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Seeking and Finding Christ
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"I said, I will take heed to my ways, that I sin not with my tongue: I will keep my mouth with a bridle, while the wicked is before me." (Psalm 39:1)
The Hebrew word translated "bridle" actually means a muzzle — the idea of stopping the sound and the speech. What is David talking about? What's his problem? He says, "I was dumb with silence, I held my peace, even from good; and my sorrow was stirred."
It's evident from the rest of the Psalm what his problem is — and I think he is a teenager. He's a young man, David, brought up in the household of Jesse, a very rich country squire of those days and a godly man. Jesse believed the faith of his fathers, going right back to the patriarchs — to Abraham, Isaac, and down through Moses. Both his father and mother were pious.
David had seven older brothers who clearly were not sympathetic to their parents' faith. Perhaps some of them changed as life went on, but as young men they wanted this world. They wanted to make their way, get their inheritance and their pieces of land, to succeed and prosper, to enjoy substance and riches — and any kind of pleasure, good ones and bad ones, sinful ones.
They wanted moral liberty — liberty to do as they liked, to do as they pleased.
But David was serious as a youngster. At least nominally, in his mind, he was a believer in God. He believed the ancient scriptures, and he believed that a great descendant was coming — promised to Adam, and in due course to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob — who would deal with the problem of human sin and bring about forgiveness and reconciliation for man.
David held these things in his mind and believed them. But it seems he came to a time of conflict, and I think it was then, in adolescence:
Do I really want to believe this? Do I really want to go this way, like my parents, like my father Jesse? Do I want to be a person of God's book, seeking him and praying to him? Or do I want, like my brothers, the liberty to do as I like?
There was a great conflict within him. As the battle raged in his mind, he swayed — I could have this, I could have that. He knew what he could do, for he turned out to be a brilliant fellow. David was the greatest king they ever had in those ancient times, a great general — and yet he had a tender side. He was a composer, a musician, an instrumentalist. As a very young man he was taken into King Saul's household, for Saul suffered from constant depressions and needed a musician to cheer him up. It was David's compositions, songs and music that would do it. So he had a high elevation from a very early age.
A person with so many gifts and capacities is going to dream dreams. And this is the problem with all of us in our teenage years. Teenagers can be great — full of humour, vigour and energy — but as teenagers we also go through a very proud phase, when our minds think a lot about ourselves, what we want, what we think of ourselves, and what we imagine our capacities to be. It is the period of self-discovery, and also the period of pride.
So very often the thought comes — and David is no exception: What could I do if I didn't have the restraint of being a believer in God? If I didn't have to have that care and reserve, I could do and have anything I want.
There's a conflict in his mind. But because he has some belief in God, he doesn't want to come under judgement, and he doesn't want to do anything that would reflect badly. That's why he says he will keep his mouth with a bridle and muzzle "while the wicked is before me." He didn't want to encourage his brothers. He didn't want them to know he was toying with following them, rather than his parents — not yet, anyway.
David was a shepherd. Though it was a rich family, that was how it was in those days. Your father said, as you came up through boyhood, you spend so long with your books and so long tending the animals as a shepherd in remote places, in all weathers. They all had to go through the menial tasks, the lowly things. That's how you were conditioned and trained. And David, the youngest of eight boys and two girls, was at the bottom of the pile. His brothers all scorned him: "You can't do anything, you don't know anything, you're hopeless."
Actually he was very bright, and he was hurt by all that. But he's not going to give away the fact — not yet — that he's thinking of rebellion himself, that he's toying with the world. There's a battle in his heart.
Everyone goes through that battle — antagonism to God, preference of this world, grabbing hold of rationalistic explanations for everything. Everyone passes through it.
What about you and me? Have we turned to the world, away from God, without realising where the voices come from — all the temptations of Satan to be listened to? Are we led along by that? Have we had this battle, where pride pulls us to the world away from God, and we've failed it up until now?
David is in the battle, and this is his reaction. He speaks to every one of us. Some people have the battle young; some much older — middle-aged, even older — when they begin to weigh these things.
"I was dumb with silence, I held my peace, even from good; and my sorrow was stirred." (Psalm 39:2)
This is the beginning of the experience we call conversion. His sorrow was stirred; he felt deeply ashamed of himself. He describes it in powerful terms:
"My heart was hot within me, while I was musing the fire burned." (Psalm 39:3)
You know what an open fire does. The embers are glowing, and suddenly it spits — there's a minor explosion, and the flames burst forth again. That's the picture here. While I'm hot and ashamed, thinking, "Should I be thinking like this?" — suddenly it burned up, and I was really turned over.
"Then spake I with my tongue."
It burst out in audible prayer. I think he was alone, and I think he usually prayed quietly. But now his feelings were so strong that he burst out aloud.
"LORD, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is; that I may know how frail I am." (Psalm 39:4)
He actually prays to God — to use a modern expression — to lay it on thick. "I need to see this, I need to feel this shame, I need to feel my need of help." The shame God gave him leads him to pray that God will deal with him.
And it's more than about the length of life. He's not simply asking, "How long will I live?" He uses so many expressions that it's clear he means everything:
"That I may know my need." Not only the length, but the measure — all-embracing — the quality of my days, what my life is.
"Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing before thee." (Psalm 39:5)
When we use the hand as a measure, we tend to speak of the span of a hand. But the Hebrews spoke of a handbreadth — just the four fingers, three or four inches. That's not much. My life is short, my days are insubstantial, my age is as nothing before thee.
This is David — the future king — as a youngster. He worked as a shepherd out on the hills. He would sit up at night to protect the sheep and look into the star-ridden skies, the depth of the skies. And there he thought about Almighty God.
We don't see this in the town. But perhaps you have, when out of town on a clear night, seeing all the stars — how overwhelming it can be. If you sat there for hours, you'd think of the Creator, the vastness of the universe, and God infinite and immeasurable beyond it all, yet everywhere the Creator of all things.
David thinks of the eternity of God, the immensity of God — his invincible power, his unlimited infinite knowledge, his holiness and purity and perfection, his kindness and his love. And he says: my days are just three or four inches. What have I been doing, thinking that to believe in God is not worth it, that this puny world is everything? This world full of wars and tumult, some good things and so many bad — so much hate, jealousy, spite and pride, with all the sins of mankind. And here am I, belittling God, saying he's nothing to me — and he's the infinite Creator, the God of all kindness, ready to forgive and pardon.
"Verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity." (Psalm 39:5)
That's interesting, because the Hebrew says every man is altogether a shadow. Our translators, to help us, turned it into "vanity" — in the old-fashioned sense of futility. Every man is like a shadow by comparison with the infinite God.
Look at mankind. Look at the pride of atheism. As a youngster I was an atheist myself. Think of the professors, the academics who call themselves atheists, who strut about and make videos deriding God. They're tiny, and God is infinite. Oh friends, David realises his foolishness and his sinfulness — that his very life is an insult to God, while he dreams that this world is better for him.
"Surely every man walketh in a vain shew: surely they are disquieted in vain: he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them." (Psalm 39:6)
Every man walks like a shadow — insubstantial. All his achievements will be gone as quickly as a shadow. All the things we so want to acquire will vanish one day. All the fuss and anxiety of life — disquieted in vain, for nothing — it's all disappeared.
"And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope is in thee." (Psalm 39:7)
David asks: What will become of me in my last day, when I pass from time into eternity, and my soul, detached from the body, goes before God? What will it all be for? What will he say to me? And he is able to say — my hope is in thee.
What did he mean? He has come to his senses as a teenager. What was his hope? He doesn't say precisely here, but he does elsewhere. And young people, you must listen to this: David knew this as a teenager — from the scriptures, from his family teaching.
Go back to Psalm 22:
"I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint: my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels." (Psalm 22:14)
Do you know what he's doing? In Psalm 22 he is prophesying. He's talking about Christ, who won't come for a long while yet — but way ahead of time, David is speaking of the sufferings of Christ.
Way back in the very beginning, in the garden of Eden, the woman was told she would have a glorious seed, a descendant, who would bruise or smash the head of Satan the devil, being injured himself in the process. This was about Christ — who is God, the second person of the Trinity — who would come into this world and go to Calvary's cross. There God would put upon him all the guilt and sin of everyone in the history of the world who would trust in Christ. He would bear away their sin to purchase their forgiveness, so that they could be clean before God and brought to know him.
David puts himself, in words of prophecy, in the place of that great descendant. This is now his hope:
"My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death. For dogs have compassed me: the assembly of the wicked have inclosed me." (Psalm 22:15–16)
It is his suffering and his death. And then:
"A seed shall serve him; it shall be accounted to the Lord for a generation. They shall come, and shall declare his righteousness unto a people that shall be born, that he hath done this." (Psalm 22:30–31)
People will be converted to him. These are tremendous words — David foreseeing the coming of Christ, and his suffering and death on Calvary's cross.
There's another Psalm where David says much the same. In Psalm 16, David speaks of his devotions and his meditation of God:
"I have set the LORD always before me: because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved. Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory rejoiceth: my flesh also shall rest in hope." (Psalm 16:8–9)
He has an intimate walk with God. One day I'll die and be buried, and my body will be laid in the ground, awaiting a special event.
"For thou wilt not leave my soul in hell; neither wilt thou suffer thine Holy One to see corruption." (Psalm 16:10)
"Hell" here translates the grave, the place of the dead — for the soul goes directly to be with God. But listen: David is even shown by God that Christ, who will suffer and die for us, will rise from the dead. His body will not see corruption. "Thou wilt not suffer thine Holy One" — Christ, the Saviour, the Son of God — "to see corruption."
"Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore." (Psalm 16:11)
I could read other things from the Psalms of David to show what he understood, even in his youth, about Christ — the coming great descendant who would somehow suffer and die for our sin, and rise from the dead.
So, coming back to Psalm 39:7 — "my hope is in thee." Do you see it? His hope is that the great descendant, who turns out to be Christ, will come and bear away the guilt of his sin. And with that in his mind, David then comes to verse 8:
"Deliver me from all my transgressions." (Psalm 39:8)
In modern language: deliver me from all my sin. That means two things:
Oh Lord, he seems to say, what a proud fellow I've been, how insulting I've been to thee, how foolish, how selfish. I've told lies, I've been ill-tempered, I've committed lewd sins — forgive me all my sin. So he trusts in Christ for forgiveness, repents of all his sin, and asks to be delivered and given a new life.
"I was dumb, I opened not my mouth; because thou didst it." (Psalm 39:9)
Then he looks back. This isn't me, he says. This isn't me who, out of my own good sense, turned to God and repented. No — I was dumb. I wasn't winning this battle when tempted by Satan; the world was winning the battle in my heart. This was not me praying of my own volition, but because thou didst it, O God. You threw trouble into my heart, you made me feel ashamed, and then I prayed to be helped and to see my need.
"Remove thy stroke away from me: I am consumed by the blow of thine hand." (Psalm 39:10)
I've learned the lesson. I've been defeated, worn low. The Hebrew says the touch of thine hand — but it implies a rebuke.
"When thou with rebukes dost correct man for iniquity, thou makest his beauty to consume away like a moth: surely every man is vanity." (Psalm 39:11)
That's just what happens. That's what happened to me as a young fellow. I thought I was so wonderful. My opinion of myself was very high. Oh yes, I had faults — but somehow I'd cover them up and dismiss them.
We can all be so proud and pleased with ourselves. "I'm not a bad person," most people say, and at the very least they think well of themselves. But when God makes us ashamed and shows us how far we are from him, how much we need forgiveness and remaking in our hearts — then we see ourselves as we are.
It's like opening the wardrobe and reaching for a garment you've naturally used for a while — a suit, a dress, a skirt, a blouse, trousers — and instead of what you expect, it's full of holes, the moths have got to it, nothing like what you expected to see. That's how we see ourselves when God begins to work in our hearts. "Thou makest his beauty — in his own estimation — to consume away as if eaten by a moth. Surely every man is vanity."
I've always been fond of biography — historical figures, war-time generals, politicians. Time after time you see it: somebody great in everyone's estimation. Then the biographers get to work, maybe after his death.
I think of a prime minister. Everybody used to say what a fantastic memory he had, and what a grasp of situations. Then the biography appears, and his personal private secretary reveals that 75% of the time he was in a raging temper, storming up and down his office as a man who had completely lost control, hurling things around — like a child in a tantrum. It's just an example.
Everybody thought well of him. But when God inspects us, our beauty collapses like a moth-eaten garment. How much you and I need his forgiveness. How much we need remaking, new life.
"Hear my prayer, O LORD, and give ear unto my cry; hold not thy peace at my tears: for I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were." (Psalm 39:12)
You must answer me, Lord; you must hear me. I've seen it — I'm just a traveller, a foreigner in this world. This is an evil world. I want to do my best in it, care for my family, make a contribution, help people if I can — but I've seen this world is not my ultimate objective. It's eternal glory, it's heaven, it's living for my Creator. I see myself as a journeyman passing through, a sojourner. I don't actually belong here — I'm a child of heaven.
"O spare me, that I may recover strength, before I go hence, and be no more." (Psalm 39:13)
My life is for thee. That's what this is all about — the conflict that David had.
I wonder if you're in that conflict now. Or if it's coming to you. Or if you've had it and lost it, and need to go back to it.
Am I for the world, for sin, and for Satan? Or am I a forgiven man or woman, serving the Lord, heading for glory? Which is it? Is there a conflict?
If I go this way, I don't have moral liberty to do as I like. But if I go the way of the world, the way of temptation and the enemy of souls, I lose everything — I lose eternity.
If there is a conflict, pray to the Lord. That was David's first prayer:
That's what David says in the closing verses: Hear me, I come in tears, imploring thee for life. Hear me, Lord, and bless me. That should be the prayer of all of us.
Oh God our gracious heavenly Father, look upon us now in this place. Stir our hearts. Help us to feel as thy servant long ago felt — ashamed and in need. Help us to see our emptiness without thee.
Oh Lord, help us to come in repentance and true faith and belief in Christ, wondering at what he has done in bearing away our punishment if we believe in him. Oh Lord, help us all. Work in every heart, and by thy mercy and in thy great kindness, save souls. We ask it in the name of our Saviour, for his sake. Amen.
