those who are oppressed by them.

So it is normal and right for the oppressed to cry out to God, and to ask him the blunt question the psalmist asks here: O Lord, how long shall the wicked exult? God, how long can this go on? How long can these wicked people continue to murder and oppress the weak?

In our day, it’s more fashionable to say that we should pray for the wicked, that God would love them—and there is a place for that. God can save whomever he likes, and if the wicked come to Christ in faith, we will be happy about that.

Even so, we have to see that that’s not all the Bible says on the matter. It is normal to ask God to rise up and judge these wicked leaders, to give them what they deserve for their wickedness.

But what’s interesting here is that after asking God to judge the wicked, the psalmist turns to speak to the wicked themselves.

God Is Watching and Acting (v. 8-11)

The first thing the psalmist says to these wicked rulers is that they’re wrong. They say, “The Lord does not see; the God of Jacob does not perceive.”

But (v. 8):

8       Understand, O dullest of the people!
      Fools, when will you be wise?
            9       He who planted the ear, does he not hear?
                  He who formed the eye, does he not see?

It is complete madness to imagine that we’re able to pull a fast one on God, the Creator of all things. A creator is, by his nature, more complex and more knowledgeable than his creation. The Creator of ears can hear—of course. The Creator of eyes can see—of course. You could ask a little child the questions in verse 9, and they’ll answer correctly.

Which is why the psalmist calls these arrogant rulers “the dullest of the people,” and “fools.” For all their perceived intelligence, they are missing the most obvious thing.

But God doesn’t just see; he doesn’t just hear. V. 10:

10       He who disciplines the nations, does he not rebuke?
                  He who teaches man knowledge—
            11       the LORD—knows the thoughts of man,
      that they are but a breath.

God rebukes the nations.

We may have a hard time seeing that when we look at it from where we are, because we only see what’s in front of us now. But if we’re able to take a step back, we can see it clearly.

Throughout Israel’s history, what do we see? We see Israel’s enemies punished in the Old Testament, and we see Israel herself disciplined when she rejects God.

And if we look further than that, we can see the same thing. The fall of the Roman Empire. The fall of the Third Reich. No evil lasts forever. God is a just God, and he rebukes the nations.

It’s really important to see what the psalmist is doing here—and I thought about saying this earlier, but I wanted to bring our attention to it at this point in the psalm, because it’s easy to get lost.

Every psalm serves multiple purposes at the same time. At their root, the psalms are songs meant to be sung in the assembly—they are songs of worship. But at the same time, they are teaching tools. Every parent knows that one of the most effective way to teach children anything is through songs—songs with repeated phrases and melodies that they can sing and memorize and remember later. That’s what’s happening here.

But the way the psalmist is going about it is interesting, because in v. 8-11, in the song he is speaking directly to these wicked rulers, telling them how foolish they are to imagine that they can continue practicing wickedness and that God won’t notice or do anything about it.

Why is the psalmist doing that? He knows that—more than likely—these wicked rulers won’t be in the assembly singing with the rest of God’s people. They’re not going to hear these things.

You see, the psalmist’s pedagogy is very creative. These words are for God’s people, to help them to see much bigger than they would see on their own. What would they see on their own? They would see the oppression that they or people they love are enduring. And in calling out the wicked here, the psalmist is lifting their eyes higher than that. He’s giving the people confidence—that God sees and God hears and God acts.

You see, the psalm is doing exactly what v. 10 tells us God does. What does he do? He “teaches men knowledge”. There is no one better suited to take on this task, because he knows the thoughts of man. Our Creator knows us better than we know ourselves. He knows what we are capable of, and he also knows what we need.

And it is to this aspect of God’s discipline—his good discipline, for the good of his people—that the psalmist turns next.

God’s Discipline Is a Blessing (v. 12-15)

So now, the focus turns away from the wicked rulers who are threatened with God’s rebuke, and onto God’s people, who are “blessed.” V. 12:

12       Blessed is the man whom you discipline, O LORD—

Stop there for just a second. This sounds like a contradiction of what came before. V. 10— “He who disciplines the nations, does he not rebuke?” And now, suddenly: “Blessed is the man whom you discipline, O Lord.”

We’ve got to be clear in our definitions, because people always ask the question. They’re going through a painful situation, and they ask me, “What did I do? Is God punishing me?”

The answer is both simple and…not so simple. Sometimes we suffer just because we live in a world that has been tainted by sin. But sometimes we suffer the consequences of things we have done, and God never promises his people that these consequences won’t come.

When we speak about “the discipline of God”, we’re talking about a consequence that comes from God because of sin that we have committed, OR a correction that comes because there is a danger of sin that we need to be prepared for.

It’s important that we see that God can do the same thing, for two very different reasons, and with different results. God’s discipline can produce different things, depending on his goal in disciplining, and the way people respond to it.

Let’s take two examples from the Bible. The first is the Pharaoh in Egypt, in the book of Exodus. When God sends Moses to call the Pharaoh to let the people go, what does the Pharaoh do? He hardens his heart. So God rebuked him—he disciplined him, sending the plagues against Egypt. In the end, the Pharaoh didn’t respond to this rebuke in the right way; he hardened his heart until the end, and ended up losing everything for it.

Now, compare that to one of my favorite stories from the Bible. We find it in the book of Daniel, chapter 4. The King of Babylon, Nebuchadnezzar, is profoundly proud of the massive and powerful kingdom he has built. He’s arrogant and prideful. And to discipline him for his pride, one day God causes the king to lose his mind. He is driven from his kingdom and lives outside like an animal for several years. 

Then one day, he lifts his eyes to heaven, and God puts a stop to it. The king’s reason comes back to him. He doesn’t forget the last several years of madness, but now he can think about it. And what does he do? He doesn’t curse God for making him go through this ordeal—he praises God. He says (Daniel 4.34-37):  

At the end of the days I, Nebuchadnezzar, lifted my eyes to heaven, and my reason returned to me, and I blessed the Most High, and praised and honored him who lives forever, 

for his dominion is an everlasting dominion, 

and his kingdom endures from generation to generation; 

35  all the inhabitants of the earth are accounted as nothing, 

and he does according to his will among the host of heaven 

and among the inhabitants of the earth; 

and none can stay his hand 

or say to him, “What have you done?” 

36 At the same time my reason returned to me, and for the glory of my kingdom, my majesty and splendor returned to me. My counselors and my lords sought me, and I was established in my kingdom, and still more greatness was added to me. 37 Now I, Nebuchadnezzar, praise and extol and honor the King of heaven, for all his works are right and his ways are just; and those who walk in pride he is able to humble. 

When the king regained his mind, he could have responded like Pharaoh—I’ll bow to no one, I’ll surrender to no one, I am my own master. But that’s not what he did. When his mind returned to him, he humbled himself before God, and declared to all of Babylon  the good authority of God.

The difference is obvious. In the Pharaoh’s case, the discipline of the Lord was judgment against him. In Nebuchadnezzar’s case, the discipline of the Lord was instruction to him, teaching him to humble himself before God.

Both of those types of discipline are described in this psalm, sometimes even overlapping. For the wicked, God is a God of vengeance against their wickedness. For his people, God is a God of instruction—his discipline blesses them rather than punishing them.

That said, let’s pick up at v. 12 again:

      12       Blessed is the man whom you discipline, O LORD,
      and whom you teach out of your law,
            13       to give him rest from days of trouble,
      until a pit is dug for the wicked.
            14       For the LORD will not forsake his people;
      he will not abandon his heritage;
            15       for justice will return to the righteous,
      and all the upright in heart will follow it.

There are several things here that are really important to understanding how God’s discipline for his people is different from the punishment the psalmist prayed for at the beginning.

First, God’s discipline to his people is given in accordance with his law: the man who is disciplined by God is taught “out of his law”. In this context that means the law of Moses, but more broadly speaking, God’s law is the revelation of his character to his people. That means that everything God tells us to do and not to do, he tells us because he wants his people to be like him. He wants his people to reflect his own character. And when his people deviate from what he tells us, and consequences come, those consequences aren’t meant to punish us, but to teach us—to show us why God’s law, God’s character, God’s ways, are better than ours.

Secondly, God’s discipline is a means of protection for his people. Blessed is the man whom you discipline, whom you teach out of your law, to give him rest from days of trouble, until a pit is dug for the wicked. So here we have both of these things coming back together: positive discipline for God’s people, catastrophic discipline for the wicked. The same righteous character that demands judgment for the wicked provides protection for God’s people. Following God’s instruction leads to rest and safety.

Thirdly—and perhaps the most reassuring—God’s people can count on this. The Lord will not forsake his people; he will not abandon his heritage (God’s people are often described as his heritage). How did the wicked rulers of the world treat God’s heritage? V. 5—they crush and afflict them. That is not how God treats them; he is faithful to them. V. 15 then: justice will return to the righteous, and all the upright in heart will follow it. If God remained inactive, then wickedness would continue totally unchecked among his people. But he is not inactive. He will provide for his people the holiness he requires.

So think about this for a minute. Look back at the earlier verses. The arrogance and the pride and the violence of the wicked are not just problems for them—the same sin that infects them infects all of us. But justice will return to the righteous, and the upright in heart will follow us.

This is a promise, and we see that promise fulfilled in a multitude of ways—but most ultimately, we see it fulfilled in Jesus Christ. When God sent Christ to live a perfect, sinless life for us, Christ lived out the justice God requires. And when he died for our sins, God poured out his perfect, just punishment against our sin—except he poured it out on Christ, instead of on us. God’s perfect justice is always, always, always fulfilled: either in the punishment of the wicked, or in his punishment of Christ in our place.

Justice has returned to us—so we, whose hearts have been made upright by God, follow it.

We Can Trust God’s Judgments (v. 16-23)

And this is where the psalmist has been bringing us this whole time. He may not have known exactly how justice would return to the righteous when he wrote this psalm, but he knew God would be faithful to do it. Which is why he ends his psalm victoriously. V. 16:

16       Who rises up for me against the wicked?
      Who stands up for me against evildoers?
            17       If the LORD had not been my help,
      my soul would soon have lived in the land of silence.
            18       When I thought, “My foot slips,”
      your steadfast love, O LORD, held me up.
            19       When the cares of my heart are many,
      your consolations cheer my soul.
            20       Can wicked rulers be allied with you,
      those who frame injustice by statute?
            21       They band together against the life of the righteous
      and condemn the innocent to death.
            22       But the LORD has become my stronghold,
      and my God the rock of my refuge.
            23       He will bring back on them their iniquity
      and wipe them out for their wickedness;
      the LORD our God will wipe them out.

I know all of this might seem hard to believe when we’re in the midst of suffering. But here’s what we need to remember: we may think things are bad, but we don’t know how bad they could be.  If the Lord hadn’t been our help, our soul would soon have lived in the land of silence. God doesn’t wantonly abandon his people, and he doesn’t condemn his people to senseless suffering. He disciplines his people for their good.

Do you see how realistic this is? The psalmist never claims that God protects his people from any and all pain. He freely admits that the cares of God’s people, especially his people living under great wickedness, are many. But what does he say? V. 19: When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul.

What exactly are the consolations God gives to his people?

His consolations are the promises that the Lord is there. He is a stronghold and a refuge for us. He will not let injustice go unanswered. He exercises perfect judgment on all sin, and he holds our feet from slipping in the meantime.

Conclusion: learning Perspective

So before we end, we need to ask ourselves: What is the goal of this psalm? The answer to that question is, perspective.

I can’t tell you the number of times newly married couples have called me, simply devastated, over a problem in their marriage. I listen to them, and I get it: the pain and disappointment we can find in a marriage are genuine, and very frightening.

The thing is, I’ve been married for twenty-two years now. I have a slightly different perspective than someone who’s been married for twenty-two weeks, or months.

The reason why these situations are so scary for them is because they’re new. They’ve never gone through anything like that before; they don’t yet know what’s normal and what isn’t, what’s manageable and what’s not.

It’s scary because it’s uncharted territory. But once you’ve lived decades of marriage, you see that it’s not unsolvable. It’s not nothing, but it’s normal. It’s a blip. Loanne and I can deal with the exact same situations today, and be a bit annoyed. But we don’t need to call anyone, and we’re not afraid. We’re fine—not because we’re wiser, but because we’ve been married for twenty-two years, and that gives us perspective, to see it for what it is. And the things that scare us today probably wouldn’t scare a couple who’s been married for fifty years.

Here’s the point: God’s people need a more elevated vision. We need perspective.

So many of us “suffer” over nothing. And others of us suffer over things that are incredible painful…but that are still finite and temporary.

In the scope of eternity, the century of difficulty we have to contend with on earth, while it is very real and very hard, is a mere blip on the timeline.

Yes, we suffer; but with that suffering comes the knowledge of everything that comes after.

With that suffering comes the knowledge of what God is doing in that suffering—that he’s disciplining us, not to punish us, but to help us grow, to make us more like him.

And with that suffering comes the knowledge of the eternal joy that we will have in Christ. Eternal joy in the presence of a holy God who will wipe away all traces of sin and its effects.

The fact that we are here, breathing, not in hell, is a sign of God’s love. It’s a sign of how good things really are. The fact that we are in this room, hearing God’s instruction from his Word, able to come into his presence without being incinerated, shows us his love. The fact that we have been given faith in Jesus Christ, and forgiveness for our sins, shows us not just how God loves us now, but how he will love us forever.

Our suffering is difficult, for sure.

But the consolations of God in Christ far outweigh anything we could suffer.

Even oppression.

Even enemies.

Even sickness.

Even sin.

Even death.

The Lord will not forsake his people; he will not abandon his heritage. When the cares of my heart are many, his consolations cheer my soul.

Fear and Joy (Psalm 97)

The well-known atheist philosopher Christopher Hitchens said:

I think it would be rather awful if [God existed]. If there was a permanent, total, round-the-clock divine supervision and invigilation of everything you did, you would never have a waking or sleeping moment when you weren’t being watched and controlled and supervised by some celestial entity from the moment of your conception to the moment of your death… It would be like living in North Korea.

Now, if we’re honest, most of us can sympathize with this. The idea of an all-powerful God watching our every move is a frightening one. And the interesting thing is, the Bible agrees with that estimation—it should be troublesome to us, at least in a certain way.

But that fear isn’t all there should be. Realizing that God is on the throne, and that he is in control, is a completely wonderful thing.

And that is what Psalm 97 is about.

Fearing His Reign (v. 1-5)

1 The Lord reigns, let the earth rejoice;

let the many coastlands be glad!

2  Clouds and thick darkness are all around him;

righteousness and justice are the foundation of his throne.

3  Fire goes before him

and burns up his adversaries all around.

4  His lightnings light up the world;

the earth sees and trembles.

5  The mountains melt like wax before the Lord,

before the Lord of all the earth.

So these are all inherently frightening images. Clouds and thick darkness surround him—clouds are often used as images of God’s glory in the Old Testament, and the darkness that surrounds him isn’t evil darkness; it speaks of the fact that God is transcendent. That on our own, man cannot see God, can’t fathom God, can’t understand God. He is completely above us, mysterious in his power.

And what is the essence of his power and authority? His righteousness and justice. God is perfectly righteous, morally pure in every way; and he is perfectly just. His righteousness and his justice are the foundation of his throne, the foundation of his reign.

And that is why (v. 3) Fire goes before him and burns up his adversaries all around. Nothing impure can stand in his presence.

God is not just good, but goodness itself. So if you are an adversary of God, you are necessarily an adversary of all that is good.

And if you are an adversary of all that is good, you don’t stand a chance against God.

I come from Florida, from a little town called Lakeland, which is (literally) the lightning capital of the world. In the summer, there are frequent, violent storms. And even indoors, in the comfort of your living room, when the lightning hits the ground just up the road from where you are, everything in the house trembles. The picture frames jitter on the walls; you can feel it in your gut.

This is the image the psalmist uses to describes God’s awesome power. 4 His lightnings light up the world; the earth sees and trembles.

An ordinary lightning strike, which can cause the walls of a house to tremble, is nothing compared to God’s power. Even the mountains tremble before him.

It’s a striking image, because mountains are, almost by definition, the strongest things the psalmist could have imagined at the time. But before God (v. 5), the mountains melt like wax. I’ve never seen a mountain melt—not literally. But people have witnessed volcanic eruptions. We were in the mountains a couple of weeks ago, and just before we got there, there was a massive storm that caused enormous mudslides that flooded the town at the bottom of the mountain, up to a meter high. They definitely felt like the mountain was melting down on top of them.

That’s the sort of image the psalmist is evoking here. The earth itself trembles before God’s mighty power.

And we should too. This feeling of powerlessness before God’s incredible power and righteousness is what the Bible means when it speaks of “the fear of the Lord”.

A couple of years ago my dad bought a new dog; even as a puppy she was already big. When we met her for the first time, I came to pet her, and she did what puppies do: she jumped up, licked my hand, then took my forearm into her mouth and gave it a playful tug, without actually biting down. I haven’t had a dog in a long time, so it was a lot of fun for me.

I let her do that, because she wasn’t going to hurt me; she’s just a puppy.

I would never have done that if she were a lion. Because a lion could have ripped me apart.

That’s what the psalmist is getting at here: God isn’t a puppy. He’s a lion. You don’t play around with a lion; you tremble before the power of a lion, even if it is sitting still and has no intention of eating you.

God is not cruel, but he is powerful—and the earth itself knows it.

Now here’s what’s interesting. One would think that being faced with a God this powerful would cause us to retreat, to hide, to want to get as far away from him as possible.

But that’s not the way the psalmist describes his reaction to God, or the people’s reaction to God.

Rather, he describes joy.

Look back at v. 1:

1 The Lord reigns, let the earth rejoice;

let the many coastlands be glad!

That is the tone for the rest of the psalm. God’s great power, and the fear we feel before him, does not drive us to cower, but to rejoice—to worship God.

Rejoicing in His Reign (v. 6-11)

6  The heavens proclaim his righteousness,

and all the peoples see his glory.

7  All worshipers of images are put to shame,

who make their boast in worthless idols;

worship him, all you gods!

Whether we know it or not, we can all see God’s glory. It’s as easy as going outside and looking up. Anyone who has seen a sunset, or the coming of a storm on the horizon, or the stars at night (not in Paris, obviously, because of light pollution—go out to the country and you’ll see it), has seen God’s glory.

So think of a sunset, and keep it in your mind for a minute. Try to picture it.

In the light of that picture, worshiping anything besides God is flat-out embarrassing.

We may not think we worship other gods, but idolatry is the biggest temptation any of us face. (You could even say that every temptation is, at its core, a temptation to idolatry.)

Idolatry is not limited to worshiping images; it is making anything else besides God the center of our lives and our desires.

And it’s surprising, the things which can take that place when we let that happen.

When I was nineteen, before I was a Christian, one of my best friends had her own apartment, and a group of us were always over at her place. We were like a little commune: we all had keys to the apartment, we all had things we left there, and at least two or three nights a week we’d end up sleeping on the floor. We spent countless hours on her balcony, eating and drinking and laughing and talking about everything and nothing.

For most of us, it was our first real taste of freedom, and it was intoxicating. Those people, and that place, became everything to me.

But no matter how much I loved them, no matter how much emotional space they took up in my heart, none of them could produce a sunset.

How easy it is for limited, finite things to become the center of all our thoughts and desires!

And it can be anything. A sports team. A TV show. A clean house. A comfortable salary. A family. A vacation. None of the things which occupy our minds and our hearts can ever be worth the space we give them.

And the skies above our heads would remind us of that fact, if only we’d look up.

Compared to the one who set the stars in place, worshiping any other god is simply ridiculous. All worshipers of images are put to shame…

That idolatry is what characterizes everyone who doesn’t know God.

But for God’s people—even though it’s still a struggle for us—it’s different. When we see God’s glory in created things, we are not put to shame. When we look at the skies, we see God’s glory, and are reminded of his reign; and for us, God’s reign is a reason for joy.

V. 8:

8  Zion hears and is glad,

and the daughters of Judah rejoice,

because of your judgments, O Lord.

9  For you, O Lord, are most high over all the earth;

you are exalted far above all gods.

There’s a lot of historical and theological weight at play here. When the psalmist talks about “Zion,” or “the daughters of Judah,” he is talking about God’s chosen people, the people of Israel. And it’s important to say it that way, because their joy was not rooted in some kind of theoretical or philosophical notions about what God might be like. Their joy was rooted in history—in what God had done for them.

Not only have they seen his glory in the natural world; they have seen his glory in person. God rescued them from slavery in Egypt. He cared for them in the wilderness. He gave them a land in which to dwell. He delivered them from their enemies. They have seen their God at work for them—they have seen his glory not only in the world, but in his very real, historical and personal goodness to them.

And we are no different.

We don’t know exactly when this psalm was written, but we know at least that it was some time during or after the time of Moses. Already, at that point in history, the people of Israel had the testimonies of their ancestors who had seen God at work for them in the past, and they could still see God at work for them in the present.

At our point in history—today, in 2025—we have the testimonies of our past brothers and sisters, who saw God come to earth in the person of Jesus Christ; and we still see Christ at work for us today in the present.

This is why it is so important to make sure our theology is never divorced from biblical history. When we talk about the gospel, we’re not just talking about big ideas, but about something which actually happened. The gospel is not a philosophy or a way of life; it is news. It is the good news of Jesus Christ, God made man, who lived our life and died our death and was raised to declare us righteous before God.

This means that every time we see God’s hand at work in anything, we should remember what he did for us. Every sunset should remind us of the gospel.

We see a sunset, and we see God’s glory there. And because we know that God is a God who acts in history, we know that the God who made that sunset is the same God who lives in me, today, by his Spirit, because of the finished and sufficient work of Jesus Christ for us.

That is how we distinguish between the one true God and the myriad of other false gods clamoring for our attention—no other replacement god we foolishly worship could ever come close to that kind of power, that kind of authority, or that kind of goodness. No other object of our worship is worthy of the adoration we give it.

Only one God created all things, maintains all things, came to earth, saved us, and lives in us still today.

And knowing that makes us glad, causes us to rejoice. For only he is most high over all the earth, exalted far above all gods.

So the question is, if that’s the underlying reality of our lives, what should those lives look like?

The answer is very simple.

10  O you who love the Lord, hate evil!

He preserves the lives of his saints;

he delivers them from the hand of the wicked.

11  Light is sown for the righteous,

and joy for the upright in heart.

12  Rejoice in the Lord, O you righteous,

and give thanks to his holy name!

Not only is everything we’ve said so far about God true; he adds to his past and present goodness to you in Christ by caring for you still today.

He preserves your life; he delivers you from evil. He saves us, and when he saves us, he keeps us—he will protect us from falling back into evil, until the very end.

There is light and joy—every good thing—for those who follow him. No child of God is ever lacking for anything. That doesn’t mean that we will always get what we want, but we will always get what is good for us.

And because we know that, we are called to rejoice. To be thankful. To become like the God we love. To learn to hate evil as he hates evil. To love righteousness as he loves righteousness.

If we see God’s glory in the sunrise, it is just unthinkable that we would not want to reflect the sun.

It’s no accident that this psalm speaks so often of God’s righteousness, and then calls us “righteous” twice in these last two verses. Those who love God, and are joyful in him, and are thankful for his grace, will progressively, but inevitably, become righteous as he is righteous.

Living for His Reign

God’s glory is the fundamental fact of life. It is the reality which undergirds all other reality. We are not ultimate. We are created beings, living under the rule of our good Creator.

Which means that our lives are going to have to undergo a pretty radical paradigm shift. Our default position in life is to love ourselves more than anything. And that doesn’t necessarily come out of arrogance, but just out of self-centered desires. By default, we construct our lives around ourselves—around our own desires, our own plans, our own self-interests. We want to build our kingdoms; we want to see our desires fulfilled.

In other words, most of us make decisions based on what we want, not based on what is true.

But what is the fundamental truth which should guide all of our desires?

V. 1: The Lord reigns, let the earth rejoice...

V. 9: For you, O Lord, are most high over all the earth; you are exalted far above all gods.

Because we are creatures, and not the Creator, we aren’t meant for everything to revolve around us. Only God can hold that place. He is the only one who can reign without being a tyrant, and only he has the power to reign with grace.

So if we know that—if we know that only he is God—what should that truth produce in us?

V. 8:  Zion hears and is glad, and the daughters of Judah rejoice, because of your judgments, O Lord.

V. 12:  Rejoice in the Lord, O you righteous, and give thanks to his holy name!

Brothers and sisters, the most freeing realization in all the world is the realization that God reigns, so I don’t have to. That God is in control, so I don’t have to be. That God preserves my life, so I don’t have to. That weight does not have to sit on my shoulders.

In God is true, free joy, so I don’t have to endlessly search for that joy in other things. If I would just pay attention, I would see that the joy I’m seeking is right here. I already have it, if I would just enjoy it.

So if the joy of God’s people truly is in acknowledging God’s reign, and in seeing his glory, the question we should ask ourselves is: What can I do to glorify God?

In any situation, how can I best prove that I am happy and thankful and confident in God’s good judgments? (And this is not posturing—it is in living to prove our joy and gratitude and trust in God that we find joy and gratitude and trust in God.)

When Loanne and I had the opportunity to move to Lagny to intern with Acts 29, with the goal of being sent out to plant a church afterwards, we honestly had no big signs from God telling us what we should do. There was one really good reason to go—we could plant a church and see the gospel preached in an area that needed it.

But there were a lot of good reasons to stay where we were. We had a comfortable home which we had just bought and renovated; we had comfortable jobs which brought in comfortable salaries. We had a three-month-old son at home, and we were just starting to build our lives to raise him. Moving meant not knowing where we were going to live, not knowing how we were going to earn a salary, not knowing if anyone would come to this future church, or if it would all just collapse around us.

What changed everything was when we started asking ourselves, “In which situation can we most glorify God? Not just in the church, but in our own lives?” Which choice will afford us more opportunities to tell others about him? to trust in him for our every need? to show in a concrete way that we were happy and thankful and at rest in his power?

It ended up being a very easy choice.

And that question—how can we glorify God, and show that we are joyful and thankful and trusting in him?—should guide every decision of our lives. It should guide the big decisions—choosing a profession, or a school for our kids, or a place to live.

And it should guide the way we go about the little, insignificant decisions we make all the time. Like, for instance, the decision to eat a mango. I went to Burkina Faso several years ago, and ate the best mangos of my life. And at one point, I remember intentionally praying before taking a bite, “God, you made this!” How much better is eating a mango when you know that taste was intentional? That it wasn’t just a happy accident of biology?

What is ordinary becomes an act of worship. Eating a mango. Having a baby. Buying a house. Or looking at a sunset.

Over all of these things—the great and the small—the Lord reigns. He reigns in power; he reigns in righteousness; he reigns in justice.

And so, in response to his great reign, be glad. Put your sin to death; worship nothing besides him. Look at his glory in the ordinary things you take for granted, and know that the same God who made the sun set came to earth to be your Savior, and lives in you.

Rejoice in the Lord, O you righteous, and give thanks to his holy name!

Psalm 91

Psalm 91

Introduction

Personal story

In 2008, my family went through one of its greatest trials—if not the greatest. We experienced a death: the loss of my father. For context, my father had liver cancer, and I had already been witnessing its effects on his body for several years before he passed away. The more the illness progressed, the more fervently my family prayed. We prayed and prayed… We even received what seemed to be promises of healing for my father:

• One day, for example, a Christian woman—completely unknown to us—saw my mother crying in the street, approached her, and told her that her husband would be healed.

• Or my very devout grandmother in Egypt, who received a word of knowledge from someone saying that her son would be healed...

So we thought: “It’s all a matter of faith!” And so we believed, and we prayed even more.
Until that fateful December 6th, 2008, when the Creator decided otherwise, and my father left us. I’ll let you imagine how devastated we were, how disoriented we felt, realizing that those so-called prophecies were just empty words.

Over time, grief passed, and God clearly sustained us.
But still—why allow us to experience such disappointment, such “false hope” of healing?
Today, we’re going to study Psalm 91, a text full of promises. And if I, back in 2008, just 15 years old and with a rather immature faith, had stumbled across Psalm 91 before my father's death, I would have undoubtedly read it as yet another promise of healing...

That was my personal experience, but I’m far from being alone.
Some even see their faith erode because of the gap between how they interpret the Bible’s promises and what actually happens in life.
That’s why I believe it is absolutely necessary for every Christian to seriously examine what these kinds of promises really mean.

Structure
The structure of today’s message is based on verse 1, which is actually a summary of the entire chapter. Let’s read verse 1 again:
“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.”
Two parts stand out clearly, linked by a sort of logical condition: “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High” (one part), resulting in “will rest in the shadow of the Almighty” (another part).

Here is the outline:

• Resting in the shadow of the Almighty

• Dwelling in the shelter of the Most High

Resting in the shadow of the Almighty

Let’s focus on what the “shadow of the Almighty” is. What kind of protection does this shadow promise?

When we read the Bible superficially—only the pleasant parts, with one eye shut, ignoring the harder passages—we risk misunderstanding what the shadow of the Almighty truly is.
And I get it—it’s tempting to want to feel protected from all harm. Verse 9 says:
“No harm will befall you.”
That’s radical! No harm? Not even a little?

It’s tempting to interpret this as: we have nothing to fear—not poverty, not people, not sickness. That all of life’s hardships and sufferings will simply skip over us. This sounds so good, so positive, that it can actually lead us to a distorted view of the Gospel.

This psalm could easily be misused to promote, for example, a prosperity gospel—a gospel that says:

• God’s shadow equals material blessings.

• If you’re sick or poor, it’s because you’re not really under His shelter.

And we might think, “Well, the Bible supports that, doesn’t it?”
But that would be ignoring the more difficult parts of Scripture.

It’s a paradox.

• If we understand Psalm 91 only at surface level, we’ll quickly see that it’s completely out of sync with reality. Many Christians suffer at least some misfortune in life—if not a laundry list of them.
  Despite their prayers, their desire for God’s protection, despite their faith that God can act—they may live their entire lives marked by suffering, sometimes up until their final breath.

• And maybe we’d think this only happens to a few Christians who don’t have enough faith. But it’s more than that. Not only today’s Christians—but even the very “models of faith” in the Bible.

In the Old Testament:

• The prophet Jeremiah suffered rejection, was imprisoned, even thrown into a cistern for preaching God’s word.

• The prophet Elijah was persecuted, on the run for his life, and even asked God to let him die.

In the New Testament:

• John the Baptist was imprisoned and then beheaded for his ministry.

• Paul lists all his sufferings in 2 Corinthians 11—it’s a long list!

• All the disciples of Jesus, including Jesus himself—literally God on Earth—faced intense suffering, many of them even unto death.

Paul even writes from prison—probably his final letter before execution—in 2 Timothy 3:12:
“In fact, everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.”

So why the contradiction?
On the one hand, the Bible is full of “feel-good” promises of divine protection…
Yet on the other hand, it’s full of apparent counterexamples.

Do we have a God who doesn’t keep His promises?

In preparing this sermon, I came across a passage where Jesus directly addresses this paradox:

Luke 21:16–19
“You will be betrayed even by parents, brothers, relatives and friends, and they will put some of you to death. But not a hair of your head will perish. Stand firm, and you will win life.”

Jesus says that His disciples will be persecuted and killed… then immediately says, “Not a hair of your head will perish.”

If we believe Jesus is telling the truth, we’re left with two options:

• Either take it literally, and assume the disciples died with full heads of hair…

• Or realize He’s using imagery to describe a protection far greater than physical safety.

Protection from invisible dangers

Is there a greater danger than losing your life?
According to Jesus—yes. A danger so serious that, in comparison, death is just a detail.

And that’s the danger Psalm 91 is addressing:
An invisible danger, but one with eternal consequences.

Back to Psalm 91, verses 3–6:
“Surely he will save you from the fowler’s snare and from the deadly pestilence... You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday.”

This “great” danger has many faces:

• Natural dangers like disease (pestilence).

• Targeted attacks (arrows).

• Intentional traps from a cunning enemy (the fowler’s snare).

Paul warns us in Ephesians 6:12:
“Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but... against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”

These dangers threaten us day and night—so that no rest is possible on this earth.

Yes, this psalm promises “a shield and buckler.”
Verse 13 says we’ll trample lions and serpents—it’s powerful, reassuring.
But even that, according to Jesus, is not what should bring us the most joy.

When Jesus sent out the 72 disciples, they came back thrilled that even demons obeyed them. But Jesus replied:

Luke 10:19–20
“I have given you authority... nothing will harm you. However, do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”

Protection from God’s wrath

Ultimately, the greatest danger we face—even more than physical death or spiritual warfare—is being separated from God.
Because God is just, and His justice demands that sin be punished. The wages of sin is death—not just physical death, but eternal separation.

Psalm 90 (which Hery will preach on August 17, God willing) emphasizes the brevity of human life under God’s wrath.

That wrath is the real “great” danger.
And we’re all affected—because we’re all sinners. From birth, we inherit Adam’s sin. Add to that our own daily sins… and we’re helpless to escape on our own.

Satan’s real power lies in tempting us into sin—so that, as the accuser, he can accuse us before the righteous Judge.

So yes—the punishment for sin is inevitable.
But—Psalm 91 still promises protection from the fate of the wicked:
Verses 7–8
“A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you... you will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked.”

We see that what causes the thousands to fall is the punishment of the wicked. But under God’s protection, we’re not destroyed by it—we see it.

Dwelling in the shelter of the Most High

This brings us to the condition for this protection.
Who is this psalm addressed to? Can I benefit from this protection?

Psalm 91 is written in a unique structure—at times it’s someone speaking about God, other times God Himself speaks directly. At the end, in verse 14, God gives us the profile of the person He protects:
“Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.”

But here’s the problem: we are sinners.
And as we said earlier, sin separates us from God. Just one sin expelled Adam and Eve from the Garden—from His presence.

This makes it impossible for us to love God perfectly and know His name...
Impossible for everyone—except one man.

Jesus alone can dwell in that shelter

God Himself became a man in Jesus. He alone can say, “I love the Father. I know His name.”

That relationship is confirmed by both sides:

• God declared it at Jesus’ baptism (Matt. 3:17)
  “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.”

• And Jesus confirmed it (Matt. 11:27)
  “No one knows the Father except the Son.”

So finally, one man can claim the full protection of Psalm 91.
But He chose to give it up—for us.

Jesus exposed so we could be sheltered

The only man who deserved full protection chose to be abandoned by God on the cross.
He faced the arrows, was tempted like us—but never sinned.

When Jesus was tempted in the wilderness, Satan even used this psalm against Him:
Matt. 4:5–6
“If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down. For it is written: ‘He will command his angels concerning you...’”

Satan knew this psalm applied to Jesus.
But Jesus came with a mission: to save us.
That mission required laying aside Psalm 91's promises—at least for a time.

He drank the cup of God’s wrath in our place. And thank God—He triumphed over death.

Now, the justice of God is no longer a barrier. There is no more separation.
We’ve entered a new covenant with God, as prophesied in Jeremiah 31:31–34:
“...They will all know me... I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more.”

Now, if I put my faith in Jesus, I can say, “I know God.”
And to the earlier question, “Who can dwell in God’s shelter?”—I can raise my hand and say, “Me. Because of Jesus, this promise applies to me now too.”

What a gift! A gift that cost God greatly.
But as with any gift—we must choose to accept or reject it.

A gift not to be rejected

The Bible shows us it’s possible to reject this gift.
Originally intended for Israel, God’s chosen people—yet they rejected it.
In Matthew 23:37, Jesus mourns for them:
“Jerusalem, Jerusalem... how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing.”

The image of Psalm 91 returns here—a place under God’s wings is available, but they didn’t want it.

That place is now open to all nations—including us.
Let’s not make the same mistake.

• If you’re hearing this message and haven’t accepted this gift—it’s not too late. But the time is limited. This gift is offered to us as long as we are alive, or until Jesus returns to judge His creation.

• If you have accepted this gift—praise God! But be vigilant.
  Our hearts can still seek refuge in other things—people, addictions, money.
  When we do that, we say with our actions: “God, your protection is not enough.”

Let’s pray constantly that our hope remains rooted in the refuge of Psalm 91.
That everything else would seem dull compared to the shelter of His wings.

Conclusion

As humans, our eyes are naturally fixed downward—on our lives, our comfort, our loved ones, our health.

Psalm 91 isn’t meant to disappoint us—as I felt after my father died.
Its goal is to redirect our gaze toward what should truly concern or delight us.

Back then, what I should have feared was whether our family’s faith would survive such a disappointment.
Because that has eternal consequences.
That is a great danger.

Thank God—He didn’t leave us. I’ve seen His hand providing for my widowed mother, but above all, preserving the faith of my mother, my brother, my sister, and myself.

Our faith is stronger now than it was in 2008, and we remain attached to God—still under His protection.

We don’t have a God who makes temporary, perishable promises.
His promises are eternal.
They bring peace.
Peace that—even in suffering, even in death—we are preserved.

Psalm 88

INTRODUCTION  

Hello darkness my old friend, here I come to talk again – The sound of silence, Paul Simon.  

After reading Psalm 88, we might feel like Paul Simon in this song. I translate the lyrics of the chorus. 

I should point out that this song is not Christian, and I don't know if its authors were inspired by Christianity. What I am sure of, however, is that although the psalmist ends this psalm by evoking “darkness,” he certainly does not give victory to darkness. That is what I would like to explore this morning.  

As I reflected on this during the week, I remembered that as a child I often saw astrological reports (horoscopes) in newspapers or on TV. I also remembered that these reports never announce bad news. To check this, I looked at the horoscopes for all the signs for the coming week. And roughly speaking, I can summarize it as follows: for some, you will be successful in love; for others, your projects will be successful; for others still, you will find new energy in your activities; and for the last ones, you will discover a new eloquence and charisma in communication that will be useful in your relationships.  

In short, everyone will have their “little piece of happiness” next week.   

If we lived in paradise, why not? Let's take it easy next week.  Happiness for all!! 

The Bible, on the other hand, seems more realistic about the life we lead and the struggles we face in a fallen world.   

I invite you to join me in reading this psalm—so keep your Bibles open: 

• first, to see that the faith of the faithful can waver in affliction 

• then to see what place God has in our affliction  

• and finally to see that darkness does not have the final word 

Let's read it together.  

PSALM 88  

O LORD, GOD OF MY SALVATION

The psalmist begins his lament by addressing the LORD as the GOD OF MY SALVATION. That is to say, the Lord, God who saves. On many occasions, we find these terms associated in the Bible to evoke victory, deliverance, help, and salvation coming from God.  

 For example, when the Israelites fled from slavery in Egypt, trapped between Pharaoh's army behind them and the Red Sea in front of them, they were filled with fear and dreaded death (Ex. 14:4 and Ex. 14:10-12). In verse 13 we read that “And Moses said to the people, “Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the LORD, which he will work for you today”_ESV. Then in the next chapter, after being definitively saved from Pharaoh's army, Moses and the Israelites sing (Ex. 15:2) " The LORD is my strength and my song, and he has become my salvation; this is my God, and I will praise him, my father’s God, and I will exalt him."_ESV 

This is also how the psalmists often refer to the Lord: as the one who can help them, deliver them, save them, and give them victory. There are many references in the psalms*1. I will mention here only the refrains of Psalm 42-43 and Psalm 62 (ESV). 

Psalms 42:5/11   /   Psalms 43:5
Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation

Psalms 62:1
For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation.
Psalms 62:3/7
He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be greatly shaken. 

 In Psalm 88, the psalmist again addresses God, invoking him as his savior: O LORD, GOD OF MY SALVATION. These are the only words of hope you will find in this psalm. At the lowest point of his misery, at the bottom of the abyss, from the depths of darkness, all his lament is addressed to the LORD, GOD WHO SAVES / who can save him.  

Let us continue reading this lament together:  

A soul filled with afflictions  

The psalmist suffers terribly from many woes:  

 4 For my soul is full of trouble; his soul is satiated with pain. This man has encountered enough trouble. He is overwhelmed by his suffering in life. 10 my eye grows dim through sorrow.,either from crying or from all the suffering he has seen since his youth. 16 Afflicted and close to death from my youth up; he has seen enough, he can no longer bear to suffer so much for so long. These sufferings seem to have lasted. We also note that his suffering is visible to others, particularly his friends and loved ones, since he has become an object of horror to them and they have consequently distanced themselves from him.  

9 You have caused my companions to shun me; you have made me a horror to them.
19 You have caused my beloved and my friend to shun me; my companions have become darkness.

The psalmist's suffering soon leads him to death: 

The darkness of death pervades this entire psalm. Three times we read the word darkness. The psalmist is in danger of dying soon: 4b- and my life draws near to Sheol.  

And already he is counted among the dead. He is not only at the end of his strength, he is soon without the strength to survive. The grim image is striking: the man awaiting the end of his misery already lying in the grave among the dead.    

5 I am counted among those who go down to the pit; I am a man who has no strength,. 6 like one set loose among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave, like those whom you remember no more, for they are cut off from your hand.

These grim descriptions should not be read literally. The image is deliberately evocative and serves to convey to the reader the intensity of the psalmist's despair. We can imagine the fatal anguish of this man.  

Moreover, the word “set loose” in verse 6, “like one set loose among the dead” (The Annotated Bible of Neuchâtel suggests “I am abandoned”), has the literal translation “FREE,” like a slave freed by his master in Mosaic law in Exodus 21:2. 

Here we should understand that the psalmist is freed from the bond that keeps him alive among men. This is what angers this man the most: the idea of being abandoned by God in the manner of " like those whom you remember no more, for they are cut off from your hand”. This is what ultimately afflicts his soul. This man does not merely fear death; he is terrified by the idea of having lost the bond that keeps him alive under God's care and protection, terrified by the idea of dying separated from God. What gnaws most terribly at the psalmist's soul is to be counted among those who are cut off from God's hand, thrown into a in the depths of the pit, in the regions dark and deep, far from God (v. 7). The abyss, darkness, depths, and prison are different representations of the realm of the dead (Sheol) found in this psalm.

What overwhelms the psalmist is that he suffers like the wicked, enduring the waves of God's anger and divine fury, which already crush him (v. 8; v. 16b-v. 19).  

Derek Kidner notes that this anxiety about being counted among the wicked and rejected also seems to have troubled King David in Psalm 28:1-3. We read:

" To you, O LORD, I call; my rock, be not deaf to me, lest, if you be silent to me, I become like those who go down to the pit. 2 Hear the voice of my pleas for mercy, when I cry to you for help, when I lift up my hands toward your most holy sanctuary. 3 Do not drag me off with the wicked, with the workers of evil, who speak peace with their neighbors while evil is in their hearts. "

Although God heard and saved David in Psalm 28, for our psalmist the anguish of being led into the ruin of the wicked remains intense, since his supplications are not answered and, on the contrary, he seems to be suffering the same treatment as them.   

We realize the deadly affliction that dominates his soul. This fear of being rejected by God is explicit in verse 15: O LORD, why do you cast my soul away? Why do you hide your face from me?

From his sufferings, the psalmist recognizes God's sovereignty:  

From here (verse 7), all his sufferings are explicitly attributed to God. Whatever the agents of these evils may have been, note that they are not identified in this psalm. We cannot say for certain whether these misfortunes came to him through his enemies, through illness, through guilt, or through some other means. We see only GOD in these troubles. Whatever the agents of his troubles may be, he looks only to God. From the depths of his afflictions, this man recognizes God's sovereignty over all his woes. 

Like Jeremiah in his lamentations and like other psalmists in Book III*3 who also recognized God's sovereignty over their evils, the psalmist does not become proud and filled with indignation because of these afflictions, but on the contrary, he recognizes that God is sovereign and persists in calling on his help. 

Is this not a remarkable attitude of humility and piety? I am personally struck by the degree of humility and faith required for such a reaction in such circumstances. Recognizing God's sovereignty in his affliction, the psalmist says:  

The God of my salvation is always God in my torments.
The God of my salvation is always the one who can save me in my sufferings.
God is sovereign, so He is the one who can save me from my misfortunes. 

How well must one know God to recognize His sovereignty and humble oneself before Him in the midst of terrible suffering?  

The irony of death: the psalmist is perplexed: 

Note also that in his lugubrious lament, the psalmist expresses no guilt, no repentance, and surprisingly does not seek to justify himself. Nevertheless, his faith is shaken by his suffering and by God's silence. Humbly and cautiously, he nevertheless questions the meaning or reasons for his misfortunes. Even though he recognizes God's sovereignty, this man is troubled by the fact that he receives no answer to his pleas and, on the contrary, suffers his terrors.   

The only times he mentions God's attributes is to question his silence.  

From verses 11 to 13, we see that the psalmist has not forgotten that God is powerful (to perform miracles), that God is good, that God is faithful, and that God is just. But perhaps he is so for the dead, the psalmist wonders. 

Rhetorically, the psalmist reminds God that he is close to death and has not yet seen his help. Ironically, he tells God that if he delays a little longer, it will be from the realm of the dead that God's goodness and faithfulness will be proclaimed: that is, through silence.

 Imagine a depressing musical interlude or total silence at verse 11 for the indication of “pause.”  

11 Do you perform miracles for the dead? Do the departed rise up to praise you? 

- Silence 

Now let us see that in his affliction, the psalmist did not give up.

A prayer inspired by affliction

What do we know about the author of this psalm?

The heading of this psalm is quite detailed compared to most psalms. Among other things, it tells us that its author was Heman the Ezrahite.  

The Bible tells us that Heman the Ezrahite was appointed by King David, along with Ethan the Ezrahite and Asaph, “to lead the singing in the house of the Lord, since the ark had a fixed location.” These musicians and singers, descendants of Korah and Levi, founded three choirs which they led for the service of praise in the tabernacle and then in the temple (1 Chronicles 6:16-32; 1 Chronicles 25:1-8; 2 Chronicles 5:12-14). In particular, regarding Heman, the Bible also tells us that he was a man full of wisdom (1 Kings 5:9-11) and that he was responsible for revealing the words of God to the king and exalting his power (1 Chronicles 25:5).    

I would also mention that the instructions given to the choir director in the heading also indicate that this psalm was to be sung in a specific mode in the temple of God.

Let us now see how this great poem of suffering (as Frédéric L. Godet calls it) honors the Lord God.   

A humble and persevering faith

First, we have already mentioned the perseverance and humility of Heman the Ezrahite in the midst of his misfortunes and anguish. All his lamentations are addressed to the LORD,  GOD OF MY SALVATION and consist in fact of a persevering prayer despite the agony of his soul. 

Sated with troubles (v. 4), Heman prays:  

Lord, God of my salvation, day and night I cry out to you. 

Worn out by suffering (v. 10), Heman persists:   

Every day I call upon you, Lord, I stretch out my hands to you. 

Suffering and dying from his youth (v. 16), Heman's faith endures:  

And I, Lord, call upon you for help. In the morning, my prayer is directed to you. 

Despite his physical suffering and spiritual agony—the shadow of death that persists—, Heman continues to pray to God, his Savior. His hope is persevering. He prays night and day, every day from morning until night, because he still hopes to be heard and rescued by God. Despite the darkness, he refuses to be separated from God. Who else could deliver him from the darkness ? His hands reach out to God and his mouth cries out from the depths of his soul in the morning:   HELP ME! GOD OF MY SALVATION.

A song of affliction engraved in the Word of God 

Then, from the woes he experienced in his life, Heman the Ezrahite as a singer produced a song that found its place in the book of praise through God's compassion. From his lamentations, his honestly expressed anguish, and his perseverance, God inspired Heman to compose a song that is still used today for meditation and praise in the temple.  

There are times when believers see no end to their suffering, sometimes even unto death. This psalm encourages and prepares the faithful to persevere in faith in the face of all the dangers to which their souls may be and will be exposed. A sister from the community group this week shared with us that she was comforted and reassured by psalm of this kind because it puts into words our most discouraging feelings. W. Robert Godfrey puts it this way: "Psalm 88 reflects how we feel when the cross becomes particularly heavy and the struggle is at its peak. [...] We understand that we are not alone in our doubts, our lack of understanding, and our complaints. Not only have other believers felt the same way, but God has engraved these feelings in His Word. He did this to assure us that it is legitimate to feel them and to express them in prayer." - Learning to Love the Psalms, 2017.   

Reading in God's Word the troubled, plaintive, and unhappy words of a man endowed with the wisdom of the Spirit reassures our hearts when our faith is so ardently tested. The believer sings with him:
in darkness and suffering, it is You, Eternal One, God of my salvation, whom I call upon for help.   

God in our afflictions: divine compassion

Finally, although the last word of the psalm evokes darkness, God's compassion does not end there. God has not only accepted our anxieties and fears, but has engraved them in His Word and have compassion on us. God also shared our sufferings in order to heal us. Even more astonishingly, God experienced our anguish of dying, cut off from his hand, enduring his wrath, in order to deliver us from it. 

A thousand years after Heman's life (personal approximation), a man suffered all the waves of God's wrath. He was an object of horror to men and to his friends, who abandoned him. He was seized with fear and anguish (Mark 14:33) at the thought of suffering and dying. His soul was sorrowful to the point of death (Mark 14:34) in anticipation of his suffering and death, from which he prayed three times to be spared. But he was burdened with our sufferings and our pains (Isa. 53:4) and died forsaken by God (Matt. 26:46). He was counted among the criminals, and his tomb was among the wicked (Isaiah 53:12; Luke 23:32-33), and his grave was with the rich man, even though he had done no wrong (Isaiah 53:9; Matthew 27:57-60).  

The name of this man is Jesus—literally, “The Lord saves,” “The Lord delivers.”  

Let us read the account of his death on the cross in Matthew 27:45-54 

45Now from the sixth hourf there was darkness over all the landg until the ninth hour. 46And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

 [….47-49…]

50And Jesus cried out again with a loud voice and yielded up his spirit.

51And behold, the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And the earth shook, and the rocks were split. 52The tombs also were opened. And many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised, 53and coming out of the tombs after his resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many. 54When the centurion and those who were with him, keeping watch over Jesus, saw the earthquake and what took place, they were filled with awe and said, “Truly this was the Soni of God!”

To quote Timothy Keller, Jesus Christ was forsaken by the Father so that we would not be forsaken by the Father.  

A brother pointed out to the community group this week that when you read Psalm 88 without Jesus, it is terribly dark and sad. When you read it with Jesus, it becomes comforting and joyful. I want to rephrase his idea. When we go through terrible misfortunes hoping for a savior, the struggle is fierce. When we go through them with Jesus, we are comforted and supported by his compassions. He shared our fears and afflictions so that we might be delivered from darkness.  

What comfort, what joy, what peace for the soul.

Glory be to Jesus—the Eternal One who saves, the Eternal One who delivers, through whom we can say: God of my salvation, you have delivered me from darkness! Amen! 

I invite you to take a moment to thank God for delivering us from darkness through the sufferings of Christ. And if you do not know God this way, I invite you to pray that the Lord GOD who saves will reveal His salvation and His light to you.