Some corners of culture, some places, some people seem both godless and god-forsaken. Some parts of our lives feel either fenced-off from God or ignored by our Maker. A quick look at the news or at any of the painful circumstances of our lives easily has us asking, “Where is God?”
When one of our central biblical characters, David, had been on the run from King Saul for a few years, he threw in the towel. He went into exile voluntarily, seeking asylum from Israel’s arch-enemies, the Philistines. Rather than continuing to push his luck, staying one step ahead of Saul, David chose to quit the land of Israel and become a mercenary in the service of Goliath’s people. They were bitter enemies and he was their nemesis, their public enemy number one. And yet, he thought he’d be safer there than among his own people.
David says to himself, “One of these days I will be destroyed by the hand of Saul. The best thing I can do is to escape to the land of the Philistines. Then Saul will give up searching for me anywhere in Israel, and I will slip out of his hand” (1 Sam. 27:1).
That was tough personally and as an Israelite. But there was a further ramification for David. In his imagination, leaving Israel equaled leaving Israel’s God, Yahweh. Gods in the ancient world were thought to be tied to particular places. Some tied to cities. Some tied to the newly emerging nations. Some smaller sprites tied merely to certain streams or hills or trees. And living within this context, David was infected by it.
The surrounding world had colonized his mind, his theology, just like it does with each of us.
In 1 Samuel 26, David gives a little speech to Saul, blaming Saul’s counselors for falsely inciting Saul against David. He blames them for chasing David from Israel and forcing him to worship other gods, since he’d be living in the realm of these other gods. He says, “They have driven me today from my share in the LORD’s inheritance and have said, ‘Go, serve other gods.’ Now do not let my blood fall to the ground far from the presence of the LORD” (1 Sam. 26:19-20).
This sounds odd to those of us who have lived with a biblically shaped monotheism for many centuries. We all assume there is only one God and that this God is omnipresent and available everywhere. But this was not the case among the common people of Israel three millennia ago. The creation story alone should have convinced them of Yahweh’s rule over all the earth, but their minds were colonized by the small theologies of their polytheistic neighbors.
But among the many things David’s time among the Philistines did to him, it enlarged his theology. He discovered that Yahweh was just as accessible outside of Israel as he was inside the land. He discovered that he didn’t need to worship foreign gods. He discovered that his prayers were answered even there, even among those who don’t give the one true God the time of day.
Psalm 57 prays through this discovery. It starts with the pain of being harassed and hounded and ends with an important realization.
Worship can still take place among those who disregard our Lord, for God is God even among those who sneer at the sound of his name.
We may not think of God as tied to certain geographical territories and vacant in others. But we live as if there are areas of our lives where he is present and areas of our lives where he is absent. Psalm 57 resets our theological imaginations to include a true omnipresence.
Psalm 57 begins with prayer.
Have mercy on me, my God, have mercy on me,
for in you I take refuge.
I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings
until the disaster has passed (Ps. 57:1).
I prefer the old King James Version rendering of the Hebrew word chesed as “lovingkindness,” as opposed to “mercy.” The word is so packed with meaning in its biblical usage that our word “mercy” just doesn’t do it justice. Kindness isn’t just gentleness, it has a family feel to it. The word “kind” is from the German word for “child” (as in kindergarten). Kindness is how we treat our kin, our kids. It’s motherly. So, chesed has this deep internal, maternal feel to it.
At the same time, it’s a word that expresses loyalty to a covenant relationship. As such, it can be used in all kinds of covenant relationships, including between spouses and between kings.
So, here, David is drawing on this deep-seated love and commitment that exists between Yahweh and himself. He wants to be drawn in close to God for protection, like a hen wrapping her wings around her chicks.
Why? Because Saul has been pursuing him.
I cry out to God Most High,
to God, who vindicates me.
He sends from heaven and saves me,
rebuking those who hotly pursue me —
God sends forth his love and his faithfulness (Ps. 57:2-3).
The language of pursuit, referencing Saul, is matched by the language of sending. God sends help from heaven and saves. Again, we have love and covenant loyalty (faithfulness) matched here. God’s passionate feelings are matched by his iron-clad commitment.
But David has now moved from the frying pan and into the fire. He’s traded the pursuit of his adoptive father Saul for alliance with Israel-hating Philistines. No longer pursued, he’s surrounded by lions.
I am in the midst of lions;
I am forced to dwell among ravenous beasts —
men whose teeth are spears and arrows,
whose tongues are sharp swords (Ps. 57:4).
He’s dealt with mistrust and slander by Saul’s counselors in Israel and now he’s dealing with the same among the Philistines. Isn’t that the same for us so much of the time?
We are unhappy with our current situation and can’t long to get out of it, thinking that a change is the “salvation” we need — a change of job, of school, of spouse, of church, of city, of whatever. But things generally don’t work out like we plan, do they?
Whatever we leave behind, we always take ourselves with us. And being unable to escape ourselves, we’re unable to escape many of our problems, since the problems have to do with us. They aren’t just external, they’re internal.
So, here’s David. He’s saved and yet not saved at the same time.
And then with a jolt, we come to the chorus of Psalm 57 (which will also conclude the psalm).
Be exalted, O God, above the heavens;
let your glory be over all the earth (Ps. 57:5).
There has been no resolution to David’s woes and yet we’re already moving toward worship. Generally, the Psalms look forward to a time of worship when the current problem is dealt with. “I will praise you” is a common theme. And in a way, as a chorus, this verse is similar. But it comes well before the resolution in the following verse.
David is introducing a theological perspective which has changed his life. He has come to understand that the God he worships is above the heavens (i.e. supreme over all the other so-called gods) and that his glory will extend over all the earth (not limited to the land of Israel). This is a theological reality that David looks forward to becoming his experienced reality.
For that to happen, his problems need to be dealt with, for God’s glory is tied to David’s because of their covenant relationship. And so we see some resolution.
They spread a net for my feet —
I was bowed down in distress.
They dug a pit in my path —
but they have fallen into it themselves (Ps. 57:6).
Evil is bouncy. It so often rebounds on itself.
And that’s exactly what we see going on here. The bad guys dig a pit to snare David and fall into it themselves instead.
Who knows how many weeks, months, or years of distress are summarized in just a few words? The Psalms do this often, both exploring pain in one instance and minimizing pain in another. But the result is the plotting slanderers have had their plots and words backfire on them.
Life is moving from dark to dawn and David can’t wait till the morning is fully arrived so he can get on with singing God’s praises.
My heart, O God, is steadfast,
my heart is steadfast;
I will sing and make music.
Awake, my soul!
Awake, harp and lyre!
I will awaken the dawn (Ps. 57:7-8).
Here we get the normal anticipation of worship that we’ve seen elsewhere in the Psalms alluded to above. “I will sing and make music. … I will awaken the dawn.”
The stars are beginning to fade as the the edge of dawn starts slowly lightening the heavens above. David has had another one of his sleepless nights as he’s prayed the first seven verses of the psalm. And as the dark begins to drain from the sky, he sees the metaphor of his life being played out in front of him. He knows the end of night is inevitable and so too is his soul’s dark night.
The urge to sing his salvation is irresistible.
But there’s one last problem: He’s still living among Yahweh-hating Philistines.
I will praise you, LORD, among the nations;
I will sing of you among the peoples (Ps. 57:9).
The “nations” here could refer to all of humanity outside of Israel, but most likely it refers specifically to the Philistines David has been living among. Like most languages, Hebrew uses a collective term to refer to everyone who isn’t us. They’re the Others. They’re the nations. Most of the time such collective terms are used negatively, and this is one of them.
The sense here isn’t how great it is that David gets to sing Yahweh’s praise among foreigners, thereby encouraging them to join in. No, the sense here is that David can’t contain his praise any longer and must burst out in song even among the Others, even among the Philistines.
These are the people who don’t give a hoot about Yahweh, the people who look down on David because he’s a Yahweh worshiper. His songs won’t be joined in. They’ll be a source of contempt. But even so, David can’t hold back.
And so, we get a final crescendo of praise, ending with the chorus which is repeated from verse 5.
For great is your love, reaching to the heavens;
your faithfulness reaches to the skies.
Be exalted, O God, above the heavens;
let your glory be over all the earth (Ps. 57:10-11).
David ends with the most important pairing of words in the Bible: chesed (which we’ve already considered) and ’emeth. The NIV renders them as love and faithfulness, the KJV as mercy and truth. They are the same two words John’s Gospel uses of Jesus: grace and truth.
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth (John 1:14).
The glory of Jesus is the same as the glory of the Father. It’s not in might or wealth or beauty. It’s in his love/mercy/grace/kindness and in his truth/faithfulness. Why? Because this pairing of core commitments, of core character qualities, is what we rely on in our relationship with God. Without chesed, God would have no deep-seated personal tie to us. But he does. His heart is bound to us. At the same time, without ’emeth, God would have no covenant loyalty to us. But because of it, he has a deep-seated commitment to being reliable, to being the same no matter what the circumstances are.
This combination to an essential heart-bond with us and an unbreakable integrity in his commitment to us enables us to weather any of our circumstances, even years of exile among the Philistines. And having weathered such, David exclaims that all of reality is filled to the full with these core characteristics of God. They reach to the heavens, to the skies.
The atmosphere is thick with God’s loyal love.
And that leads to the final chorus, where God’s glory exceeds the heavens and covers every part of the earth.
David has been where he expected God to be absent. And to his great surprise and relief, he found God to be there.
During my insecure junior high years, I went to a camp during the summer, knowing no one there. But immediately, I was befriended by a kid in my cabin. And immediately, my seventh grade fears disappeared. I had a friend.
Likewise, David had stepped into a hostile environment and found a friend there — the best kind of friend possible. God was very present to him.
Just as he is very present to you, to me.