477_Praising God at all times

Psalm 43 Vindicate me, O God, and defend my cause
against an ungodly people,
from the deceitful and unjust man
deliver me!
2 For you are the God in whom I take refuge;
why have you rejected me?
Why do I go about mourning
because of the oppression of the enemy?

3 Send out your light and your truth;
let them lead me;
let them bring me to your holy hill
and to your dwelling!
4 Then I will go to the altar of God,
to God my exceeding joy,
and I will praise you with the lyre,
O God, my God.

5 Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God.

Years ago, during one of the darkest seasons of her life, a woman named Annie Johnson Flint was diagnosed with severe arthritis that left her bedridden and in constant pain. She lost both her parents at a young age, was later adopted, and then lost those adoptive parents too. Her body slowly became twisted and immobile, and yet out of that pain emerged some of the most beautiful hymns ever written. One of her most beloved lines goes like this:

“He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater,
He sendeth more strength when the labors increase;
To added afflictions He addeth His mercy,
To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.”

What kind of faith produces praise like that in the midst of such suffering? Psalm 43 gives us a glimpse into that kind of soul—one that chooses to praise God not just in times of victory and celebration, but also in seasons of confusion, sorrow, and silence.

Psalm 43 is often considered a continuation of Psalm 42, carrying the same refrain and tone of longing. It begins with a desperate cry:

“Vindicate me, O God, and defend my cause against an ungodly people; from the deceitful and unjust man deliver me!”

This is no casual request. The psalmist feels attacked, oppressed, and abandoned. He pleads for God to intervene, to make things right. But then comes a haunting question—one that many believers have whispered in dark nights of the soul:

“For you are the God in whom I take refuge; why have you rejected me?”

It’s a deep paradox. The psalmist knows God as his refuge, his only hope and protector. And yet, in the current moment, it feels as if God has turned His face away. His enemies seem to be winning. His prayers echo back in silence. His soul is cast down, in turmoil.

But even in this emotional pit, the psalmist doesn’t walk away. He doesn’t shut down or give up. Instead, he cries out:

“Send out your light and your truth; let them lead me; let them bring me to your holy hill and to your dwelling!”

In times of darkness, what does he ask for? Light. Truth. He knows that only God’s Word can illuminate the path ahead. He doesn’t demand a full explanation, but enough light to take the next step of faith. He doesn’t ask merely for comfort, but for guidance—a heart that longs to be led by God’s truth, not just admire it from a distance.

This is not a passive admiration of Scripture. It is a passionate cry to live by it. He longs to walk in obedience, to be led to God’s altar—His presence. The altar was the place of sacrifice, where blood was shed for the forgiveness of sins. The psalmist sees this journey to the altar not just as a return to religious ritual, but a return to the heart of worship:

“Then I will go to the altar of God, to God my exceeding joy, and I will praise you with the lyre, O God, my God.”

There is so much depth in that single sentence. The destination is not just the altar—it is God Himself, the source of “exceeding joy.” Notice the flow: light and truth lead to God’s presence, which leads to joy, which overflows in praise. That’s the rhythm of revival in the soul.

But the altar also foreshadows something far greater: the cross of Christ. The ultimate sacrifice. When we follow the light and truth of God’s Word, it doesn’t just lead us to comfort—it leads us to Calvary. It leads us to the place where Jesus, the Lamb without blemish or spot, gave His life so that we might be brought near to God.

In Isaiah 61, the Messiah is described as one anointed to bring good news to the poor, bind up the brokenhearted, and comfort those who mourn. And then come those beautiful words:

“To give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit.”

God replaces mourning with gladness. He doesn’t ignore our sorrow; He transforms it. He doesn’t demand a show of joy from those who are suffering. Instead, He enters into their grief and plants within them a deeper joy that defies circumstances—a garment of praise to clothe our faint and weary hearts.

Psalm 43 ends with the same refrain found in Psalm 42—a verse that feels like both a lament and a declaration of hope:

“Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God.”

This is more than poetic repetition. It’s the psalmist preaching to his own soul. He is reminding himself of what is true, even when everything around him seems false. God is his salvation. God is his God. Therefore, no matter what he feels, no matter how silent the heavens seem, he will praise again. That’s faith. That’s the heartbeat of a worshipper.

We live in a world where feelings often define truth. If God feels distant, we assume He has abandoned us. If our prayers seem unanswered, we conclude He doesn’t care. But the psalmist teaches us that in those very moments, we can—and must—choose to praise. Because our hope is not in a change of circumstances, but in an unchanging God.

The prophet Habakkuk echoes this same kind of faith. In Habakkuk 3, he declares:

“Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines… yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation.”

What a powerful statement! He’s saying, “Even if everything I rely on fails—even if there’s no harvest, no food, no visible provision—I will still rejoice in God.” Why? Because God Himself is his strength. Because the joy of knowing God outweighs the sorrow of losing everything else.

Paul carries this truth into the New Testament, writing in 1 Thessalonians 5:

“Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”

Not some circumstances. Not when you feel like it. All circumstances. This kind of constant praise is not natural—it is supernatural. It is only possible when our hearts are anchored in the gospel, when we walk by the light of His Word, and when we are led to the joy found in His presence.

So let me ask you: what are you facing today? Does it feel like the world is against you? Do your prayers feel unanswered? Is your soul cast down? Then do what the psalmist did. Preach to your own heart. Cry out for His light and truth. Let the Word lead you back to the cross. Let His presence restore your joy. And then praise Him—not just when the answer comes, but even now. Especially now.

Because that kind of praise is not just a reaction to blessing—it is a declaration of trust. It is the song of the redeemed, sung even in the dark, because they know that the dawn will come. And when it does, we will again praise Him—our salvation and our God.

Let us be people who praise God at all times. God bless.