575_The Lord our keeper (Psalm 121)
Psalm 121 I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
2 My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.
3 He will not let your foot be moved;
he who keeps you will not slumber.
4 Behold, he who keeps Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
5 The Lord is your keeper;
the Lord is your shade on your right hand.
6 The sun shall not strike you by day,
nor the moon by night.
7 The Lord will keep you from all evil;
he will keep your life.
8 The Lord will keep
your going out and your coming in
from this time forth and forevermore.
There is an old Eastern tale of a poor woman who went before the Sultan to seek justice. A thief had entered her humble home and taken what little she owned. When the Sultan asked how such a thing had happened, she answered honestly, “I fell asleep.” Surprised, the Sultan pressed further, “And why did you fall asleep?” Her reply was simple, yet startling: “I fell asleep because I believed that you were awake.” Her confidence in the Sultan’s watchfulness moved him so deeply that he ordered her losses to be restored.
There is something profoundly human in her answer—a weary soul resting because she believes someone greater is awake, alert, and attentive. And there is something profoundly spiritual in its truth, something the psalmist himself echoes as pilgrims journey toward Jerusalem singing Psalm 121: The Lord is our Keeper.
This psalm is the second in the collection known as the Songs of Ascents—fifteen psalms sung by worshipers who traveled to Jerusalem three times a year for the great feasts of the Lord. The first psalm in this group pictures the pilgrim just setting out, leaving behind the noise, conflict, and weariness of distant lands. Now, in Psalm 121, the pilgrim is fully on the road, surrounded by rising hills, uneven paths, open skies, and the vulnerabilities of wilderness travel. But as he walks, he sings—almost to steady his heart—“I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come?”
The hills were familiar landmarks. Jerusalem itself sits on elevated ground. Many pagan temples and shrines were also built high on mountains, and Israel, sadly, had often been drawn into worship on those “high places.” So the pilgrim looks at the hills—religious sites, symbols, structures—and asks a question that almost answers itself: Is my help found in any of these?
He knows the answer is no. The hills may be sacred, the temple may be holy, but all these are created things—stones shaped by human hands, shadows of a reality far greater. God Himself makes this clear through the prophet Isaiah:
“Heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool.
What is the house you would build for me?
All these things my hand has made.”
You cannot confine the Maker within the thing made. You cannot rest your hope on symbols when you can cling to the One they signify. So the psalmist lifts his eyes higher still, beyond mountains and temples and human craftsmanship. He declares with confidence:
“My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.”
What a declaration. He is saying, in essence, I do not trust stones. I trust the One who made the stones. I do not trust the hills; I trust the One who shaped the hills. I do not rely on things that look strong; I rely on the Creator who is strong.
And because He is the Maker of heaven and earth, He is also the Keeper of His people. This word “keeper” becomes the heartbeat of the psalm—repeated again and again. The Lord is not distant. He is not passive. He is not symbolic. He is active, involved, attentive, and near.
One of the first duties of a keeper—a watchman—is to stay awake. That becomes the psalmist’s comfort: “He who keeps you will not slumber.”
The contrast is sharp. Elijah once mocked the prophets of Baal because their god did not answer: “Perhaps he is musing. Perhaps he is on a journey. Perhaps he is asleep and must be awakened.” Elijah touched a nerve. Their god was unreliable, inattentive, unpredictable. But the Lord is never like that. He does not blink or become distracted or grow weary. The One who keeps Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps. He is the God who is always awake when we are exhausted, always vigilant when we are vulnerable, always present when we feel alone.
The psalmist begins to name specific dangers—three, in fact—that a pilgrim might face, and shows how the Lord keeps His people in each one.
First, there is the danger of stumbling. The terrain toward Jerusalem was often steep, rocky, and uneven. A misstep could mean injury, delay, or worse. So the psalmist says, “He will not let your foot be moved.” This is more than physical protection. Scripture often uses the foot as a symbol of stability. Falling is not just a physical act; it is a spiritual fear. But God guards the steps of His children. The psalmist in Psalm 91 echoes this comfort:
“He will command His angels concerning you…
They will bear you up
lest you strike your foot against a stone.”
God is not indifferent to your steps. He is attentive to every path you take.
Second, the psalmist speaks of danger from the elements—the heat of the sun by day, the chill of the moonlit night. For travelers, these were real threats. But the psalmist remembers the wilderness journey of Israel, where the Lord shaded them with a cloud by day and warmed them with a pillar of fire by night. So he sings, “The Lord is your shade at your right hand.” Day and night, seen and unseen dangers, God’s covering presence provides shelter.
Ruth heard similar words when she sought refuge among God’s people: “May you be richly rewarded by the Lord, under whose wings you have come to take refuge.”
Under His wings—there lies the promise. Not under our own strength, not under our own wisdom, but under His covering, His nearness, His faithful shadow.
Third, the psalmist speaks of danger in movement—in the daily rhythms of life. “The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forevermore.” This phrase captures all of life’s activities, all transitions, all change, all journeys, all seasons. It means: Wherever you go, He is there. Whatever you face, He is near.
He does not keep us only in sacred spaces or special moments. He keeps us in ordinary routines—stepping out of our homes, returning again, traveling, working, resting. His protection is not occasional but constant, not selective but comprehensive.
When the psalmist calls the Lord our keeper, he is describing a God who is not only our Savior but also our Shepherd—One who knows our weaknesses, who guards our steps, who covers us from danger, who watches the path ahead and the path beneath our feet. And He does this not for a moment but “forevermore.”
What does it mean, then, for us today to say, “The Lord is my Keeper”? It means we can rest, not because life is safe, but because God is watching. It means we can sleep, not because the world is calm, but because God is awake. It means we can move forward, not because the path is smooth, but because His hand is steady.
Like the woman before the Sultan, we can say, “I rest because I believe You are awake.”
The world is full of things that promise help—the hills around us still rise with false assurances. Careers, resources, abilities, relationships, structures, and systems—they can all be good, but none of them can keep us. None of them can stay awake every moment. None of them can protect us in our deepest vulnerabilities. Only the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth, can be our Keeper.
So here is the invitation of Psalm 121: Lift your eyes. Lift them higher than your circumstances. Higher than your fears. Higher than your uncertainties. Higher than the mountains of human help. Lift them to the Lord who keeps you.
And here is the practical application: live today with the quiet confidence of someone who knows she is watched over. Do not walk as though unguarded, do not fear as though unprotected, do not strive as though alone. Instead, entrust your steps to Him—every decision, every journey, every transition. Entrust your days and nights to Him—your work, your rest, your responsibilities, your uncertainties. When you look within, you’ll feel distressed, when you look around you may be distracted, when you look back, you may be feated, but when you look up, you’ll be delivered. Entrust your whole life—your going out and your coming in—to the God who neither slumbers nor sleeps.
For the Lord is your Keeper.
Because He is awake, you can rest.
Because He watches, you can walk with confidence.
Because He keeps you now, He will keep you forever.
Come, then—take shelter beneath His wings. Let your heart learn to say with assurance, “My help comes from the Lord.”