Daily Devotional Podcasts

567_Loving God is also loving His commandments (Psalm 119:121-128) Psalm 119:121-128 I have done what is just and right; do not leave me to my oppressors. 122 Give your servant a pledge of good; let not the insolent oppress me. 123 My eyes long for your salvation and for the fulfillment of your righteous promise. 124 Deal with your servant according to your steadfast love, and teach me your statutes. 125 I am your servant; give me understanding, that I may know your testimonies! 126 It is time for the Lord to act, for your law has been broken. 127 Therefore I love your commandments above gold, above fine gold. 128 Therefore I consider all your precepts to be right; I hate every false way. There’s a story told about a young craftsman who worked in a small jewelry shop. His master was known across the land for creating ornaments of breathtaking beauty. Every morning, the apprentice would rush to his workbench, eager to learn from the master. But what struck others was not just his skill, but his devotion. He would spend hours polishing a single piece, carefully following every instruction his teacher gave. One day, a friend asked him, “Why do you take such pains to obey every word your master says? Surely you’ve learned enough to work your own way by now.” The young man smiled and replied, “It’s not just his craft I love—it’s him. And because I love him, I can’t help but love everything he teaches me.” That simple answer captures the heart of Psalm 119:121–128. True love for God is not shown in loud professions or lofty words, but in loving His commandments—in delighting to do what is right, simply because it pleases Him. Loving God and loving His Word are not two different affections; they are one and the same. In this section of Psalm 119, we see a soul in love with God, not in theory but in life. The psalmist’s heart beats with longing for righteousness and for God’s truth to triumph. He begins by saying, “I have done what is just and right; do not leave me to my oppressors.” (v. 121) Here is not the cry of a self-righteous man, but of one whose love for God has moved him to live uprightly. He is saying, “Lord, I have sought to walk in Your ways; now be my defender.” He doesn’t claim perfection—he claims loyalty. His obedience springs from affection, not obligation. Love for God had taken deep root in his heart, and it bore fruit in just and righteous living. He pleads, “Give your servant a pledge of good; let not the insolent oppress me.” (v. 122) In other words, he is asking God to stand surety for him—to take responsibility for his good name and his welfare. The psalmist knows that in a world filled with the proud and the wicked, only God can be the true defender of those who love righteousness. There is humility in that prayer: a recognition that our strength to live rightly—and to stand firm when we are wronged—comes only from

568_The illuminating power of the Word of God (Psalm 119:129-136) Psalm 119:129-136 Your testimonies are wonderful; therefore my soul keeps them. 130 The unfolding of your words gives light; it imparts understanding to the simple. 131 I open my mouth and pant, because I long for your commandments. 132 Turn to me and be gracious to me, as is your way with those who love your name. 133 Keep steady my steps according to your promise, and let no iniquity get dominion over me. 134 Redeem me from man's oppression, that I may keep your precepts. 135 Make your face shine upon your servant, and teach me your statutes. 136 My eyes shed streams of tears, because people do not keep your law. Have you ever walked into a dark room and fumbled for the light switch? For a few moments, everything feels uncertain. You’re aware of the furniture, but you can’t see where it is. You take hesitant steps, afraid of bumping into something. Then, the moment you flip the switch, the entire space is transformed. What was once confusing and shadowy is suddenly clear. You can move freely because you see things as they truly are. In many ways, this is what happens when the Word of God enters our hearts. It brings light into places where confusion and darkness once ruled. It shows us the truth about ourselves, about God, and about the world around us. C. S. Lewis once wrote, “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.” The same could be said of the Word of God. We don’t only read Scripture to see it, but through it, we learn to see everything else. God’s Word doesn’t just inform us; it transforms how we perceive reality. Psalm 119:129–136 gives us a window into this transformative power. The psalmist here isn’t engaging in mere intellectual reflection—he’s describing the heart-level experience of encountering God through His Word. His words carry awe, longing, and deep devotion. He begins with a declaration of wonder: “Your testimonies are wonderful; therefore my soul keeps them.” (v.129). The psalmist has discovered that the Word of God is not ordinary literature. It is wonderful—filled with divine beauty and depth. Every time he reads the testimonies of God, he is filled with awe. His heart is captivated. That sense of wonder compels him to keep them, to treasure and obey them. When was the last time you felt that kind of wonder as you opened your Bible? We live in an age of distraction, where even sacred things can become routine. But when we approach Scripture with the same reverence as the psalmist—with an awareness that we are hearing the voice of the Creator—it changes how we read. The Word becomes not just a text to analyze but a revelation to adore. Then the psalmist uses one of the most beautiful metaphors in Scripture: “The unfolding of your words gives light; it imparts understanding to the simple.” (v.130). Picture a curtain being pulled back to let

569_God’s promises are thoroughly tested (Psalm 119:137-144) Psalm 119:137 Righteous are you, O Lord, and right are your rules. 138 You have appointed your testimonies in righteousness and in all faithfulness. 139 My zeal consumes me, because my foes forget your words. 140 Your promise is well tried, and your servant loves it. 141 I am small and despised, yet I do not forget your precepts. 142 Your righteousness is righteous forever, and your law is true. 143 Trouble and anguish have found me out, but your commandments are my delight. 144 Your testimonies are righteous forever; give me understanding that I may live. There’s something mesmerizing about watching gold being refined. The craftsman places the unrefined metal into a blazing furnace, heating it until it glows. As the temperature rises, the impurities—called dross—begin to separate and float to the surface. The refiner patiently skims them off, again and again, until the gold is pure and radiant. Ancient metallurgists used a simple test to know when the process was complete: the gold was considered ready when the refiner could see his reflection clearly on its surface. It’s a powerful image, isn’t it? The fire doesn’t destroy the gold; it reveals its purity. What survives the furnace is not weaker but more precious—proven and trustworthy. That’s the picture the psalmist paints in Psalm 119:140 when he declares, “Your promise is well tried, and your servant loves it.” The Word of God has been through the furnace of time, suffering, and human doubt—and it always comes out pure. In this portion of Psalm 119, verses 137 to 144, the psalmist meditates on the reliability of God’s Word and the righteousness of its Author. He looks at life—the pressures, opposition, and personal pain—and finds that, through it all, God’s promises have never failed. They have been thoroughly tested. He begins by fixing his gaze on the very nature of God: “Righteous are you, O Lord, and right are your rules. You have appointed your testimonies in righteousness and in all faithfulness.” (vv. 137–138) This is where true confidence begins. The psalmist doesn’t start with himself—his feelings, his enemies, or his situation—but with God. “Righteous are You, O Lord.” God is the standard of all that is right and just. And because His character is righteous, His Word must also be righteous. God’s Word cannot contradict His nature. It is perfectly consistent with who He is. His commands are not arbitrary; His promises are not fickle. They flow from His unchanging goodness. But the psalmist’s world is not an easy one. He is surrounded by people who disregard or despise the Word of God. In verse 139 he says, “My zeal consumes me, because my foes forget your words.” The more others forget or reject God’s truth, the more the psalmist burns with passion for it. His zeal is not born from pride or superiority, but from love. He can’t bear to see the precious Word of God ignored. It’s easy to grow cold when the world grows indifferent. It’s tempting to quiet our faith when others dismiss it. But the psalmist does the

570_Experiencing God’s nearness in times of trouble (Psalm 119:145-152) Psalm 119:145-152 With my whole heart I cry; answer me, O Lord! I will keep your statutes. 146 I call to you; save me, that I may observe your testimonies. 147 I rise before dawn and cry for help; I hope in your words. 148 My eyes are awake before the watches of the night, that I may meditate on your promise. 149 Hear my voice according to your steadfast love; O Lord, according to your justice give me life. 150 They draw near who persecute me with evil purpose; they are far from your law. 151 But you are near, O Lord, and all your commandments are true. 152 Long have I known from your testimonies that you have founded them forever. Some years ago, a young woman named Sarah found herself sitting in a hospital waiting room late one night. Her father had suffered a massive heart attack, and the doctors were uncertain whether he would survive till morning. The hospital lights flickered dimly, the corridors were silent, and she felt utterly alone. She had prayed, but her words seemed to vanish into the ceiling. She opened her Bible with trembling hands and her eyes fell on Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” As she read those words, she began to weep. Not tears of despair this time, but of recognition—that even in her darkest hour, she was not alone. God was near. That night didn’t end with instant healing or miraculous recovery. But Sarah would later say that it was in that waiting room, not in a Sunday service or a joyful celebration, that she first felt the nearness of God—quiet, steady, and real. The nearness of God is often most deeply experienced not on the mountaintop, but in the valley. It’s not when everything is going well, but when life feels most fragile. This is the heartbeat of Psalm 119:145–152, where the psalmist, in his own distress, discovers that the God who seems far away is actually right beside him. This section of Psalm 119 records an impassioned cry for help. The psalmist doesn’t disguise his pain or attempt to sound composed. He opens his heart entirely before God: “With my whole heart I cry; answer me, O Lord! I will keep your statutes. I call to you; save me, that I may observe your testimonies.” (vv. 145–146) The words “with my whole heart” reveal the intensity of his prayer. This isn’t a half-hearted plea; it’s the cry of a man who has reached the end of his strength. Yet notice something profound: his ultimate desire is not merely deliverance from trouble—it is faithfulness to God. “Save me, that I may observe your testimonies.” He prays for life, not so that he can return to comfort or ease, but so that he can continue to serve and glorify God. His life revolves around God’s glory, not his own agenda. Even in desperation, his heart remains aligned with God’s purposes. There’s something beautiful about this. Many of us, when

571_Anchored in His mercy, sustained by His Word (Psalm 119:153-160) Psalm 119:153-160 Look on my affliction and deliver me, for I do not forget your law. 154 Plead my cause and redeem me; give me life according to your promise! 155 Salvation is far from the wicked, for they do not seek your statutes. 156 Great is your mercy, O Lord; give me life according to your rules. 157 Many are my persecutors and my adversaries, but I do not swerve from your testimonies. 158 I look at the faithless with disgust, because they do not keep your commands. 159 Consider how I love your precepts! Give me life, O Lord, according to your steadfast love. 160 The sum of your word is truth, and every one of your righteous rules endures forever. There is a story told about a young boy who accidentally broke a window while playing outside. Terrified of his father’s reaction, he hid in the backyard, rehearsing excuses, bracing for anger. When his father finally found him, the boy burst into tears and confessed everything. He expected punishment, but instead his father knelt down, embraced him, and said, “I’m glad you told me the truth. Let’s fix this together.” What overwhelmed the child was not the cost of repairing a window, but the unexpected tenderness of mercy. Years later, he said that moment shaped how he came to understand the heart of God. Mercy has a way of disarming us. It reaches us in places where strength fails, where excuses collapse, and where fear gives way to hope. Mercy meets us where we really are, not where we pretend to be. And that is exactly what we witness in Psalm 119:153–160. This portion of the psalm reveals a man who has come to the end of himself—not in despair, but in dependence. Surrounded by enemies, pressed by afflictions, and pursued by adversaries, the psalmist does not react with retaliation or self-reliance. Instead, he turns again—deliberately, humbly, honestly—to the mercy of God. He opens with a plea that is as simple as it is sincere: “Look on my affliction and deliver me, for I do not forget your law.” The psalmist is not presenting a legal argument; he is presenting a heart shaped by Scripture. He asks God to look at his affliction—a request not just for observation, but for intervention. What gives him the courage to ask this? It is his steady confidence that he has anchored his life in the Word of God. Throughout Psalm 119, his attitude toward affliction is remarkably consistent. He never treats suffering as an accident, nor as something merely inflicted by people. He sees it through the lens of God’s sovereignty. Earlier he declares, “I know, O Lord, that your rules are righteous, and that in faithfulness you have afflicted me.” Those are astonishing words. The psalmist does not see affliction as a contradiction of God’s goodness, but as an expression of His faithfulness. He recognizes that God uses pain as a tool in His hand—not to crush, but to correct; not to destroy, but to deepen. He even speaks

572_Great peace to those who love God’s law (Psalm 119:161-168) Psalm 161-168 Princes persecute me without cause, but my heart stands in awe of your words. 162 I rejoice at your word like one who finds great spoil. 163 I hate and abhor falsehood, but I love your law. 164 Seven times a day I praise you for your righteous rules. 165 Great peace have those who love your law; nothing can make them stumble. 166 I hope for your salvation, O Lord, and I do your commandments. 167 My soul keeps your testimonies; I love them exceedingly. 168 I keep your precepts and testimonies, for all my ways are before you. There is a story about a famous musician who was once asked what gave him the ability to perform with such calm confidence before thousands. He explained that early in his life, his mentor taught him a simple exercise: whenever he felt anxious or overwhelmed, he was to place his hand on the strings of his violin—not to play, but simply to touch the instrument he loved—and breathe. He said that even in adulthood, before stepping onto any great stage, he still did that. “When my hand is on these strings,” he said, “I remember who I am, what I love, and where I belong. Peace returns.” For him, peace was found in touching something deeply loved. For the psalmist in Psalm 119:161–168, peace is found in something infinitely more secure—the law, the words, the very voice of God. The world around him is raging; powerful people oppose him; uncertainties abound. Yet every time he returns to the Word of God, he remembers who he is, what he loves, and to whom he belongs. And peace—great peace—returns. As we listen to the psalmist in this passage, we are given a window into his heart. We hear not just theology but testimony. He speaks from experience, not theory. He has discovered that the peace of God, the kind that “passes all understanding,” belongs to those who love God’s law—those who stand in awe of His words, anchor their hope in His promises, and shape their daily walk around His truth. This peace is not fragile; it is not threatened by circumstances. Nothing, he says, will make them stumble. The psalmist begins with a startling confession: “Princes persecute me without cause, but my heart stands in awe of your words.” (v.161) The affliction he faces is not from common people but from those who are influential, powerful, and high in society. Their opinions carry weight; their decisions can alter the course of his life. Yet even as they rise against him unfairly, his heart does not crumble beneath their pressure. Instead, it stands in awe—not of them, but of the Word of God. It is as if he says, “Their power intimidates, but Your Word steadies me. Their threats unsettle, but Your truth anchors me.” His delight in the Word surpasses the fear of earthly powers. In fact, it surpasses every earthly joy. “I rejoice at your word like one who finds great spoil.” (v.162) Imagine a soldier stumbling upon

573_Meeting our greatest need in Christ (Psalm 119:169-176) Psalm 119:169-176 Let my cry come before you, O Lord; give me understanding according to your word! 170 Let my plea come before you; deliver me according to your word. 171 My lips will pour forth praise, for you teach me your statutes. 172 My tongue will sing of your word, for all your commandments are right. 173 Let your hand be ready to help me, for I have chosen your precepts. 174 I long for your salvation, O Lord, and your law is my delight. 175 Let my soul live and praise you, and let your rules help me. 176 I have gone astray like a lost sheep; seek your servant, for I do not forget your commandments. There is a story told about a British shepherd who, on a cold winter morning, discovered that one of his sheep had wandered far beyond the boundary of the farm. The shepherd tracked the animal’s hoofprints through snow, brambles, and over stony ground until he found it stuck in a thorny ditch, trembling and unable to free itself. The shepherd lifted it gently, wrapped it in his coat, and carried it all the way home. Later, someone asked him why he would go through so much trouble for just a single sheep. The shepherd replied, “Because the sheep didn’t know how to find me. But I knew how to find him.” In many ways, that is the story of every believer—our wandering hearts, our desperate needs, and the God who seeks us when we cannot find our way back to Him. This is also the heartbeat of the final section of Psalm 119, the longest psalm in Scripture and a beautiful portrait of a soul shaped by God’s Word. As the psalmist reaches the end of his long meditation, his tone is not one of pride or accomplishment but of humble dependence. He comes boldly—yet reverently—to the throne of grace, gathering up all his petitions and placing them once more before the Almighty. He begins with an earnest plea: “Let my cry come before you, O Lord; give me understanding according to your word!” (v.169). After all the wisdom he has already expressed, after all the experiences he has recounted, the psalmist recognizes that his greatest need is still this: understanding. Not information, not intellectual mastery, not spiritual performance—but true understanding, the kind that only God Himself can give. This kind of prayer is never ignored by heaven. It is fully aligned with the heart and will of God. Scripture repeatedly assures us that God delights to reveal Himself to those who seek Him. Jeremiah 33:3 is one of the most beautiful promises of this invitation: “Call to Me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.” God is not reluctant; He is not withholding. He invites His people to ask, and He promises to reveal. The psalmist’s next request is one of deliverance: “Let my plea come before you; deliver me according to your word” (v.170). What is significant here is not

574_The deep longing of a pilgrim (Psalm 120) Psalm 120 In my distress I called to the Lord, and he answered me. 2 Deliver me, O Lord, from lying lips, from a deceitful tongue. 3 What shall be given to you, and what more shall be done to you, you deceitful tongue? 4 A warrior's sharp arrows, with glowing coals of the broom tree! 5 Woe to me, that I sojourn in Meshech, that I dwell among the tents of Kedar! 6 Too long have I had my dwelling among those who hate peace. 7 I am for peace, but when I speak, they are for war! A humanitarian worker once told the story of a 9-year-old Syrian refugee who arrived at a border crossing after walking for days through dangerous terrain. The boy was exhausted, blistered, and carrying only a small backpack. When he finally stepped onto safe ground, he asked, “Is this where peace starts?” He didn’t know the language, the culture, or what lay ahead. All he knew was that he was walking away from war and toward something he longed for but had never fully experienced—peace. That is the spirit of Psalm 120—the ache that pulls a pilgrim forward. It is the first of the fifteen “Songs of Ascents,” the sacred playlist of those who journeyed to Jerusalem for the great feasts of Passover, Pentecost, and Tabernacles. Three times a year, Israelites from every direction—villages, deserts, coasts, and far-flung regions—would climb the winding paths toward the holy city. As the elevation rose, so did their hearts. They sang these psalms not simply as tradition, but as a declaration of hope, desire, and longing for the presence of God. And the journey begins with a cry. “In my distress I called to the Lord, and He answered me.” The pilgrim does not start with celebration; he starts with desperation. Before he ascends, he acknowledges the valley he has come from. Before his feet climb the mountain, his heart rises in prayer. This is a testimony to the God who hears—“O You who hear prayer, to You shall all flesh come” (Psalm 65:2). The journey toward God always begins with the recognition that we need Him. The psalmist’s distress is specific: “Deliver me, O Lord, from lying lips, from a deceitful tongue.” There is no wound quite like the wound caused by deceit. Words, when twisted, can pierce the soul, distort reputation, and break trust. Sometimes the deepest valleys in our lives are carved not by circumstances, but by conversations—whispered accusations, hidden agendas, or subtle distortions that are meant to injure. Scripture is painfully realistic about this kind of suffering. In Psalm 52, David tells of Doeg the Edomite, a man whose half-truths brought about the massacre of innocent priests. David describes Doeg’s tongue as a “sharp razor”—cutting, deliberate, and destructive. What made the tragedy even heavier was that Doeg was himself in the house of God when he betrayed others. Proximity to holy things does not make a holy heart. David, however, describes himself as a “green olive tree in the house of God”—rooted, fruitful, and steady.

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

576_The joy of dwelling in the city of God (Psalm 122) Psalm 122 I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord!” 2 Our feet have been standing within your gates, O Jerusalem! 3 Jerusalem—built as a city that is bound firmly together, 4 to which the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord, as was decreed for Israel, to give thanks to the name of the Lord. 5 There thrones for judgment were set, the thrones of the house of David. 6 Pray for the peace of Jerusalem! “May they be secure who love you! 7 Peace be within your walls and security within your towers!” 8 For my brothers and companions' sake I will say, “Peace be within you!” 9 For the sake of the house of the Lord our God, I will seek your good. A traveler who, after years of wandering across continents, finally reached the gates of his childhood town. The moment he saw the familiar rooftops and the ancient walls, his heart surged with a joy he could not explain. It wasn’t simply the beauty of the place, nor the memories it held, but the sense of belonging—of standing once again where he knew he was meant to be. He later wrote in his journal, “There are some places the soul recognizes before the mind fully understands. Some gates you cross and instantly feel at home.” That sentiment mirrors the heartbeat of Psalm 122. It is the feeling of a pilgrim drawing near to Jerusalem, the holy city of God—the place where heaven and earth seemed to meet for the people of Israel. And it is also the feeling David describes when he bursts out in joy: “I was glad when they said unto me, ‘Let us go to the house of the Lord!’” His joy was not merely about traveling or tradition; it was the joy of drawing near to the dwelling place of God. Psalm 122 is the third of the Songs of Ascents but the first written by David. Interestingly, David wrote this long before the temple was built. The magnificent house of God that Solomon would construct existed only as a promise and a blueprint in David’s mind, yet his longing for God’s presence was as real as if the temple already stood. Throughout his life, David displayed a deep yearning to dwell with God—an ache, a holy hunger, that consistently appears in his psalms. “One thing have I asked of the Lord… that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.” (Psalm 27:4) “As a deer pants for flowing streams, so pants my soul for you, O God.” (Psalm 42:1) “In your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” (Psalm 16:11) These were not poetic exaggerations—they were the authentic cries of a man who knew that the deepest joy a human soul can taste is found in the presence of God. So when David says, “I was glad,” it is the gladness of someone who has been

577_Looking up to our merciful God (Psalm 123) Psalm 123 To you I lift up my eyes, O you who are enthroned in the heavens! 2 Behold, as the eyes of servants look to the hand of their master, as the eyes of a maidservant to the hand of her mistress, so our eyes look to the Lord our God, till he has mercy upon us. 3 Have mercy upon us, O Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have had more than enough of contempt. 4 Our soul has had more than enough of the scorn of those who are at ease, of the contempt of the proud. A few years ago, a well-known mountaineer described an experience that changed the way he viewed life. After a long and exhausting climb, he finally reached a narrow ledge high above the valley floor. As he caught his breath, he looked down. The thousand-foot drop instantly made his knees weak, and fear tightened around his chest. But when he slowly lifted his eyes upward, he saw something he had not noticed before—the sky was turning gold. The first rays of dawn spread across the horizon, painting the mountains with light. In that moment, he said, “I felt the fear drain out of me. Nothing changed about the danger beneath me. But everything changed when I looked up.” Sometimes our lives feel like that narrow ledge. There are moments when we feel hemmed in by fear, pressure, contempt, criticism, or uncertainty. The ground beneath us feels unsafe. The future feels unclear. But Psalm 123 invites us to do what that mountaineer did—to look up. It is another one of the Songs of Ascents, sung by the people of Israel as they made their way toward Jerusalem, going up step by step toward the temple of God. In this psalm, the worshiper has arrived at the holy city, but instead of looking at the noise and activity around him, he lifts his eyes higher. He looks to heaven, to the One enthroned above all, the One who reigns and yet cares for the lowliest of His servants. “I lift up my eyes to you, to you who sit enthroned in the heavens.” These words set the tone for the entire psalm. The psalmist sees God as the King of the whole earth, exalted above every nation, every ruler, every crisis, every mocking voice. Yet he also sees God as a Master who is intimately attentive to His servants. The greatest Sovereign stoops to notice the least. The psalmist describes himself as a servant watching closely for the slightest movement of his master’s hand. In ancient households, masters often communicated quietly—sometimes with only a gesture or a tilt of the hand. A faithful servant learned to keep his eyes fixed, watching eagerly for instruction, permission, or help. The psalmist borrows this image and applies it to our relationship with God: “As the eyes of servants look to the hand of their master, as the eyes of a maidservant to the hand of her mistress, so our eyes look to the Lord our God, till

578_Our help is in the name of the Lord (Psalm 124) Psalm 124 If it had not been the Lord who was on our side— let Israel now say— 2 if it had not been the Lord who was on our side when people rose up against us, 3 then they would have swallowed us up alive, when their anger was kindled against us; 4 then the flood would have swept us away, the torrent would have gone over us; 5 then over us would have gone the raging waters. 6 Blessed be the Lord, who has not given us as prey to their teeth! 7 We have escaped like a bird from the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken, and we have escaped! 8 Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth. When Israel declared independence on May 14, 1948, the nation had barely been born before it was thrown into a fight for its very survival. Within hours, five surrounding armies—Egypt, Jordan, Syria, Lebanon, and Iraq—launched a coordinated attack. Many military strategists predicted the newborn state would not survive a week. Israel had only a few thousand soldiers, most of them farmers and teenagers. They lacked weapons, ammunition, tanks, and even proper uniforms. Many had not yet received basic training. By every human measure, Israel should have been crushed before it ever had a chance to exist. But again and again, stories emerged of battles turning unexpectedly, of enemy movements failing at crucial moments, of small Israeli units holding off armies many times their size. One such event took place on the Jerusalem front. A small group of young Israeli fighters held the position at Gush Etzion, facing the powerful Arab Legion. They were hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned. As the Legion advanced, the defenders sent desperate radio messages: “We are down to our last bullets.” Yet somehow, for hours, they held back an army trained and equipped by the British Empire. One Israeli fighter said later, “We didn’t win because we were strong. We won because we had no choice but to trust that God was with us.” Even secular observers admit that Israel’s survival in 1948—and in several subsequent wars—was “highly improbable.” Former prime minister David Ben-Gurion famously said, “In Israel, in order to be a realist, you must believe in miracles.” Those words echo what David wrote centuries earlier in Psalm 124: “If it had not been the Lord who was on our side…” David invites us to imagine Israel’s story—ancient or modern—without God’s intervention. Without Him, they would have been swallowed alive. Without Him, the floods of opposition would have swept them away. Without Him, the raging waters would have drowned their hope. This is one of David’s Songs of Ascent—a pilgrim song meant to be sung on the journey to Jerusalem. As travelers climbed hills and walked through valleys, they were reminded of this truth: their existence was not a result of their own strength. Their survival was not because of their armies or clever strategies. Their story was written by the hand of the Lord.

579_The security of those who trust in the Lord (Psalm 125) Psalm 125 Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion, which cannot be moved, but abides forever. 2 As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the Lord surrounds his people, from this time forth and forevermore. 3 For the scepter of wickedness shall not rest on the land allotted to the righteous, lest the righteous stretch out their hands to do wrong. 4 Do good, O Lord, to those who are good, and to those who are upright in their hearts! 5 But those who turn aside to their crooked ways the Lord will lead away with evildoers! Peace be upon Israel! Several years ago, a man from a coastal town told the story of surviving a violent storm at sea. He had been on a small fishing boat with two others when the sky darkened far sooner than expected. The wind rose with a howl, the waves mounted like walls, and the boat trembled as though it were made of paper. Panic swept over them. Their radio had stopped working, the shoreline had vanished from sight, and they were at the mercy of forces far beyond their strength. But the man remembered something curious: even while everything around them raged, there was a massive rock formation that rose above the water not far from where they drifted. When they managed to steer close enough, they anchored on the sheltered side of that unmovable cliff. “The sea was roaring,” he said, “but the rock never moved. And because it didn’t move, we survived.” It is a simple picture, yet powerful in its clarity: when everything around us trembles, we instinctively look for something—anything—that will not shake. Something stable enough to trust. Something strong enough to hold. Something steady enough to quiet our fears. And this longing for stability is what lies at the heart of Psalm 125, a psalm sung by pilgrims ascending the winding paths toward Jerusalem. As they walked closer to the holy city, they saw hills rising on every side—a natural fortress, a reminder of protection, permanence, and peace. In that moment, the psalmist’s mind turns toward a deeper reality: “Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion, which cannot be moved but abides forever.” It is not accidental that the psalm begins with a metaphor of a mountain. Mountains do not sway with the winds or collapse with every passing storm. They are symbols of permanence in a world of constant instability. But not everyone chooses to anchor themselves to God. Scripture repeatedly shows that people often seek security in places that cannot truly hold them. Some trust in riches. Proverbs warns us plainly: “He who trusts in his riches will fall, but the righteous will flourish like foliage.” Jesus reinforces this in words that are both sobering and tender: “How hard it is for those who trust in riches to enter the kingdom of God!” Riches promise security, but those promises are fragile. Markets shift, fortunes evaporate, banks collapse, and what once felt firm can crumble overnight. When we place our

580_The God who restores our fortunes (Psalm 126) Psalm 126 When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. 2 Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then they said among the nations, “The Lord has done great things for them.” 3 The Lord has done great things for us; we are glad. 4 Restore our fortunes, O Lord, like streams in the Negeb! 5 Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy! 6 He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him. A few years ago, a well-known humanitarian organization released a short documentary about a village in East Africa that had endured a devastating drought. For months, the land cracked beneath the relentless sun. Wells dried up, families were displaced, and the fields that once produced grain and vegetables became nothing but dust. Many villagers left, hoping to survive elsewhere. But one day, after months of waiting, dark clouds gathered unexpectedly. A sudden downpour burst over the parched land. The villagers ran out of their makeshift shelters with tears of astonishment. Children danced barefoot in the mud, older men raised their hands toward the sky, and women began to sing. One of the elders, overwhelmed with emotion, said something unforgettable: “It feels like waking up from a dream we thought was lost.” That statement captures the heart of Psalm 126. This short psalm, the seventh of the Songs of Ascents, is a picture of God’s people standing in the rain of His mercy after a long season of drought, displacement, and longing. It is a psalm drenched in relief—one that remembers a moment so astonishing that the people could hardly believe it was happening. “When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion,” the psalmist says, “we were like those who dream.” It was as though reality suddenly became better than their imagination dared hope. God had done something so extraordinary, so unmistakably divine, that they stood stunned in gratitude. Scholars believe the psalm may reflect a time when God’s people, forced by famine to leave their hill country homes and seek survival in the lowlands, were finally brought back by God’s gracious intervention. Whatever the exact historical moment, the memory is clear: God took a displaced, discouraged, and diminished people—and restored them. They returned to the familiar hills they once feared they might never see again. Their relief overflowed into laughter, songs, and testimonies that even the surrounding nations could not ignore. The people around them said, “The Lord has done great things for them,” and Israel answered joyfully, “The Lord has done great things for us; we are glad.” This restoration is not a small act. Human history testifies how difficult it is to bring a displaced people back home. Once a community migrates—whether across a border or across an ocean—it often roots itself elsewhere. Generations grow up with new customs, new languages, new identities. But Israel’s story was different, because their return was not the result of politics

581_Recognizing the unseen hand of God in our lives (Psalm 127) Psalm 127 Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchman stays awake in vain. 2 It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for he gives to his beloved sleep. 3 Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. 4 Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one's youth. 5 Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate. You may have heard the famous story about the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge. In the late 1800s, John Roebling had a daring vision of a suspension bridge connecting Manhattan and Brooklyn—an idea almost everyone thought was impossible. During construction, John was fatally injured, and his son Washington Roebling became the chief engineer. Shortly after, Washington developed severe decompression sickness that left him unable to walk or speak normally. Confined to his room, he watched the construction through a small window. But he still believed the bridge could be completed. The only way he could communicate was by tapping one finger on his wife Emily’s arm. She learned to interpret his taps, relay his instructions to the workers, and essentially became the bridge’s voice and overseer. Through unbelievable difficulty and unseen labor, the Brooklyn Bridge was completed. The public saw the visible bridge. But behind the scenes was an unseen, guiding presence—a man unable to stand, building through the determined hands of another. Without that unseen guidance, the bridge would never have stood. In a similar but far deeper way, Psalm 127 invites us to recognize the unseen hand of God in every area of our lives. We may see the bricks, tools, plans, and human effort—but Scripture reminds us that behind our visible work is an invisible Builder, Protector, and Provider who makes all things stand. Psalm 127 is one of the Songs of Ascents—pilgrims sang these psalms as they journeyed up toward Jerusalem. As they climbed, they reminded themselves of this fundamental truth: human effort without divine involvement is ultimately empty. The psalm opens with the blunt yet liberating reality: “Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchman stays awake in vain.” The psalmist is not condemning building or guarding or working; he is showing us the limits of our human strength and the necessity of God’s hand in all things. You can have bricks, mortar, resources, planning, intelligence, and human strength—but without God’s active help, the entire structure collapses. We see this principle dramatically illustrated in Genesis 11 with the Tower of Babel. God had commanded humanity to “be fruitful, multiply, and fill the earth.” But the people did not want to scatter. Instead, they settled in Shinar and said, “Let us build a city and a tower

582_The blessedness of living in the fear of God (Psalm 128) Psalm 128 Blessed is everyone who fears the Lord, who walks in his ways! 2 You shall eat the fruit of the labor of your hands; you shall be blessed, and it shall be well with you. 3 Your wife will be like a fruitful vine within your house; your children will be like olive shoots around your table. 4 Behold, thus shall the man be blessed who fears the Lord. 5 The Lord bless you from Zion! May you see the prosperity of Jerusalem all the days of your life! 6 May you see your children's children! Peace be upon Israel! Many years ago, a well-known businessman was asked the secret behind his steady joy and calm despite the pressures and unpredictability of his work. His answer surprised everyone. He said, “Every evening, before anything else, I sit with my family around the dinner table. We talk, we pray, we laugh. Everything else in my life may rise or fall, but if my home is blessed, I am blessed.” His words echo a profound biblical truth—that real blessing is not measured by possessions or achievements, but by a life aligned with God, overflowing into our work, our homes, and even our communities. Psalm 128 takes this truth and paints it with striking beauty. It opens not with a promise limited to a few, nor with a blessing reserved for Israel alone, but with a grand, universal pronouncement: “Blessed is everyone who fears the LORD, who walks in His ways.” This sets the tone for the entire psalm, declaring that God’s favor rests upon all—of every nation, every background, and every generation—who choose to honor Him with reverence and obedience. This universal welcome is not a New Testament idea that suddenly appeared with the early church. It has always been God’s intention. When Peter walked into the house of Cornelius, a Gentile centurion, he was overwhelmed by this very truth: “Truly I understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears Him and does what is right is acceptable to Him.” (Acts 10:34–35). From the beginning, God’s plan of salvation was for all peoples. Israel was chosen not as an exclusive club, but as a light to the nations—a living testimony of the goodness, justice, and mercy of the God who redeemed them. Though Israel often failed in this mission, Scripture highlights many who, despite being outsiders, recognized the God of Israel and entrusted themselves to Him—Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and later in the New Testament, the Roman centurion, the Syro-Phoenician woman, and others who believed even when many Israelites did not. In Christ, the promise to Abraham—“through you all the nations of the earth shall be blessed”—shines with full brightness. The blessedness of Psalm 128 begins with one posture: the fear of the Lord. This is not a cringing, dreadful fear, like an animal before a predator. It is a reverent, joyful fear—the kind that leads one to bow in awe, to seek God’s will, and to walk in His ways because one understands who

Psalm 129 “Greatly have they afflicted me from my youth”— let Israel now say— 2 “Greatly have they afflicted me from my youth, yet they have not prevailed against me. 3 The plowers plowed upon my back; they made long their furrows.” 4 The Lord is righteous; he has cut the cords of the wicked. 5 May all who hate Zion be put to shame and turned backward! 6 Let them be like the grass on the housetops, which withers before it grows up, 7 with which the reaper does not fill his hand nor the binder of sheaves his arms, 8 nor do those who pass by say, “The blessing of the Lord be upon you! We bless you in the name of the Lord!” There’s an old story about a ship caught in a violent storm off the coast of Scotland. Waves slammed against the hull, wind tore at the sails, and everyone on board thought the vessel would break apart at any moment. In the chaos, an elderly sailor seemed strangely calm. Someone shouted, “How can you be so peaceful when we may not make it?” The old sailor replied, “I have sailed through storms worse than this. I’ve learned that one thing matters when the wind rages: find the anchor, make sure it holds, and ride it out.” That night, the anchor did hold, and the ship survived. The next morning, as the sun rose over quiet waters, the young sailor understood the lesson: security wasn’t found in calmer seas, but in a faithful anchor. Psalm 129 is a song for storm-tossed believers, a song for anyone battered by seasons of affliction. This Psalm, part of the Songs of Ascents, looks back over Israel’s long and often heartbreaking history. Over and over again, enemies tried to wipe Israel off the map. Israel’s story is not the story of a strong nation defeating its enemies through superior strength. It’s the story of a small, vulnerable people preserved by an unshakable God. From the very beginning, Israel faced threats far greater than they could withstand. When Jacob was running from Laban, God warned Laban in a dream not to harm him. When Jacob feared Esau might slaughter his family, God intervened and turned Esau’s anger into peace. In Egypt, Pharaoh attempted to kill every male Hebrew child. Later, Assyrians, Syrians, Babylonians, Persians, Greeks, Romans, Ottomans, dictators, and tyrants tried to erase them. Yet none prevailed. Not because Israel was stronger, wiser, or more numerous. In almost every case, they were outnumbered. And still, Psalm 129 declares: “Greatly have they afflicted me from my youth, yet they have not prevailed against me.” That is the heartbeat of this Psalm: many afflictions, yes — but no extinction. Many battles, yes — but no defeat. Many storms, yes — but the anchor held. This testimony belongs not only to ancient Israel; it belongs to the Church of Jesus Christ. From its first days in the Roman Empire, the Church has endured the fury of enemies visible and invisible. Authorities imprisoned believers, mobs tore Christians apart, and emperors fed them to lions.

584_A forgiving, merciful redeemer (Psalm 130) Psalm 130 Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord! 2 O Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my pleas for mercy! 3 If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand? 4 But with you there is forgiveness, that you may be feared. 5 I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; 6 my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning. 7 O Israel, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is plentiful redemption. 8 And he will redeem Israel from all his iniquities. A few years ago a well-known author told a story about accidentally sending an email to the wrong person. It was a short note—nothing dramatic—but within minutes he felt a strange dread. He had addressed a private message to an acquaintance he barely knew, and it contained a frustrated remark about a colleague they both had in common. “I wanted to unsend it,” he said later, “but life has no ‘undo’ button.” That night he hardly slept. The next morning he wrote a long apology. He admitted his fault, asked for forgiveness, and waited—embarrassed, exposed, and completely uncertain about what would happen. He had nothing to bargain with except an honest plea for mercy. That feeling of wishing there were a universal “undo” button touches something deep in the human experience. We all know what it means to say the wrong thing, make the wrong choice, hurt someone, or simply fall short of who we know we ought to be. Sometimes it is a private shame; other times it is a heavy, public failure. But the question is always the same: where do we turn when we’ve gone too far and we know it? Psalm 130 begins exactly there—at the bottom of the valley, where words choke out of a burdened heart. “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord.” It is not a polished prayer, not a speech prepared for a religious ceremony. It is a plea from someone who has run out of excuses. The psalmist is not trying to impress God or negotiate with Him. He is simply asking to be heard: “Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my pleas for mercy!” The psalmist knows what we prefer to deny—that if God were to mark our iniquities, if He kept a strict record of every wrong thought, every wrong motive, every selfish act, no one could stand. We couldn’t argue our case. We couldn’t present our good deeds as payment. We could never demand blessings as if we had earned them. If we truly received wages for our sins, Scripture says the wage would be death, separation from God, and a life cut off from His presence. Jesus illustrated this perfectly in His parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector. One man stood in the temple boasting about his goodness,

585_Finding our contentment in Him (Psalm 131) Psalm 131 O Lord, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. 2 But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me. 3 O Israel, hope in the Lord from this time forth and forevermore. A few years ago, a journalist interviewed an eighty–seven–year–old woman who had survived war, famine, and the loss of her family. She lived in a tiny room above a bakery, and owned very little. Yet her eyes sparkled with a joy that seemed almost unreasonable. The journalist finally asked, “How is it that you seem more at peace than people who have everything?” She smiled and said, “It’s very simple. Every morning I remind myself that I am not God. And every evening I thank Him that He is.” That comment may sound almost humorous at first, but it is profoundly true. So much of our anxiety, our striving, our dissatisfaction, comes from forgetting that we are creatures and not the Creator. We want answers to everything. We want control. We want life to fit into our understanding. But when we encounter God, one of the first things He calls us to is simple humility. Humility does not mean thinking less of ourselves in a negative way; it means recognizing who we are in relation to Him—finite, limited, beloved, and dependent. Finding contentment in Him begins right there. Psalm 131 is one of the shortest psalms in the Bible, just three verses, yet it opens a deep well of wisdom. David begins, “O Lord, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high.” Before he talks about peace and contentment, he talks about posture—an inner attitude before God. He admits that he does not occupy himself “with things too great and too marvelous” for him. That is a startling statement, especially in our age of information where we believe we should know everything, master everything, and have an answer for everything. But David says: I’ve learned to stop reaching for what only God can understand. The Bible continually reminds us that God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble. Pride was at the root of Lucifer’s downfall. Isaiah 14 describes his ambition in these haunting words: “I will ascend… I will set my throne on high… I will make myself like the Most High.” Pride is not just boasting; pride is the refusal to accept our creaturely place. It is the restless desire to be in control, to be central, to manage outcomes, to hold the steering wheel of life with white knuckles. Humility, by contrast, recognizes something essential: God is God, and we are not. Deuteronomy 29:29 says, “The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever.” In other words, there are things God wants us to know—real things, true things, life-giving things—about

586_God exceedingly meets our deepest desires (Psalm 132) Psalm 132 Remember, O Lord, in David's favor, all the hardships he endured, 2 how he swore to the Lord and vowed to the Mighty One of Jacob, 3 “I will not enter my house or get into my bed, 4 I will not give sleep to my eyes or slumber to my eyelids, 5 until I find a place for the Lord, a dwelling place for the Mighty One of Jacob.” 6 Behold, we heard of it in Ephrathah; we found it in the fields of Jaar. 7 “Let us go to his dwelling place; let us worship at his footstool!” 8 Arise, O Lord, and go to your resting place, you and the ark of your might. 9 Let your priests be clothed with righteousness, and let your saints shout for joy. 10 For the sake of your servant David, do not turn away the face of your anointed one. 11 The Lord swore to David a sure oath from which he will not turn back: “One of the sons of your body I will set on your throne. 12 If your sons keep my covenant and my testimonies that I shall teach them, their sons also forever shall sit on your throne.” 13 For the Lord has chosen Zion; he has desired it for his dwelling place: 14 “This is my resting place forever; here I will dwell, for I have desired it. 15 I will abundantly bless her provisions; I will satisfy her poor with bread. 16 Her priests I will clothe with salvation, and her saints will shout for joy. 17 There I will make a horn to sprout for David; I have prepared a lamp for my anointed. 18 His enemies I will clothe with shame, but on him his crown will shine.” When the famed architect Sir Christopher Wren designed St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, he devoted nearly forty years of his life to a single passion: creating a space worthy of God’s presence. He labored through political upheaval, funding shortages, fires, criticism, and failure. Yet when the cathedral was finally completed in 1710, someone asked him why he endured so much just to build a church. Wren said, “I am building for the glory of God.” It wasn’t comfort, reputation, or even history that drove him. It was desire — a deep, sustaining desire for God to have a place of honor among His people. Though Wren lived thousands of years after David, his heart reflected something found in Psalm 132: the longing to see God dwell among us, to honor Him, and to give Him a resting place in our midst. Psalm 132, one of the Songs of Ascent, opens a window into some of the deepest desires ever recorded in Scripture. It shows us what happens when our longings move beyond ourselves and toward the glory of God. So much of our praying, even our worship, begins and ends with us — our daily bread, our health, our comfort, our family, our safety. God cares for all of that. Jesus even instructs

587_The refreshing oil of harmony among brothers (Psalm 133) Psalm 133 Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity! 2 It is like the precious oil on the head, running down on the beard, on the beard of Aaron, running down on the collar of his robes! 3 It is like the dew of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion! For there the Lord has commanded the blessing, life forevermore. Stand in the middle of a forest just before dawn and listen. You will hear creation wake up in layers. First comes the soft wind brushing through treetops, then the call of a distant bird, then another call answering from another direction. Moments later, leaves tremble as small animals begin to move, and soon a chorus of voices — none alike — fills the morning air. No single sound is dominant, but together it becomes something soothing, rich, and full. Or picture a meadow after rain. The scents of pine, wild mint, rich earth, and blooming flowers mingle. Each fragrance is distinct, yet together they bring something refreshing — something you could never smell from one plant alone. Nature has a miracle built into it: different things, different shapes, different sounds and scents, coming together to create harmony and life. Creation is full of diversity, yet it is not chaotic when it functions as God intended. It becomes a symphony and a fragrance. Psalm 133 takes us into that same miracle — but among people. This short but refreshing psalm sheds light on why David was called a man after God’s own heart. He is reflecting what is foremost in the mind of God: unity among His people. Jesus in His high–priestly prayer in John 17:20–21 prayed, “I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you… so that the world may believe that you have sent me.” David likely saw the children of Israel traveling up to Jerusalem from all twelve tribes, converging to worship God. That was a sight to behold. Different family lines, different regions, different stories, different experiences — yet one purpose, one joy, one God. Immediately he exclaims that sight as something spectacular, something noteworthy. Because from the beginning of human history, brothers — even those who shared the same blood — struggled to live in harmony. Cain and Abel, Abraham and Lot, Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, Joseph and his brothers, and even David’s own sons — the list goes on. Conflict, competition, suspicion, rivalry, and division run through the pages of Scripture. When you look through Israel’s long history, unity was rare. Even after the nation was formed, hostility between Judah and Israel continued for generations. So when David saw brothers from different tribes, with different backgrounds, different levels of wealth, different traditions, all coming together in harmony for the glory of God, his heart rejoiced. “Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in unity.” Good

588_Come, bless the Lord (Psalm 134) Psalm 134 Come, bless the Lord, all you servants of the Lord, who stand by night in the house of the Lord! 2 Lift up your hands to the holy place and bless the Lord! 3 May the Lord bless you from Zion, he who made heaven and earth! There is a story told about a small town in the mountains of Switzerland. High on a hill above the village lived an old man who had been hired decades earlier as the keeper of the springs. His job was simple but unseen: each day he hiked the hillsides and cleared away leaves, branches, and debris from the mountain springs that fed the town’s streams and lake. For years, nobody paid attention to him. The water ran clean, the lake was sparkling, and the village became known for its beauty. People came to rest and restore their souls beside those clear waters. One day the town council decided that the old man’s salary was no longer necessary. “After all,” they reasoned, “the water has been clean for years. Surely it will take care of itself.” So they dismissed him. At first, nothing changed. But within a few weeks, the water grew darker. Slimy film gathered along the banks. A foul smell drifted over the lake. Tourists stopped coming. The life of the village was affected quickly and deeply. Alarmed, the town leaders called an emergency meeting. Realizing their mistake, they rehired the old man. In time, the springs were cleared, the water ran clean again, and the life of the village returned. Psalm 134, the last of the Songs of Ascents, is a reminder of what that old man did. It is a psalm addressed to those who minister in the unseen hours—those who keep the lamp burning when the world sleeps, those who tend the springs of worship when no one is watching, those whose faithfulness keeps the life of God’s people flowing. Psalm 134 is short—only three verses—but it opens a window into the heart of worship. Many scholars believe this psalm was sung at the conclusion of the great pilgrimage festivals. After days of traveling, worshiping, offering sacrifices, and feasting in Jerusalem, the pilgrims prepared to leave the Holy City and return to their villages scattered across the land. As they departed, they called out to the priests who remained in the temple through the night: “Come, bless the Lord, all you servants of the Lord, who stand by night in the house of the Lord.” It was both an exhortation and a benediction—a reminder that the worship of God does not end when the crowds go home. To understand the richness of this call, we must pause for a moment on the word “bless.” In English, “bless” usually means to confer something good. When we say a person is blessed, we mean they have received favor or goodness. In Scripture, when God blesses, that is exactly what it means—He bestows life, protection, strength, and grace. But when we bless God, we obviously do not give Him something He lacks. Instead, the

589_It is pleasant to praise the Lord (Psalm 135) Psalm 135 Praise the Lord! Praise the name of the Lord, give praise, O servants of the Lord, 2 who stand in the house of the Lord, in the courts of the house of our God! 3 Praise the Lord, for the Lord is good; sing to his name, for it is pleasant! 4 For the Lord has chosen Jacob for himself, Israel as his own possession. 5 For I know that the Lord is great, and that our Lord is above all gods. 6 Whatever the Lord pleases, he does, in heaven and on earth, in the seas and all deeps. 7 He it is who makes the clouds rise at the end of the earth, who makes lightnings for the rain and brings forth the wind from his storehouses. 8 He it was who struck down the firstborn of Egypt, both of man and of beast; 9 who in your midst, O Egypt, sent signs and wonders against Pharaoh and all his servants; 10 who struck down many nations and killed mighty kings, 11 Sihon, king of the Amorites, and Og, king of Bashan, and all the kingdoms of Canaan, 12 and gave their land as a heritage, a heritage to his people Israel. 13 Your name, O Lord, endures forever, your renown, O Lord, throughout all ages. 14 For the Lord will vindicate his people and have compassion on his servants. 15 The idols of the nations are silver and gold, the work of human hands. 16 They have mouths, but do not speak; they have eyes, but do not see; 17 they have ears, but do not hear, nor is there any breath in their mouths. 18 Those who make them become like them; so do all who trust in them. 19 O house of Israel, bless the Lord! O house of Aaron, bless the Lord! 20 O house of Levi, bless the Lord! You who fear the Lord, bless the Lord! 21 Blessed be the Lord from Zion, he who dwells in Jerusalem! Praise the Lord! There was a well-known composer who, after finishing a magnificent symphony, was asked what inspired the soaring final movement. His answer surprised the audience. “I wrote it,” he said, “during one of the darkest seasons of my life. I knew if I didn’t lift my eyes to something higher than my pain, I would be swallowed by it. So I forced myself to sit at the piano every evening and write one line of praise—just one. Eventually, those lines became a song, and the song became joy.” He paused before concluding, “Sometimes praise isn’t the result of joy. Sometimes praise is the pathway to joy.” That is the heartbeat of Psalm 135. The psalm opens with a command, almost like the conductor raising his baton: “Praise the Lord!” And before we reach the end, the psalmist repeats it again as if to make sure the melody never fades. This psalm isn’t a suggestion, nor is it a gentle encouragement. It is a call—a call to worship, to lift our eyes