Dan Olinger

"If the Bible is true, then none of our fears are legitimate, none of our frustrations are permanent, and none of our opposition is significant."

Dan Olinger

 

Retired Bible Professor,

Bob Jones University

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When You’re Really Scared, Part 3: Presence

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Part 1: Background | Part 2: Panic

Verse 4 is the pivot point of Psalm 11. David has heard the warnings of his advisers, including the panic in their voices. Now it’s time for him to respond.

It’s important to note that David never denies the truth of what they are telling him. He never says, “There are no enemies; they’re not planning evil against me; you guys are just seeing things.” He has enough experience with opposition to know that what they’re saying is very likely true.

But he doesn’t take their advice, either. He doesn’t panic; he doesn’t run. And we should expect that of him, for he’s begun the psalm with his thesis statement, his life principle:

In the LORD have I put my trust (Ps 11.1).

Now he’s going to flesh out that principle.

4The LORD is in his holy temple,
The LORD’s throne is in heaven:
His eyes behold,
His eyelids try, the children of men (Ps 11.4).

Notice how the LORD’s name begins the first two lines. Readers of the Hebrew would say the name is “fronted”; it’s pushed forward in the sentence into an emphatic position. In English we would italicize or underline or circle it; if we said it out loud, we would punch the volume when we spoke his name.

This isn’t Baal or Chemosh or Dagon in the temple, or any of the gods of the other nations, who cannot see or speak or act in response to the prayers of their devotees. No. This is Yahweh, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the creator of heaven and earth, the covenant-keeping God, the one true God.

This is—and I say this reverently—the Real Deal.

And he is in his temple. Not just any temple, mind you, like the one Samson pushed down with his two hands. This is the holy temple.

At its most basic, the word holy means “unique,” “one of a kind,” “in a class by itself.” The LORD’s temple is like no other. Some four centuries later the prophet Habakkuk will quote this line of the psalm and add a line of his own to emphasize the necessary response to the holiness of this temple:

Let all the earth keep silence before him (Hab 2.20).

And so the enemies pale into insignificance. What possible threat can they be, here under the shadow of the Almighty?

Now David adds another line, another consideration:

The LORD’s throne is in heaven.

The LORD has the high ground.

A military veteran like David knows that the high ground is a significant tactical advantage. From the high ground you can see farther than your attackers, who are below you, can see. You can see where the enemy is, and you can shoot down on him, the force of gravity adding to the force of your spears and arrows and slingstones. You have all the advantages.

The LORD has the high ground.

Now, the ironic thing about that is that the LORD doesn’t need the high ground. In the light of his omnipotence, the enemy is insignificant, trivial. The battle is not close enough for any tactical advantage to throw the outcome to one side or the other.

But he does have the high ground.

And so, David continues,

His eyes behold,
His eyelids try, the children of men.

He sees. He knows. He notices.

Nothing escapes him.

You can do that from the high ground. Or even better with omniscience.

God would later tell Judah’s King Jehoshaphat,

The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to shew himself strong in the behalf of them whose heart is perfect toward him (2Ch 16.9a).

He knows who his people are, and he doesn’t just watch their battles play out; he takes action on their behalf. He knows as well who the enemy is; the foe is located, recognized, identified, and opposed.

What will he do next?

Next time.

Part 4: Response

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When You’re Really Scared, Part 2: Panic

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Part 1: Background

David begins with his thesis statement in verse 1. I’ll get to that eventually, but first I’d like to take a look at what his advisors are telling him.

They begin with the action item: Run!

Flee as a bird to your mountain! (Ps 11.1b).

They’re going to explain the danger in a minute, but it’s as if they need to call for action immediately—as if they’re in a panic. That idea is reinforced by their simile; birds skedaddle in a hurry. And where should the bird that is David skedaddle to? A mountain, a place of strength, high ground, with a tactical military advantage.

David knows about fleeing like a bird. The second time that he confronts Saul and refuses to harm him, he describes the king as “one who hunts a partridge in the mountains” (1S 26.20). He also knows about taking refuge in a mountain; earlier in his flight from Saul, he “lived in the strongholds of Engedi” (1S 23.29). Many scholars think this refers to Masada, the mesa-top fortress used as a refuge through the years of Roman domination around the time of Christ.

Now his advisors give him the reason: You’re in immediate danger!

For, lo, the wicked bend their bow,
They make ready their arrow upon the string,
That they may privily shoot at the upright in heart (Ps 11.2).

Here’s another sign of panic: Lo! Look! Pay attention! This is serious!

The wicked, David’s enemies, are “stepping on the bow”—that’s the literal Hebrew—and they’re notching the arrow. In modern terms, they’re pulling back the hammer, they’re racking the round. This is an act of naked aggression, and evidence that they mean to harm him.

And they’re preparing to shoot “privily.” This is an Elizabethan-era word that means “secretly.” ESV renders it “in the dark”; CSB and NIV render it “from the shadows.”

This is an ambush, a sneak attack. You may not be able to see them just yet, but the threat is real and imminent. This is no idle threat, and it’s certainly no joke.

David’s advisors wrap up their presentation with an assessment: It’s hopeless!

If the foundations be destroyed,
What can the righteous do? (Ps 11.3).

This is a scream, a cry of despair. AAAAGGGGGHHHH!

I’ve seen this verse used fairly frequently by Christians who mean it as a warning against apathy and complacency, a call for alertness and stewardship in the face of danger. I once spoke at a Christian school convention that chose this verse as their organizing theme that year.

I wouldn’t deny that the Scripture calls God’s people to alertness, to stewardship. God called Nehemiah to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem, and for much of the construction period the workers labored with a sword hanging from their belt, because of the imminent threat from the enemies of Israel (Ne 4.18). David himself chided Saul’s bodyguard for sleeping on duty during that second confrontation (1S 26.15-16). Paul tells Christians to “walk circumspectly [looking around], not as fools, but as wise” (Ep 5.15). Jesus himself repeatedly commanded his disciples to watch, to be alert (Mt 24.42; 25.13; Mk 13.37) and chided them when they didn’t (Mt 26.38-41).

But this is a different context, making a different point entirely. My friends at the conference were using the words of the godless to motivate the godly.

And David’s response to them tells us that. To this point I’ve skipped most of verse 1; it’s time to recall it here. David says to his advisors, “How can you even say this to me?! What are you thinking?! I have put my trust in the LORD! He is my refuge! How can I seek another?”

Of what use is a rocky Judean mesa when the Almighty God is your protector?

Here, halfway through the psalm, we already know where David is headed. We’ll see him develop his thesis more thoroughly in the next post.

Part 3: Presence | Part 4: Response

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When You’re Really Scared, Part 1: Background

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Last week I preached on Psalm 11 in my school’s chapel service. Since this passage of Scripture is clear, counterintuitive, and timely, I’d like to repurpose the message here.

What do you do when you’re really, really scared? Everybody gets scared; that’s no evidence of cowardice. The key is how you respond to being scared—and how you respond depends primarily on your worldview, specifically what you believe about God.

The Psalm reads as follows:

1      In the Lord put I my trust:


How say ye to my soul,
Flee as a bird to your mountain?
2      For, lo, the wicked bend their bow,
They make ready their arrow upon the string,
That they may privily shoot at the upright in heart.
3      If the foundations be destroyed,
What can the righteous do?


4      The Lord is in his holy temple,
The Lord’s throne is in heaven:
His eyes behold,
His eyelids try, the children of men.
5      The Lord trieth the righteous:
But the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth.
6      Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone,|
And an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup.
7      For the righteous Lord loveth righteousness;
His countenance doth behold the upright. (KJV)

I’ve inserted vertical space to show the psalm’s three divisions: the opening thesis statement (Ps 11.1a), David’s report of the advice he’s getting (Ps 11.1b-3), and then his response to that advice with wisdom of his own. But we should begin by trying to figure out the historical context—why he’s getting the advice in the first place.

His advisors tell him that he’s in danger, that he has enemies who want to kill him. Anyone who knows the story of David knows that there were many times in his life when that would have been the case. Long before he became king, the nation’s prophet, Samuel, anointed him for kingship (1S 16.13)—while Saul was still king, and while this king was planning to have his son Jonathan succeed him (1S 20.30-31). We know that Saul pursued David for a decade, seeking to eliminate him as a claimant to the throne—during which time, ironically, David expressed no interest in seizing the throne and even passed up multiple opportunities to do so. On at least two occasions (1S 24.1-4; 26.3-12) Saul was within a few feet of David, unawares, and David was in a position to kill him on the spot.

This psalm could well have been written at almost any time during those final years of Saul’s reign.

We also know that David faced a rebellion from one of his sons, Absalom, which led to civil war, with David and his closest advisors being exiled from Jerusalem (2S 15.10-16) and from Israel (2S 17.22-24), to seek refuge across the Jordan River in northern Ammon.

The psalm could well spring from that period as well. While we can’t place it more narrowly than that, we can note that David was someone who knew what he was talking about when he spoke to personal physical danger; his experience made him a much more reliable judge of both the danger he faced, and an appropriate response to it, than his advisors were. Even if he weren’t inspired, he’d be well worth listening to.

Next time we’ll look at the psalm’s first stanza, which reports the counsel of his advisors; in the third post, we’ll consider the second stanza, in which he responds to them.

Part 2: Panic | Part 3: Presence | Part 4: Response

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On God As Husband, Part 4

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

How does Hosea act out God’s covenant love for his people?

He pursues his wife, to get her back.

God says, “Go again, love a woman who is loved by another man and is an adulteress, even as the Lord loves the children of Israel, though they turn to other gods and love cakes of raisins” (Hos 3.1).

One commentator says, “They turn to other gods and love—what do they love?—raisin cakes! These were probably used in Canaanite rituals. They show just how carnal and unworthy is Israel’s outlook” (New Bible Commentary, 769).

So Hosea finds his wife and buys her back (Hos 3.2). Apparently she has sold herself into slavery, perhaps to get enough food and shelter to survive. Like the prodigal son, she has learned that a life of licentiousness is one not of freedom. She is not in an attractive state, but her husband pays the redemption price.

She is now technically and legally his slave. The penalty for adultery is death, and he could take her to the civil authorities for execution, but he does not choose that route. (That calls to mind the thinking of Joseph, “a just man,” about Mary in Mt 1.19.) He tells her that she is to live under his support and without immorality, but also apparently without marital relations, for a period of time (Ho 3.3). This is to illustrate the fact that Israel will be exiled, without a king, for “many days” (Hos 3.4).

But the time will come when Israel will seek to return to David her king (Ho 3.5). In Hosea’s time David was long dead; we know that the one she will seek is David’s greater Son, the Lord Jesus, the Christ (Ac 2.29-36).

One commentator notes,

The pain was just a step along the way of God’s efforts, not to destroy, but to get his people to respond to his love. … The pain was caused by their sin but was motivated by God’s loving desire to restore their original relationship of love and obedience. The pain is designed not to make believers run away from God but back to him (Tyndale Concise Bible Commentary, 323).

That day has not yet fully come. Israel today remains resistant to the rule of its Messiah, though many individuals from that nation have recognized and believed in him. But in the meantime, as Paul has noted, God has used this ongoing resistance to bring into his kingdom all nations of the world:

Now if their trespass means riches for the world, and if their failure means riches for the Gentiles, how much more will their full inclusion mean! (Ro 11.12).

This is about more than Hosea, and it’s about more than Israel.

It’s about more than “the heart of Gomer, who cannot remain faithful, and the heart of Hosea, who cannot abandon his commitment” (Bible Reader’s Companion, 523).

It’s about God, and it’s about us.

The chastisement of God’s people took place within the context of God’s unchanging commitment. His goal through discipline was his people’s perfection, never his people’s eternal destruction. Through his unfailing love, God desired to inspire a similar love in his people. Hosea emphasized that the essence of God’s kingdom was a relationship of response to God’s love (Tyndale Concise Bible Commentary, 322).

We have a heavenly Husband, who loves us as no other ever has or ever will. We need to leave our trivial paper gods and serve Him with our whole hearts.

He is our Husband. Let us love Him.

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On God As Husband, Part 3 

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Part 1 | Part 2

Hosea’s experience with his wife Gomer is not just an ancient story with an obvious moral: marry someone with the character to be loyal. This is a story that began because God commanded it, with a command contrary to all common sense: “Marry a woman who will not be faithful” (Hos 1.2).

Unlike pretty much everyone else in the story, Hosea does what God tells him to—thereby condemning himself to a miserable marital relationship.

Why would God command such a thing?

God exercises flawless teaching technique, and he often uses educational methods that have proven over centuries to be highly effective. For example, he has Ezekiel repeatedly act out scenes for the exiled Jews in Babylon (Ezk 4.1-8, 9-17; 5.1-4; 12.3-7, 17-20). Here he’s going to use a case study, implemented experientially, so its lessons will hit close to home and be both highly impactful and long remembered.

Hosea is going to be a character, the lead character, in a morality play. And, astonishingly, he’s going to play the part of God, at God’s request. A command performance, if you will. What actor would take on such a role, and at such real personal sacrifice?

Hosea’s marriage represents God’s marital relationship with Israel. He entered into a covenant with them at Sinai, a covenant most thoroughly expressed in the book of Deuteronomy, which Moses wrote down and delivered to the people just before they entered into the land that God had promised to them. He had made promises to them, great and precious promises, and they had responded with a corporate shout, “All that the Lord has spoken we will do!” (Ex 19.8). But from almost that very day the people had turned away and demonstrated a shallow view of the marriage and a lackadaisical commitment to it.

Now, centuries later, their pattern of infidelity has been consistent. Through the shocking infidelity of Gomer, Hosea’s wife, God illustrates the many ways his people have broken his heart.

Let me count the ways.

  • She has worshiped other gods (Hos 2.8, 13), which God calls “other lovers.” Idolatry, seen clearly, is spiritual adultery, even prostitution (Ezk 16.33). From its first days as a nation under Jeroboam I, the northern kingdom of Israel had worshiped at shrines—golden calves—in Bethel and Dan (the southern and northern regions of their land) (1K 12.25-33). King Ahab married the Canaanite princess Jezebel and then built a shrine to Baal in Samaria (1K 16.29-33). The astonishing thing is that Baal, the Canaanite god, was the supposed protector and prosperer of the Canaanites, whom Joshua’s army had defeated in battle. How does it make sense to worship the gods of the people you’ve just defeated?! This is not only faithless, but it’s just, well, stupid.
  • She has failed in her obligation to know the Law and its Lord. She is not practicing the attributes of God—truthfulness, faithfulness, kindness (Hos 4.1). She is not loving her neighbor. She has no interest in knowing what the Law teaches about God, let alone practicing it in daily life. She has rejected the Covenant.
  • She is turning to other champions—her own military leaders, and alliances with other nations such as Assyria and Egypt—for her strength and security (Hos 1.7).
  • She is practicing social Darwinism, with the powerful and connected taking advantage of—abusing—the weak, the poor. “There is swearing, lying, murder, stealing, and committing adultery; they break all bounds, and bloodshed follows bloodshed” (Hos 4.2).

So they have broken, and continue to break, the two great commandments: to love God, and to love your neighbor. Over centuries. Despite national commitment and promise to treasure the special relationship that God has granted them.

How does God respond to this?

He speaks with anticipation of the day when he will woo her back to himself (Hos 2.14-23), when his unfaithful wife will call him “my husband” and not just “my lord” (Hos 2.16). He speaks of “steadfast covenant love” (hesed) in his relationship with her (Hos 2.19). He still loves her and wants her back.

And as we shall see, Hosea will act out that role perfectly.

Part 4

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On God As Husband, Part 2

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Part 1

Chapters 1 and 2 of Hosea tell us about his marriage relationship, which is, to say the least, pathological. God tells Hosea, “Go and marry a woman of promiscuity, and have children of promiscuity” (Hos 1.2).

Now, right away we have an interpretational problem. Did God tell Hosea to marry a prostitute? The difficulty we have with that prospect has led to a host of suggested interpretations—

  • Some have suggested that the command was not literal. John Calvin and Carl Friedrich Keil, both noted commentators, hold this view. Perhaps she was an idol worshiper; God frequently calls idol worship spiritual adultery. But this still seems objectionable; why would a prophet of God marry an idol worshiper?
  • Perhaps she wasn’t promiscuous before they married but became promiscuous later. The New Bible Commentary makes this suggestion, as do others.
  • But maybe the text means what it says; she was promiscuous, even a prostitute, before her marriage. This is the view of the New American Commentary and many others. It certainly illustrated Israel’s history accurately; she was sinful when God executed His covenant with her. And there was no lack of such women in Israel (Hos 4.14). Perhaps she was a Baal cult prostitute, a pagan practice designed to encourage the gods to grant the land fertility. It was against the Mosaic Law for priests to marry any woman who was not a virgin, but there’s no indication that Hosea was a priest.

I would suggest that attempts to soften the situation miss the point. As will become clear, Gomer’s sin represents Israel’s sin and by extension our own, which is heinous, brutal, and sociopathic. We were sinners when God found us, and that’s the whole point!

In the normal course of events, this marriage yields children, beginning in the very next verse.

The first child is a boy. God instructs Hosea to name him Jezreel, for the valley where Jehu had judged Ahab’s idolatrous line in the past (2K 10.1-11) and where God will carry out judgment (Hos 1.3-5).

The second child is a girl, whom God instructs Hosea to name Lo-Ruhamah, or “no mercy.” This is a clear prophecy of the coming judgment; God is no longer extending mercy to his unfaithful wife. In his paraphrase of the passage, Eugene Peterson renders God’s statement as “I’m fed up with Israel.”

This is astonishing. God is longsuffering, patient. Can the patience of an infinite God be exhausted? Has he broken his covenant promises to Abraham? to David?

No, he hasn’t. In the next sentence (Hos 1.7) he contrasts his judgment on Israel, the Northern Kingdom, with his mercy toward Judah, the Southern Kingdom. Judah is where the sons of David rule—and while they’re a mixed bunch in terms of their obedience to God, his mercy continues there. For now.

Hosea’s wife has one more child, a son. Again God himself names the boy: Lo-Ammi, or “Not my people.” I don’t know, maybe Hosea wasn’t confident of the boy’s paternity?

And with this name, God makes explicit what was only implied by the daughter’s name: Israel is no longer God’s people; the covenant is reversed.

Now it’s horrific.

But again, in the very next sentence God assures these idolaters that the reversal, the judgment, is only temporary:

10 Yet the number of the children of Israel shall be like the sand of the sea, which cannot be measured or numbered. And in the place where it was said to them, “You are not my people,” it shall be said to them, “Children of the living God.” 11 And the children of Judah and the children of Israel shall be gathered together, and they shall appoint for themselves one head. And they shall go up from the land, for great shall be the day of Jezreel (Hos 1.10-11).

Verse 10 in particular should sound familiar to us, as it undoubtedly did to Israel. This is the wording of the Abrahamic Covenant itself (Ge 22.17)—which was unconditional. God’s patience is not in fact exhausted.

In the end, God is faithful, even when his people are not.

In the next chapter Hosea is going to make explicit the spiritual lessons of his troubled marriage.

More on that next time.

Part 3 | Part 4

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On God As Husband, Part 1

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In the previous series we’ve looked at one of the facets, or metaphors, of our relationship with God: he is our Father. It seems appropriate now to turn to another metaphor, that of husband.

This relationship is commonly acknowledged among Christians, but there is surprisingly little biblical information about it. I suppose most people think first of Ephesians 5.22-33, where husbands are instructed to love their wives in the same way that Christ loves the church. This passage is the text for the pastor’s charge in pretty much every wedding ever performed. I’ve been convinced by a colleague, however, that this passage is commonly misinterpreted. Dr. Gary Reimers, a longtime friend and professor at BJU Seminary, has observed that the husbands are instructed “to love their wives as their own bodies” (Ep 5.28)—and since this same epistle notes that the church is Christ’s body (Ep 1.22-23), then to love “as their own bodies” is to love like Christ (Ep 5.25). So I don’t view this passage as primarily presenting Christ under the metaphor of husband.

That leaves just two other New Testament passages that speak of Christ having a bride. The more well-known of those, I suppose, is Revelation 21, which speaks of “the bride, the Lamb’s wife” (Re 21.9). Earlier John has heard an announcement of the pending “marriage of the Lamb” (Re 19.7), at which his wife is dressed in “fine linen [which] is the righteousness of the saints” (Re 19.8). Now he sees “the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband” (Re 21.2). But here the bride is said to be not the church, but the New Jerusalem, which I would say includes the church but is more than that.

The other passage, less well known, is 2Corinthians 11.2, where Paul tells the Corinthian church that he has “espoused you to one husband, that I may present you as a chaste virgin to Christ.” But that stops short of saying that the universal church is the bride of Christ, although I think it’s safe to assume that by extension from the passage.

So I think there’s little to no clear biblical evidence for the statement that “the church is the bride of Christ.”

But in the Hebrew Scriptures God regularly describes himself as the husband of his people. And since the Old Testament saints will be in the New Jerusalem as certainly as we, I think we can legitimately apply what God says there to our relationship with him as children of Abraham by faith (Ga 3.7).

Several OT passages speak to this relationship. Isaiah 54.5 mentions it, and Ezekiel 16 speaks very directly of Israel’s idolatry as sin against God her husband. But I suppose that the most concentrated and well-developed description of this relationship is in the prophecy of Hosea.

Hosea writes during the reign of Jeroboam II (Hos 1.1), in the waning days of the Northern Kingdom of Israel. You can read about the culture of Israel at this time in 2Kings 17. It’s not a pretty picture. One commentator writes, “This is a period when Israel is prosperous, proud and pagan—and thoughts of God and judgment seems ridiculous.”[1] Hosea writes to explain the reasons for the Assyrian judgment (e.g. Hos 12.8) and, perhaps surprisingly, to give hope for the future (e.g. Hos 13.14; 14.4-9).

Much of Hosea’s prophecy follows the standard outline of the Old Testament prophets:

  • Israel’s sin (chapters 4-7)
  • Coming judgment (chapters 8-10)
  • Future restoration (chapters 11-14)

But the book begins with an illustration from Hosea’s marriage, a metaphor for God’s relationship with his people. Hosea’s marriage is not typical (!), but it tells us much about our relationship to God as our Husband. 1Peter 2.10 applies the names of Hosea’s children to the church, as does Paul in Romans 9.22-26 (note “not from the Jews only, but also from the Gentiles,” Ro 9.24).

So let’s glean what we can from this remarkable story of a failed and restored relationship.

More next time.

[1] Andrew Knowles, The Bible Guide (Minneapolis: Augsburg), 353.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

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Even Though, Part 6: But …

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Part 1: Getting Started | Part 2: Personal Transcendence | Part 3: Transcendence in Action | Part 4: Responding with Praise | Part 5: A Case Study

To this point in Psalm 89, the psalmist, Ethan the Ezrahite, has been recounting God’s faithfulness. That’s all well and good when things are proceeding smoothly—when David or his descendants are on the throne. There’s reason to mourn when those descendants lapse into sin or rule unwisely, of course, but the line is intact, and the promises appear to be in a position to be fulfilled. Great.

But in Ethan’s day things had taken a turn. Our knowledge of the specifics is hampered by the fact that we don’t know exactly when Ethan lived; as I noted in the first post in this series, he’s mentioned in Kings, which was likely written during the Babylonian Exile, so he could have lived anytime up to that time period.

He describes God’s “casting” of the king’s “crown” “to the ground” (Ps 89.39b) and bringing “his strongholds to ruin” (Ps 89.40). This is certainly an apt description of Nebuchadnezzar’s sacking of Jerusalem.  He even says that God has “made void the covenant of [his] servant” (Ps 89.39a), which sounds a lot like God’s curse on Coniah, mentioned in the previous post.

Is the promise to David void? Has God not kept his word?

God had said that he would discipline any Davidic king’s disobedience (Ps 89.30-32). In that sense, the promise could be temporarily conditional—as odd as that sounds. But the covenant does continue (Ps 89.33); in the end, it is monergistic, not synergistic. Hosea, writing centuries earlier, had guaranteed the promise (Ho 3.4-5), and Ezekiel, writing from exile in Babylon, doubles down on it as well (Ezk 37.24-28). One commentator writes, “The promises had not failed but human understanding of God’s time-scale and of the complexity of his world-rule was not sufficient to keep step with what he was doing” (DA Carson et al., eds., New Bible Commentary, 4th ed. [Downers Grove: Inter-Varsity Press, 1994], 544). Jesus Christ—Joseph’s adopted Son—was presented in AD 30, reigns in heaven today (Heb 1.3-4), and will reclaim David’s earthly throne in God’s good time (Rev 20.4-6).

Unaware of most of this, the psalmist turns to a plea for deliverance:

46 How long, LORD? wilt thou hide thyself for ever? shall thy wrath burn like fire? 47 Remember how short my time is: wherefore hast thou made all men in vain? 48 What man is he that liveth, and shall not see death? shall he deliver his soul from the hand of the grave? Selah. 49 Lord, where are thy former lovingkindnesses, which thou swarest unto David in thy truth? 50 Remember, Lord, the reproach of thy servants; how I do bear in my bosom the reproach of all the mighty people; 51 Wherewith thine enemies have reproached, O LORD; wherewith they have reproached the footsteps of thine anointed (Ps 89.46-51).

He asks the Lord to ”remember” (Ps 89.47). As I’ve written before, remembering in the Bible isn’t what we think of when we use the word; it’s not related to the power of our intellect so much as to our desire to place our thoughts on something. God obviously doesn’t “forget” things—where he put his house keys, or whatever—because he can’t; he’s omniscient. But he does choose to place his thoughts on things: he refuses to think on our sins (Jer 31.34) and chooses to think on his promises to his people (Ex 2.24).

It’s in this spirit that Ethan asks God to remember the vulnerability of his servants and his promises to their ancestors. This is an eminently reasonable request, for it calls on the very core of God’s nature as a keeper of covenants.

We can do the same.

Ethan ends the psalm with a simple declaration, one that testifies to his faith in the goodness and faithfulness of God: Blessed be the LORD for evermore. Amen, and Amen (Ps 89.52).

Even though.

Indeed.

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Even Though, Part 5: A Case Study

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Part 1: Getting Started | Part 2: Personal Transcendence | Part 3: Transcendence in Action | Part 4: Responding with Praise

The psalmist has demonstrated God’s goodness through general revelation—specifically, what it teaches us about God’s person and works. Now he turns to special revelation—the story of how God has revealed himself to just one of his servants by choosing, blessing, and speaking to him.

The previous section, discussed in the previous post, ends by saying, “Our king [belongs] to the Holy One of Israel” (Ps 89.18 ESV). This statement naturally calls to the psalmist’s mind Israel’s greatest king, the patriarch of the nation’s defining dynasty. God, says the psalmist, has specially revealed himself as good through his dealings with David.

Powerful

God chooses David as a particular recipient of his power: “Mine arm also shall strengthen him” (Ps 89.21); “I will beat down his foes before his face, and plague them that hate him” (Ps 89.23); “In my name shall his horn be exalted. 25 I will set his hand also in the sea, and his right hand in the rivers” (Ps 89.24-25).

Before God was finished, David’s kingdom spread from the Mediterranean Sea in the west toward the Euphrates River in the north and beyond the Jordan River and the Dead Sea in the east. And God is here demonstrating not only his power, but his faithfulness; these boundaries recall his much earlier promise to Abraham (Gen 15.18) and to Moses (Ex 23.31).

Personal

26 He shall cry unto me, Thou art my father, my God, and the rock of my salvation. 27 Also I will make him my firstborn, higher than the kings of the earth (Ps 89.26-27).

God establishes a family relationship with David; Israel’s king is not only a worshiper and a servant, but a son—and a firstborn son at that.

The firstborn son had privileges in the family. Upon the father’s death, the firstborn son received a double portion of the inheritance, and he became the family’s patriarch in the place of the father. Now, if God is the father, he’s not going to die, and those provisions will never be placed into effect. But the place of the firstborn is the honored place.

The position did not need to follow biological birth order; God chose Jacob over Esau (Ro 9.12-13), and Jacob chose Joseph’s sons over Reuben (Ge 49.3-4, 22-26), and of Joseph’s sons he preferred Ephraim over Manasseh (Ge 48.14-20). Here David is the youngest of Jesse’s sons, but he is the ranking one of God’s chosen.

Permanent

We all know that David is not the end of this story; after him God chooses Solomon (2S 7.12-15), and by the end of that conversation we realize that this isn’t really about Solomon either; David will have a Greater Son who will reign forever; of his kingdom there shall be no end (2S 7.16; Is 9.6; 11.1, 10).

The psalmist recounts this part of the promise as well. David’s line will endure forever (Ps 89.4, 29, 36, 37).

Now, there hasn’t been a king on the throne of David since Judah’s exile to Babylon in 586 BC. Even after Judah returned from exile under Zerubbabel, the grandson of the last king, he was not king in his own right—most obviously because the Persians were in charge, but more importantly because God had cursed David’s line in Coniah and all his descendants (Je 22.24-28).

I’ve written elsewhere on this conundrum of providence. The curse is bypassed when Joseph, the cursed heir to Coniah’s throne, adopts the virgin-born son of Mary, conferring on him the legal claim to the throne but without the biological curse.

So Jesus the Christ becomes David’s Greater Son.

When did he begin to reign?

Theologians debate that; there are the Covenant Theologians and the Dispensationalists (Classic and Progressive), and that battle will end only when Christ visibly makes the answer obvious.

But no one will doubt when the trumpet sounds and the pronouncement echoes across the halls of the universe,

The kingdoms of this world are become the Kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ! And he shall reign forever and ever! (Re 11.15).

It is done (Re 21.6).

Hallelujah! (Re 19.4).

The psalmist is not finished. We’ll continue next time.

Photo by Jeremy Perkins on Unsplash

Even Though, Part 4: Responding with Praise

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Part 1: Getting Started | Part 2: Personal Transcendence | Part 3: Transcendence in Action

Ethan the Ezrahite has outlined the ways that God’s revelation of himself in creation has proclaimed both his personal characteristics and his powerful works. As he meditates on these things, he sees only one appropriate response, and he calls us to it.

That response is praise.

The psalmist writes,

15 Blessed is the people that know the joyful sound: they shall walk, O LORD, in the light of thy countenance. 16 In thy name shall they rejoice all the day: and in thy righteousness shall they be exalted. 17 For thou art the glory of their strength: and in thy favour our horn shall be exalted. 18 For the LORD is our defence; and the Holy One of Israel is our king (Ps 89.15-18).

God’s people, those created in his image and protected by his mighty arm, those who see his power projected over all creation, his ability to protect and defend them in any way needed, those people respond instinctively, exuberantly, with praise, with a “joyful sound” (KJV NASB), with a “festal shout” (ESV). The psalmist speaks implicitly of the celebration at Israel’s great feasts—

  • Passover, which celebrates Israel’s deliverance from Egypt;
  • Pentecost, which celebrates the early summer harvest;
  • Tabernacles, which celebrates God’s provision for the Israelites during the wilderness wanderings, and which, because of its seasonal timing, became a celebration of the year’s final harvest, a kind of Israelite Thanksgiving.

Of particular interest is the Feast of Trumpets, which began with a blast on the ram’s horns (Lev 23.23-25).

God’s people would respond to his goodness, his power, his provision, his appointed times of rest and celebration, with a joyful sound, a festal shout, as they walked in the light of his face turned toward them in grace.

They rejoice in his name (Ps 89.16)—in names that tell

  • of his might as a soldier defending them (El Gibbor and El Shaddai, the Mighty God);
  • of his exaltation above all their enemies (El Elyon, the Most High God);
  • of his everlasting life and presence (El Olam, the Everlasting God);
  • and most especially of his personal, living covenant relationship with his beloved people (Yahweh, “I Am”).

And they are exalted by his righteousness, which he graciously imparts to them through the sacrificial intervention of a substitute (Ex 12.27). Their strength—in battles, in difficulties, in daily life—are based in his strength (Ps 89.17), given freely to them.

Because he is gracious, generous, and good to them, they can be strong in battle, both offensively (KJV “our horn shall be exalted,” Ps 89.17) and defensively (NASB ESV NIV “our shield belongs to the LORD,” Ps 89.18). Their king, who leads them into battle, belongs to the Holy (unique, unparalleled) One of Israel (Ps 89.18b NASB ESV CSB NIV).

What other response to such a God can be imagined? What praise can possibly meet the appropriate standard for such unmeasured grace?

As a species we are too slow to recognize grace, too quick to embrace dissatisfaction or injustice—real or imagined—and too shallow and begrudging in our offering of thanksgiving. The old gospel song urges us to “count [our] blessings, name them one by one,” but we often cast aside that census as easily as we have cast aside the song.

Many years ago, when I was in college, someone encouraged me to devote a session of prayer just to thanksgiving, without asking for anything. I went down to a prayer room that the university provided in my dorm, got down on my knees and began to recall and recount the many ways God had been good to me. I kept thinking of more things, and more things, and when I wrapped up the session, I was astonished to see that I’d been at it for an hour. I don’t think I’d ever prayed for an hour before.

That experience made an impression on me—not least because I kept thinking of things I’d left out.

To this day I keep a list of God’s graces in my life—physical, circumstantial, providential, spiritual—and I recall a few of them every day during my prayer time. My life hasn’t been a bed of roses by any means—though a lot of my friends are facing deeper waters than I ever have—but I’ve found that a daily routine of gratitude makes a huge difference in my attitude, my joy, my approach to the day’s challenges, and, as many are talking about these days, my mental health.

Know the joyful sound. Walk in the light of his countenance.

Shalom.

Photo by Jeremy Perkins on Unsplash