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601_A song of praise is always good, pleasant, and fitting (Psalm 146)

Psalm 147 Praise the Lord!
For it is good to sing praises to our God;
for it is pleasant, and a song of praise is fitting.
2 The Lord builds up Jerusalem;
he gathers the outcasts of Israel.
3 He heals the brokenhearted
and binds up their wounds.
4 He determines the number of the stars;
he gives to all of them their names.
5 Great is our Lord, and abundant in power;
his understanding is beyond measure.
6 The Lord lifts up the humble;
he casts the wicked to the ground.

7 Sing to the Lord with thanksgiving;
make melody to our God on the lyre!
8 He covers the heavens with clouds;
he prepares rain for the earth;
he makes grass grow on the hills.
9 He gives to the beasts their food,
and to the young ravens that cry.
10 His delight is not in the strength of the horse,
nor his pleasure in the legs of a man,
11 but the Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him,
in those who hope in his steadfast love.

12 Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem!
Praise your God, O Zion!
13 For he strengthens the bars of your gates;
he blesses your children within you.
14 He makes peace in your borders;
he fills you with the finest of the wheat.
15 He sends out his command to the earth;
his word runs swiftly.
16 He gives snow like wool;
he scatters frost like ashes.
17 He hurls down his crystals of ice like crumbs;
who can stand before his cold?
18 He sends out his word, and melts them;
he makes his wind blow and the waters flow.
19 He declares his word to Jacob,
his statutes and rules to Israel.
20 He has not dealt thus with any other nation;
they do not know his rules.
Praise the Lord!

Imagine walking past a small chapel late in the evening. The lights are dim, the doors are half closed, and inside you hear a single voice singing—unpolished, unaccompanied, yet steady. There is no audience, no applause, no visible reason for joy. Later you learn that the person singing has just received news of loss, uncertainty, or pain. And yet, the song rises. Not because circumstances are pleasant, but because praise, in that moment, becomes an act of trust. It is not a denial of sorrow, but defiance of despair. Such praise feels strangely right. It feels fitting.

That is the spirit of Psalm 147, the second of the Hallelujah psalms, a song that begins and ends with the same triumphant word: Hallelujah—Praise the Lord. The psalmist opens with a simple yet profound declaration: it is good to sing praises to our God; it is pleasant, and praise is fitting. These three words—good, pleasant, and fitting—tell us that praise is not merely an emotional response or a religious habit. It is morally right, spiritually beautiful, and perfectly appropriate at all times.

The psalmist does not say that praise is fitting only when life is smooth or prayers are answered the way we desire. Praise is fitting because of who God is. That truth liberates us from tying worship to our moods or circumstances. James echoes this wisdom centuries later when he says, “Is anyone cheerful? Let him sing praise.” But Scripture does not stop there. Isaiah, while prophesying about the ministry of the Messiah, speaks of something even deeper: the Lord gives “a garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.” Praise is not only the language of joy; it is also God’s remedy for despair. Under any circumstance, we can sing, because God remains on the throne. Praise is our acknowledgement of His sovereignty.

Like the previous psalm, Psalm 147 lays out compelling reasons for praise. The psalmist first turns our attention to God’s restorative work among His people. The Lord builds up Jerusalem, the city where His name dwells. He gathers the outcasts of Israel. This is not merely urban development or political restoration; it is covenant faithfulness. God is shown as One who rebuilds what has been broken and brings home those who have been scattered. He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. What a tender picture this is—a God of immense power stooping down to care for fractured hearts.

Then, almost without warning, the psalmist lifts our gaze from wounded hearts to the vastness of the universe. “Great is our Lord, and abundant in power; his understanding is beyond measure.” He counts the number of the stars and gives names to all of them. In the ancient world, naming was an act of authority and ownership. When a child is born, many may suggest names, but it is the parents who finally decide. That privilege belongs to those who have given life. In the same way, God names the stars because they are His. What seems countless and untamable to us is fully known and ordered by Him.

Yet this same God, who commands galaxies and numbers stars, lifts up the humble and casts the wicked to the ground. Power does not make Him distant; greatness does not make Him indifferent. This theme resonates deeply with the songs of Hannah and Mary. Hannah, once weighed down by the reproach of barrenness, sang of a God who raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap, seating them among princes. Mary, bearing the quiet shame of a misunderstood pregnancy, rejoiced that God scatters the proud and exalts those of humble estate. Both women knew what it meant to be brought low, and both discovered that God’s heart is inclined toward the humble. Praise flowed from their lips not because life was easy, but because God had revealed Himself as faithful and just.

The psalmist then turns to God’s ongoing care for creation. He covers the heavens with clouds, prepares rain for the earth, and makes grass grow on the hills. He gives food to the beasts and to the young ravens when they cry. The world is not sustained by chance or human ingenuity, but by divine command and care. And strikingly, God is not impressed by brute strength—neither the power of a horse nor the might of a warrior delights Him. Instead, “the Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him, in those who hope in his steadfast love.”

This fear of the Lord is not terror, but reverent trust expressed in daily decisions. If our choices are governed by the fear of people—by approval, pressure, or self-preservation—we reveal whom we truly consider great. To fear God is to order our lives with the awareness that He alone is ultimate, and that His steadfast love is our true security.

The psalmist then addresses Jerusalem directly, calling the city to praise the Lord for four specific gifts. God strengthens her gates, providing security. He blesses her children, ensuring continuity and hope. He grants peace within her borders, relieving her from constant fear. And He satisfies her with the finest wheat, meeting her daily needs. Security, blessing, peace, and provision—these are not small mercies. They are abundant reasons for praise, then and now.

From there, the psalmist celebrates the power of God’s word. God sends out His command to the earth, and His word runs swiftly. Snow falls, frost spreads, hail is cast like crumbs—and then, at His word, they melt away. Wind blows, waters flow. Creation responds instantly and joyfully to His command. Psalm 19 captures this beautifully as it describes the sun running its course like a bridegroom leaving his chamber, like a strong man rejoicing to run his race. The elements obey without hesitation.

Then comes a sobering contrast. God declares His word to Jacob, His statutes and rules to Israel. Unlike the rest of creation, God’s people are not merely commanded; they are instructed. They are given His revealed will. No other nation has been dealt with in this way. With privilege comes responsibility. The winds and waves obey instinctively. The sun runs its course without rebellion. Fish swallow and release prophets, ravens deliver food, donkeys speak, worms eat, storms cease—all at God’s word. But what about those who know His statutes and rules? Knowledge brings accountability.

This is where praise becomes deeply intentional. Only those who trust and obey God can truly praise Him from the heart. A disobedient and rebellious heart may sing words, but it cannot sustain praise. Such a life is marked by dissatisfaction, bitterness, and complaint. But the child of God, even when walking through suffering, can sing. Paul and Silas, beaten and imprisoned, sang hymns at midnight, their wounded bodies bearing witness to a hope that chains could not silence. The apostles rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer dishonor for the name of Jesus. Their praise was not naïve optimism; it was rooted confidence that God would be glorified through their lives.

This brings us back to where the psalm began. Praise is good, pleasant, and fitting at all times. It is never out of place. It aligns our hearts with reality—that God reigns, that He is wise and good, that His steadfast love endures forever. Praise does not deny pain, but it places pain within the larger story of God’s purposes.

The practical question, then, is simple but searching: what place does praise have in our daily lives? Do we reserve it for moments of success and relief, or do we weave it into the ordinary rhythms of our days? To praise God when we wake up is to acknowledge that our breath is a gift. To praise Him in our work is to remember that our strength comes from Him. To praise Him in setbacks is to declare that He is still writing the story. To praise Him in rest is to confess that the world does not depend on us.

Let us, then, cultivate intentional praise—not as a forced habit, but as a faithful response. Let us praise Him with our lips and align our lives with His word. As Psalm 34 declares, “I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth.” This is not a denial of reality, but the truest acknowledgment of it. Hallelujah.