Original Meaning
The Heading (7:0)
A NEW MUSICAL notation appears at the beginning of this psalm heading: “shiggaion” (šiggayon). By its position this is probably an ancient genre designation (see the discussion of “Types of Psalms” in the Introduction). Although some have tried to make a connection with the Akkadian shegu (“lament”), the exact nature of a šiggayon and what distinguishes it from other types of lament is uncertain. This is the only occurrence of the term in the Psalter, so we are unlikely to gain much more clarity in the future.
The heading also contains a historical notice suggesting a relationship between this psalm and a specific event in David’s life. Unfortunately, “Cush, a Benjamite,” concerning whom David is supposed to have sung this šiggayon, is unknown from the biblical corpus, so that the historical allusion must remain obscure. The use of the verb šar (“he sang”) does suggest that for the person who appended this notice, David was considered author of this psalm.
Bridging Contexts
THE PSALMIST GLORIES in God’s righteousness. The term is applied explicitly to God no less than three times in this psalm.10 Sometimes we have difficulty being comfortable with the idea of righteousness. It can seem to be hard and inflexible. We often relate it in our minds to human self-righteousness—a decidedly negative term used to describe fanatics and self-assured persons we would rather not be around.
It is dangerous, however, to judge God’s righteousness on the basis of rather limited and distorted human expressions of righteousness. His righteousness flows from that essential nature of holiness we discussed in relation to Psalm 5 (see comments). Righteousness is the demonstration—the living out, so to speak—of God’s innate character of holiness. Because God is incompatible with evil and relentlessly good, he can do no other than uphold righteousness.
It is God’s righteousness that enables the psalmist to trust in God as protective “refuge.” Because God is holy and righteous, the psalmist can depend on him to uphold the righteous and protect them from the attacks of the wicked. As such, then, divine righteousness takes on a softer edge defined by divine mercy and blessing. The two consequences of divine holiness and righteousness—judgment and mercy—can never be severed but continue to exist in tension.
It is, of course, how humans respond to God that determines whether they experience mercy or wrath, judgment or grace. The psalmist knows this and is careful to affirm innocence in verses 3–5.
Contemporary Significance
I WOULD LIKE to return to two images from Psalm 7 that I believe can help us transplant this psalm into the contemporary soil of our own time and place. The first image is the one with which the psalmist begins: the rather unexpected invitation to “take refuge” in God. The second is related to the first and actually forms the dominant theme that is viewed from a variety of angles throughout the whole psalm: the deep and sincere reflection on our character engendered by coming into the presence of God.
God is our refuge. How comforting it is to think of God as our “refuge.” This is a theme that returns time and again throughout the Psalter. The psalmists invite us to understand divine righteousness as a source of confidence and comfort rather than of fear and dismay. Yahweh, the righteous judge, is our refuge, in much the same way that for Isaiah, Yahweh, the Holy One of Israel, becomes not the anticipated destroyer but the unexpected redeemer of Israel.11
Yet often, precisely when we need that refuge most, we feel unable or unworthy to enter in. A minister friend of mine was enjoying a long-term effective ministry when he received the call from the bishop. A woman in the minister’s congregation had accused him of sexual improprieties and was threatening to sue. My friend knew the accusations were true, so he went down into his basement, pulled a gun out of the gun rack, and prepared to send a bullet through his heart to end his life.
Now my friend had been effectively preaching a message of a God of love and forgiveness for over twenty years! But in the hour of his own complete and utter powerlessness, his own faith was almost completely dismantled—he was unable to see beyond the God of judgment to the God of love offering refuge. Thankfully my friend survived. A providential phone call interrupted his plans and offered a new opportunity for counseling, healing, and restoration. But how many of us, faced by a crumbling world, fail to accept God’s invitation of refuge and hope?
Our hesitation need not be the result of our own sense of unworthiness and sinfulness. Sometimes we, like the psalmist, are beset from without by false accusations, failed finances, abusive partners, and a myriad of other circumstances either within our control or not. The sense of guilt and shame we can feel at such times often creates an almost insurmountable barrier to entering the refuge of God.
I remember a woman who was going through a particularly painful divorce from an abusive husband, explaining how difficult it had become for her to attend worship services because all she could do, she said, was to sit in the back of the sanctuary and weep. Her pain was so great, her embarrassment over the failure of her marriage so strong, that she almost cut herself off from what should have been a healing, caring community—the church of God. At least she kept coming—even if all she could do was weep. How many of us would have this woman’s courage? Or would we, like a wounded animal, crawl away to some remote hideout to heal or die on our own?
God is our refuge. He stands ready to deliver and to save. But a refuge must be entered before it is effective. Often our understanding of God’s righteousness prevents us from taking that step. Too often we understand God’s righteousness to mean that he judges not only our rebellious sinfulness but also our weakness and ineffectiveness as human beings. As a result, we do not take the steps to healing and wholeness that God provides.
Judge me, O LORD, according to my righteousness. The idea of God as refuge is a wonderful and important gift to all of us who live in the midst of a broken world (and that is all of us, whether we realize it or not). But sometimes we can take that refuge so for granted that we become almost exclusively focused on the sense of security, love, and acceptance that God provides. We forget that entering the refuge God provides means entering the presence of God himself, and that is not something to be undertaken lightly or unadvisedly.
The college at which I taught for many years announced a special chapel program. Rather than our usual format, the notice announced, this time we would have a “worship chapel.” Now, I had thought that all our chapels had intended to be worship experiences, so I came with some curiosity to see what this special format might be. As it turns out, the worship chapel was spent entirely singing choruses of praise to God. Now I enjoy praise choruses—in a balanced sort of way—and I certainly sensed a genuine spirit of sincere praise in myself and my fellow worshipers. But I left that experience with a deep-seated suspicion that we had only partially worshiped—that something quite necessary and important was still missing.
As a child I remember singing the classic hymn “Rock of Ages.” I envisioned being hidden in the cleft of the rock—covered over by the protective hand of God. In my youth I understood that God was protecting me from all those evils and attacks that came from without, and I took comfort in his divine care. Only much later, however (far too much later), I came to realize that God’s hand was protecting me from myself and the consequences of my own sin!
I believe firmly that true worship incorporates acknowledging and repenting of sin. Only then do we realize how totally dependent on God and his gracious mercy we really are. This is one aspect of worship that the more liturgically oriented traditions often do better—leading worshipers through moments of corporate recognition, contrition, and repentance for sin. Then comes the undeserved affirmation: “You are forgiven!”
When I recognized my sin, I began to understand at last the full meaning of God’s care and protection. Then I really began to read and understand the verses of this song: “Let the water and the blood, from thy wounded side which flowed, be of sin the double cure, save from wrath and make me pure.” I am a sinner deserving of punishment and death, but in Christ a gracious God has provided a way for restoration and new life.
That is what the psalmist’s protestation of innocence brings home to me. It is not just a rather brash claim of spiritual excellence and perfection. It is instead a clear recognition that taking refuge in the presence of God is not a condition to be entered into lightly. Coming into his presence should always force us to sober self-reflection and evaluation. It should not lead us too quickly or easily to absorption in the praise of our protector God. Instead, it should lead us first and always to acknowledge how much we need his divine gift of undeserved mercy and grace.
God does indeed offer refuge we can depend on. But being able to stand within the protective embrace of almighty God is not the assured result of our spiritual perfection and pride. It is instead the consequence of our recognition of our spiritual bankruptcy and our total capitulation to the immeasurable grace of our Savior and Lord. In the words of the wise woman of Tekoa, “God does not take away life; instead, he devises ways so that a banished person may not remain estranged from him” (2 Sam. 14:14). That is cause for hope and praise indeed!
Original Meaning
Appeal to Yahweh (7:1–2)
THE PSALMIST IS in desperate straits and feels pursued by ravenous beasts who threaten to tear him apart. He “takes refuge” in Yahweh, using the words of promise first issued in 2:12 (“Blessed are all who take refuge in [the LORD]”) and recommended as the source of gladness and joy in 5:11. Placing oneself in the protective care of Yahweh is foundation enough for confident hope for deliverance from the savage attacks of the psalmist’s enemies. Consequently, he is able to call out to Yahweh to “save” and “deliver” him (see comments on Heb. yšʿ [“save”] at 3:2 and nṣl [“deliver”] at 6:4), using common parallel words suggesting release from restriction and snatching out of extreme peril.
Tear me like a lion. The psalmist’s images of impending destruction are graphic and extreme. This is no quiet, dignified death. It promises horrific rending and tearing as when lions gather to fight over their portion of recently taken prey. The terror is so great that the psalmist realizes that without the protection of Yahweh, there is no hope for escape.
Bridging Contexts
THE PSALMIST GLORIES in God’s righteousness. The term is applied explicitly to God no less than three times in this psalm.10 Sometimes we have difficulty being comfortable with the idea of righteousness. It can seem to be hard and inflexible. We often relate it in our minds to human self-righteousness—a decidedly negative term used to describe fanatics and self-assured persons we would rather not be around.
It is dangerous, however, to judge God’s righteousness on the basis of rather limited and distorted human expressions of righteousness. His righteousness flows from that essential nature of holiness we discussed in relation to Psalm 5 (see comments). Righteousness is the demonstration—the living out, so to speak—of God’s innate character of holiness. Because God is incompatible with evil and relentlessly good, he can do no other than uphold righteousness.
It is God’s righteousness that enables the psalmist to trust in God as protective “refuge.” Because God is holy and righteous, the psalmist can depend on him to uphold the righteous and protect them from the attacks of the wicked. As such, then, divine righteousness takes on a softer edge defined by divine mercy and blessing. The two consequences of divine holiness and righteousness—judgment and mercy—can never be severed but continue to exist in tension.
It is, of course, how humans respond to God that determines whether they experience mercy or wrath, judgment or grace. The psalmist knows this and is careful to affirm innocence in verses 3–5.
Contemporary Significance
I WOULD LIKE to return to two images from Psalm 7 that I believe can help us transplant this psalm into the contemporary soil of our own time and place. The first image is the one with which the psalmist begins: the rather unexpected invitation to “take refuge” in God. The second is related to the first and actually forms the dominant theme that is viewed from a variety of angles throughout the whole psalm: the deep and sincere reflection on our character engendered by coming into the presence of God.
God is our refuge. How comforting it is to think of God as our “refuge.” This is a theme that returns time and again throughout the Psalter. The psalmists invite us to understand divine righteousness as a source of confidence and comfort rather than of fear and dismay. Yahweh, the righteous judge, is our refuge, in much the same way that for Isaiah, Yahweh, the Holy One of Israel, becomes not the anticipated destroyer but the unexpected redeemer of Israel.11
Yet often, precisely when we need that refuge most, we feel unable or unworthy to enter in. A minister friend of mine was enjoying a long-term effective ministry when he received the call from the bishop. A woman in the minister’s congregation had accused him of sexual improprieties and was threatening to sue. My friend knew the accusations were true, so he went down into his basement, pulled a gun out of the gun rack, and prepared to send a bullet through his heart to end his life.
Now my friend had been effectively preaching a message of a God of love and forgiveness for over twenty years! But in the hour of his own complete and utter powerlessness, his own faith was almost completely dismantled—he was unable to see beyond the God of judgment to the God of love offering refuge. Thankfully my friend survived. A providential phone call interrupted his plans and offered a new opportunity for counseling, healing, and restoration. But how many of us, faced by a crumbling world, fail to accept God’s invitation of refuge and hope?
Our hesitation need not be the result of our own sense of unworthiness and sinfulness. Sometimes we, like the psalmist, are beset from without by false accusations, failed finances, abusive partners, and a myriad of other circumstances either within our control or not. The sense of guilt and shame we can feel at such times often creates an almost insurmountable barrier to entering the refuge of God.
I remember a woman who was going through a particularly painful divorce from an abusive husband, explaining how difficult it had become for her to attend worship services because all she could do, she said, was to sit in the back of the sanctuary and weep. Her pain was so great, her embarrassment over the failure of her marriage so strong, that she almost cut herself off from what should have been a healing, caring community—the church of God. At least she kept coming—even if all she could do was weep. How many of us would have this woman’s courage? Or would we, like a wounded animal, crawl away to some remote hideout to heal or die on our own?
God is our refuge. He stands ready to deliver and to save. But a refuge must be entered before it is effective. Often our understanding of God’s righteousness prevents us from taking that step. Too often we understand God’s righteousness to mean that he judges not only our rebellious sinfulness but also our weakness and ineffectiveness as human beings. As a result, we do not take the steps to healing and wholeness that God provides.
Judge me, O LORD, according to my righteousness. The idea of God as refuge is a wonderful and important gift to all of us who live in the midst of a broken world (and that is all of us, whether we realize it or not). But sometimes we can take that refuge so for granted that we become almost exclusively focused on the sense of security, love, and acceptance that God provides. We forget that entering the refuge God provides means entering the presence of God himself, and that is not something to be undertaken lightly or unadvisedly.
The college at which I taught for many years announced a special chapel program. Rather than our usual format, the notice announced, this time we would have a “worship chapel.” Now, I had thought that all our chapels had intended to be worship experiences, so I came with some curiosity to see what this special format might be. As it turns out, the worship chapel was spent entirely singing choruses of praise to God. Now I enjoy praise choruses—in a balanced sort of way—and I certainly sensed a genuine spirit of sincere praise in myself and my fellow worshipers. But I left that experience with a deep-seated suspicion that we had only partially worshiped—that something quite necessary and important was still missing.
As a child I remember singing the classic hymn “Rock of Ages.” I envisioned being hidden in the cleft of the rock—covered over by the protective hand of God. In my youth I understood that God was protecting me from all those evils and attacks that came from without, and I took comfort in his divine care. Only much later, however (far too much later), I came to realize that God’s hand was protecting me from myself and the consequences of my own sin!
I believe firmly that true worship incorporates acknowledging and repenting of sin. Only then do we realize how totally dependent on God and his gracious mercy we really are. This is one aspect of worship that the more liturgically oriented traditions often do better—leading worshipers through moments of corporate recognition, contrition, and repentance for sin. Then comes the undeserved affirmation: “You are forgiven!”
When I recognized my sin, I began to understand at last the full meaning of God’s care and protection. Then I really began to read and understand the verses of this song: “Let the water and the blood, from thy wounded side which flowed, be of sin the double cure, save from wrath and make me pure.” I am a sinner deserving of punishment and death, but in Christ a gracious God has provided a way for restoration and new life.
That is what the psalmist’s protestation of innocence brings home to me. It is not just a rather brash claim of spiritual excellence and perfection. It is instead a clear recognition that taking refuge in the presence of God is not a condition to be entered into lightly. Coming into his presence should always force us to sober self-reflection and evaluation. It should not lead us too quickly or easily to absorption in the praise of our protector God. Instead, it should lead us first and always to acknowledge how much we need his divine gift of undeserved mercy and grace.
God does indeed offer refuge we can depend on. But being able to stand within the protective embrace of almighty God is not the assured result of our spiritual perfection and pride. It is instead the consequence of our recognition of our spiritual bankruptcy and our total capitulation to the immeasurable grace of our Savior and Lord. In the words of the wise woman of Tekoa, “God does not take away life; instead, he devises ways so that a banished person may not remain estranged from him” (2 Sam. 14:14). That is cause for hope and praise indeed!
Original Meaning
Protestation of Innocence (7:3–5)
IF. VERSE 3 introduces the next major segment of this psalm—the psalmist’s protestation of innocence. Similar concern to deny guilt is expressed in the Egyptian text sometimes referred to as “The Negative Confession of Sin.”1 The Egyptian speaker here is a deceased person who, upon approaching the scales of Maʿat (where entrance to the afterlife is determined), directly declares his innocence of all wrongdoing through a series of negative claims: “I have not. . . .”
In our psalm, however, the psalmist’s claims of innocence are couched in the form of a self-imprecation or self-curse. Confident of complete innocence, he is willing to accept dire consequences if any guilt can be proved. The passage is, therefore, divided into an “if” section (vv. 3–4), describing possible wrongs of which the psalmist claims innocence, and a “then” section (v. 5), where consequences of proven guilt are laid out. Verse 3 provides a more inclusive disclaimer of guilt (“If I have done this and there is guilt [ʿawel] on my hands”), to which verse 4 provides specific examples (“done evil to him who is at peace with me or without cause have robbed my foe”).
The kind of guilt (ʿawel) envisioned stains the hands and may suggest some ritual hand-washing ceremony to demonstrate purity. The protestation takes in the extremes of avoiding conflict with the one “at peace with me” (šolemi [“one allied by covenant or treaty”]) as well as “my foe” (ṣoreri). In regard to the foe, the psalmist may well imagine circumstances under which “plundering” the enemy would be acceptable. Here, however, he maintains a higher standard under which even an enemy can only be attacked for cause.
Then. The “then” section of the psalmist’s self-imprecation establishes a sort of balance with the opening plea for deliverance in verses 1–2. He uses the same Hebrew root rdp to describe the “pursuers” from whom he seeks refuge (v. 1) and the deadly “pursuit” by the enemies that he accepts as the just consequence of any guilt that might be established (v. 5). In verse 5, however, pursuit culminates in overtaking so that the fearful tearing imagined in verse 1 would become reality. The psalmist—safe in innocence—willingly submits to any penalty that a righteous judge would levy against the guilty parties in the case. Rightly judged, the psalmist will come forth unscathed while the false accusers will receive the appropriate punishment for their evil.
Let him trample my life. The psalmist returns in no less violent images to the feared consequence of pursuit described in the opening verses of the psalm. There the tearing and rending of wild beasts was imagined; here it is the trampling of the defeated foe in battle. The verb rms (“trample”) can be used to describe the action of a potter mixing clay by foot (Isa. 41:25), a vintner crushing grapes (63:3), a crowd of people trampling a man (2 Kings 7:17), or horses trampling Jezebel underfoot (2 Kings 9:33).
The psalmist anticipates death from such trampling. Notice the progression in these verses. The enemies would “pursue and overtake” the psalmist’s nepeš (NIV “me” in v. 5a, the distinctive self animated by God), “trample” his very “life” (ḥay) to the ground, and cause even his “glory” (kabod; NIV “me” in v. 5c) to dwell in the dust.2
Bridging Contexts
THE PSALMIST GLORIES in God’s righteousness. The term is applied explicitly to God no less than three times in this psalm.10 Sometimes we have difficulty being comfortable with the idea of righteousness. It can seem to be hard and inflexible. We often relate it in our minds to human self-righteousness—a decidedly negative term used to describe fanatics and self-assured persons we would rather not be around.
It is dangerous, however, to judge God’s righteousness on the basis of rather limited and distorted human expressions of righteousness. His righteousness flows from that essential nature of holiness we discussed in relation to Psalm 5 (see comments). Righteousness is the demonstration—the living out, so to speak—of God’s innate character of holiness. Because God is incompatible with evil and relentlessly good, he can do no other than uphold righteousness.
It is God’s righteousness that enables the psalmist to trust in God as protective “refuge.” Because God is holy and righteous, the psalmist can depend on him to uphold the righteous and protect them from the attacks of the wicked. As such, then, divine righteousness takes on a softer edge defined by divine mercy and blessing. The two consequences of divine holiness and righteousness—judgment and mercy—can never be severed but continue to exist in tension.
It is, of course, how humans respond to God that determines whether they experience mercy or wrath, judgment or grace. The psalmist knows this and is careful to affirm innocence in verses 3–5.
Contemporary Significance
I WOULD LIKE to return to two images from Psalm 7 that I believe can help us transplant this psalm into the contemporary soil of our own time and place. The first image is the one with which the psalmist begins: the rather unexpected invitation to “take refuge” in God. The second is related to the first and actually forms the dominant theme that is viewed from a variety of angles throughout the whole psalm: the deep and sincere reflection on our character engendered by coming into the presence of God.
God is our refuge. How comforting it is to think of God as our “refuge.” This is a theme that returns time and again throughout the Psalter. The psalmists invite us to understand divine righteousness as a source of confidence and comfort rather than of fear and dismay. Yahweh, the righteous judge, is our refuge, in much the same way that for Isaiah, Yahweh, the Holy One of Israel, becomes not the anticipated destroyer but the unexpected redeemer of Israel.11
Yet often, precisely when we need that refuge most, we feel unable or unworthy to enter in. A minister friend of mine was enjoying a long-term effective ministry when he received the call from the bishop. A woman in the minister’s congregation had accused him of sexual improprieties and was threatening to sue. My friend knew the accusations were true, so he went down into his basement, pulled a gun out of the gun rack, and prepared to send a bullet through his heart to end his life.
Now my friend had been effectively preaching a message of a God of love and forgiveness for over twenty years! But in the hour of his own complete and utter powerlessness, his own faith was almost completely dismantled—he was unable to see beyond the God of judgment to the God of love offering refuge. Thankfully my friend survived. A providential phone call interrupted his plans and offered a new opportunity for counseling, healing, and restoration. But how many of us, faced by a crumbling world, fail to accept God’s invitation of refuge and hope?
Our hesitation need not be the result of our own sense of unworthiness and sinfulness. Sometimes we, like the psalmist, are beset from without by false accusations, failed finances, abusive partners, and a myriad of other circumstances either within our control or not. The sense of guilt and shame we can feel at such times often creates an almost insurmountable barrier to entering the refuge of God.
I remember a woman who was going through a particularly painful divorce from an abusive husband, explaining how difficult it had become for her to attend worship services because all she could do, she said, was to sit in the back of the sanctuary and weep. Her pain was so great, her embarrassment over the failure of her marriage so strong, that she almost cut herself off from what should have been a healing, caring community—the church of God. At least she kept coming—even if all she could do was weep. How many of us would have this woman’s courage? Or would we, like a wounded animal, crawl away to some remote hideout to heal or die on our own?
God is our refuge. He stands ready to deliver and to save. But a refuge must be entered before it is effective. Often our understanding of God’s righteousness prevents us from taking that step. Too often we understand God’s righteousness to mean that he judges not only our rebellious sinfulness but also our weakness and ineffectiveness as human beings. As a result, we do not take the steps to healing and wholeness that God provides.
Judge me, O LORD, according to my righteousness. The idea of God as refuge is a wonderful and important gift to all of us who live in the midst of a broken world (and that is all of us, whether we realize it or not). But sometimes we can take that refuge so for granted that we become almost exclusively focused on the sense of security, love, and acceptance that God provides. We forget that entering the refuge God provides means entering the presence of God himself, and that is not something to be undertaken lightly or unadvisedly.
The college at which I taught for many years announced a special chapel program. Rather than our usual format, the notice announced, this time we would have a “worship chapel.” Now, I had thought that all our chapels had intended to be worship experiences, so I came with some curiosity to see what this special format might be. As it turns out, the worship chapel was spent entirely singing choruses of praise to God. Now I enjoy praise choruses—in a balanced sort of way—and I certainly sensed a genuine spirit of sincere praise in myself and my fellow worshipers. But I left that experience with a deep-seated suspicion that we had only partially worshiped—that something quite necessary and important was still missing.
As a child I remember singing the classic hymn “Rock of Ages.” I envisioned being hidden in the cleft of the rock—covered over by the protective hand of God. In my youth I understood that God was protecting me from all those evils and attacks that came from without, and I took comfort in his divine care. Only much later, however (far too much later), I came to realize that God’s hand was protecting me from myself and the consequences of my own sin!
I believe firmly that true worship incorporates acknowledging and repenting of sin. Only then do we realize how totally dependent on God and his gracious mercy we really are. This is one aspect of worship that the more liturgically oriented traditions often do better—leading worshipers through moments of corporate recognition, contrition, and repentance for sin. Then comes the undeserved affirmation: “You are forgiven!”
When I recognized my sin, I began to understand at last the full meaning of God’s care and protection. Then I really began to read and understand the verses of this song: “Let the water and the blood, from thy wounded side which flowed, be of sin the double cure, save from wrath and make me pure.” I am a sinner deserving of punishment and death, but in Christ a gracious God has provided a way for restoration and new life.
That is what the psalmist’s protestation of innocence brings home to me. It is not just a rather brash claim of spiritual excellence and perfection. It is instead a clear recognition that taking refuge in the presence of God is not a condition to be entered into lightly. Coming into his presence should always force us to sober self-reflection and evaluation. It should not lead us too quickly or easily to absorption in the praise of our protector God. Instead, it should lead us first and always to acknowledge how much we need his divine gift of undeserved mercy and grace.
God does indeed offer refuge we can depend on. But being able to stand within the protective embrace of almighty God is not the assured result of our spiritual perfection and pride. It is instead the consequence of our recognition of our spiritual bankruptcy and our total capitulation to the immeasurable grace of our Savior and Lord. In the words of the wise woman of Tekoa, “God does not take away life; instead, he devises ways so that a banished person may not remain estranged from him” (2 Sam. 14:14). That is cause for hope and praise indeed!
Original Meaning
Yahweh Called to Judgment (7:6–9)
HAVING ESTABLISHED INNOCENCE through this protestation, the psalmist now turns to Yahweh in his role of righteous judge. With an initial string of imperatives he calls on Yahweh to arise in righteous indignation and to assume his seat as judge. Surrounded by the assembly of all peoples, Yahweh, exalted over all, is ready to hear the case and render righteous judgment.
Arise, O LORD. Rising is a commonly expressed preparation for movement. It presumes a refocusing of energy and concern to follow a new course of action. Here the psalmist calls on Yahweh, wherever he has been previously involved, to refocus his concern on the psalmist’s case and to prepare to act in judgment. The object of concern that he hopes will motivate Yahweh to new action is divine indignation against the arrogant violence of his enemies.3
Awake, my God. As in the preceding phrases, the psalmist calls God to renewed action. Since Yahweh neither sleeps nor slumbers (121:4), how can he awake? In reality, the psalmist is calling Yahweh to bestir himself in his behalf.
Decree justice. While the perfect verbal form used here may possibly continue the force of the preceding imperatives, it seems more likely that the psalmist is describing the grounds on which his hope for righteous judgment is founded. He is willing to take the risks implied in the protestation of innocence if the case can only be submitted to the scrutiny of a righteous judge. Who better than Yahweh, who has decreed justice and who will even judge the fate of nations (v. 8)? This is more than a simple track record of past just decrees. It is, as Job recognized, that the very concept and nature of justice is established by Yahweh himself. He defines justice, affirms it as righteous, holds humans to its standard, and consistently acts to uphold it.
Justice. The Hebrew word for “justice” (mišpaṭ) assumes, as one would expect, a legal setting such as is described in this psalm. In a case brought before a righteous judge, the first step is to hear the evidence brought by the contending parties. Then the judge proclaims mišpaṭ—a statement of what the appropriate course of action should have been for all parties in the case. Having established mišpaṭ, the judge proceeds to declare the relation of the contending parties to that standard. Righteous is the affirmation that one has fulfilled the demands of mišpaṭ (cf. v. 9) whereas the wicked have failed to measure up.
Judge me, O LORD! Before such a righteous judge (vv. 9, 11), the innocent need have no fear. So the psalmist calls out to be judged by Yahweh. The psalmist’s “righteousness” and “integrity” leaves no doubt as to the appropriate decision from a righteous judge—even one “who searches minds and hearts” (v. 9). Such a judge can be trusted to bring wickedness to its proper conclusion while making “the righteous secure” (v. 9).4
Minds and hearts. While “minds and hearts” is not a bad translation, the original Hebrew refers to “hearts and inward parts.” The point is that God is able to scrutinize the interior thoughts and emotions of humans.
Make . . . secure is not so much a reference to security measures or protection as it is to providing a solid, unshakable foundation. Using this Hebrew word God is elsewhere said to create the unshakable underpinnings of the world, which cannot be moved.
Bridging Contexts
THE PSALMIST GLORIES in God’s righteousness. The term is applied explicitly to God no less than three times in this psalm.10 Sometimes we have difficulty being comfortable with the idea of righteousness. It can seem to be hard and inflexible. We often relate it in our minds to human self-righteousness—a decidedly negative term used to describe fanatics and self-assured persons we would rather not be around.
It is dangerous, however, to judge God’s righteousness on the basis of rather limited and distorted human expressions of righteousness. His righteousness flows from that essential nature of holiness we discussed in relation to Psalm 5 (see comments). Righteousness is the demonstration—the living out, so to speak—of God’s innate character of holiness. Because God is incompatible with evil and relentlessly good, he can do no other than uphold righteousness.
It is God’s righteousness that enables the psalmist to trust in God as protective “refuge.” Because God is holy and righteous, the psalmist can depend on him to uphold the righteous and protect them from the attacks of the wicked. As such, then, divine righteousness takes on a softer edge defined by divine mercy and blessing. The two consequences of divine holiness and righteousness—judgment and mercy—can never be severed but continue to exist in tension.
It is, of course, how humans respond to God that determines whether they experience mercy or wrath, judgment or grace. The psalmist knows this and is careful to affirm innocence in verses 3–5.
Contemporary Significance
I WOULD LIKE to return to two images from Psalm 7 that I believe can help us transplant this psalm into the contemporary soil of our own time and place. The first image is the one with which the psalmist begins: the rather unexpected invitation to “take refuge” in God. The second is related to the first and actually forms the dominant theme that is viewed from a variety of angles throughout the whole psalm: the deep and sincere reflection on our character engendered by coming into the presence of God.
God is our refuge. How comforting it is to think of God as our “refuge.” This is a theme that returns time and again throughout the Psalter. The psalmists invite us to understand divine righteousness as a source of confidence and comfort rather than of fear and dismay. Yahweh, the righteous judge, is our refuge, in much the same way that for Isaiah, Yahweh, the Holy One of Israel, becomes not the anticipated destroyer but the unexpected redeemer of Israel.11
Yet often, precisely when we need that refuge most, we feel unable or unworthy to enter in. A minister friend of mine was enjoying a long-term effective ministry when he received the call from the bishop. A woman in the minister’s congregation had accused him of sexual improprieties and was threatening to sue. My friend knew the accusations were true, so he went down into his basement, pulled a gun out of the gun rack, and prepared to send a bullet through his heart to end his life.
Now my friend had been effectively preaching a message of a God of love and forgiveness for over twenty years! But in the hour of his own complete and utter powerlessness, his own faith was almost completely dismantled—he was unable to see beyond the God of judgment to the God of love offering refuge. Thankfully my friend survived. A providential phone call interrupted his plans and offered a new opportunity for counseling, healing, and restoration. But how many of us, faced by a crumbling world, fail to accept God’s invitation of refuge and hope?
Our hesitation need not be the result of our own sense of unworthiness and sinfulness. Sometimes we, like the psalmist, are beset from without by false accusations, failed finances, abusive partners, and a myriad of other circumstances either within our control or not. The sense of guilt and shame we can feel at such times often creates an almost insurmountable barrier to entering the refuge of God.
I remember a woman who was going through a particularly painful divorce from an abusive husband, explaining how difficult it had become for her to attend worship services because all she could do, she said, was to sit in the back of the sanctuary and weep. Her pain was so great, her embarrassment over the failure of her marriage so strong, that she almost cut herself off from what should have been a healing, caring community—the church of God. At least she kept coming—even if all she could do was weep. How many of us would have this woman’s courage? Or would we, like a wounded animal, crawl away to some remote hideout to heal or die on our own?
God is our refuge. He stands ready to deliver and to save. But a refuge must be entered before it is effective. Often our understanding of God’s righteousness prevents us from taking that step. Too often we understand God’s righteousness to mean that he judges not only our rebellious sinfulness but also our weakness and ineffectiveness as human beings. As a result, we do not take the steps to healing and wholeness that God provides.
Judge me, O LORD, according to my righteousness. The idea of God as refuge is a wonderful and important gift to all of us who live in the midst of a broken world (and that is all of us, whether we realize it or not). But sometimes we can take that refuge so for granted that we become almost exclusively focused on the sense of security, love, and acceptance that God provides. We forget that entering the refuge God provides means entering the presence of God himself, and that is not something to be undertaken lightly or unadvisedly.
The college at which I taught for many years announced a special chapel program. Rather than our usual format, the notice announced, this time we would have a “worship chapel.” Now, I had thought that all our chapels had intended to be worship experiences, so I came with some curiosity to see what this special format might be. As it turns out, the worship chapel was spent entirely singing choruses of praise to God. Now I enjoy praise choruses—in a balanced sort of way—and I certainly sensed a genuine spirit of sincere praise in myself and my fellow worshipers. But I left that experience with a deep-seated suspicion that we had only partially worshiped—that something quite necessary and important was still missing.
As a child I remember singing the classic hymn “Rock of Ages.” I envisioned being hidden in the cleft of the rock—covered over by the protective hand of God. In my youth I understood that God was protecting me from all those evils and attacks that came from without, and I took comfort in his divine care. Only much later, however (far too much later), I came to realize that God’s hand was protecting me from myself and the consequences of my own sin!
I believe firmly that true worship incorporates acknowledging and repenting of sin. Only then do we realize how totally dependent on God and his gracious mercy we really are. This is one aspect of worship that the more liturgically oriented traditions often do better—leading worshipers through moments of corporate recognition, contrition, and repentance for sin. Then comes the undeserved affirmation: “You are forgiven!”
When I recognized my sin, I began to understand at last the full meaning of God’s care and protection. Then I really began to read and understand the verses of this song: “Let the water and the blood, from thy wounded side which flowed, be of sin the double cure, save from wrath and make me pure.” I am a sinner deserving of punishment and death, but in Christ a gracious God has provided a way for restoration and new life.
That is what the psalmist’s protestation of innocence brings home to me. It is not just a rather brash claim of spiritual excellence and perfection. It is instead a clear recognition that taking refuge in the presence of God is not a condition to be entered into lightly. Coming into his presence should always force us to sober self-reflection and evaluation. It should not lead us too quickly or easily to absorption in the praise of our protector God. Instead, it should lead us first and always to acknowledge how much we need his divine gift of undeserved mercy and grace.
God does indeed offer refuge we can depend on. But being able to stand within the protective embrace of almighty God is not the assured result of our spiritual perfection and pride. It is instead the consequence of our recognition of our spiritual bankruptcy and our total capitulation to the immeasurable grace of our Savior and Lord. In the words of the wise woman of Tekoa, “God does not take away life; instead, he devises ways so that a banished person may not remain estranged from him” (2 Sam. 14:14). That is cause for hope and praise indeed!
Original Meaning
Yahweh Prepares for Judgment (7:10–13)
THE GOD WHO judges righteously also metes out the consequences of that judgment. The psalmist describes how Yahweh, having declared mišpaṭ, now responds as a “shield” and defender for those proven to be righteous (the “upright in heart,” v. 10). He also prepares to mete out judgment on the wicked. The psalmist clearly has personal enemies in view here. Though Yahweh has yet to act openly, he is “a righteous judge . . . who expresses his wrath every day.”
Expresses . . . wrath. The NIV obscures somewhat the legal background of this term (Heb. zaʿam), which might better be understood as “passes sentence.” Yahweh is not a judge who only occasionally sits in courts and infrequently renders judgment. The psalmist’s hope and claim are that Yahweh is constantly overseeing human affairs and declaring mišpaṭ. His case will not slide by unnoticed but will receive the attention it deserves.
If he does not relent. The word translated “relent” (šwb) here presents a bit of a theological quandary. When used of humans, the term is often translated “repent.” The NIV avoids attributing repentance to God by using “relent” rather than the more problematic “repent,” which might seem inappropriate of God.5 But the phrase is used of God with sufficient frequency to suggest that in the mind of the Hebrews, God can be said to repent or at least to change a previous course of action.
We see God doing precisely this in Jonah 3:9, where the Ninevites’ hope their repentance may spark a corresponding repentance in God (once again the NIV translates šwb as “relent”). The point is that, at least from the human point of view, God seems on occasion to change his mind and to withdraw previously decreed disaster. This is the hope embodied in all prophetic pronouncements of doom. Such pronouncements, far from being fixed, unalterable predictions, encourage human repentance in the full hope that God himself will respond by replacing the decreed judgment with mercy.6
He will sharpen his sword. In this case, Yahweh prepares to mete out the punishment due from his righteous judgment of the psalmist’s case. The images are militaristic: sharpening the sword, stringing and drawing the bow, and preparing to let fly with flaming arrows at the enemy.7 This well-drawn portrait of the ready archer stops just short of release—bow straining, eye on the target; Yahweh is poised, ready to act. The picture encourages the enemies to reconsider their opposition in light of Yahweh’s sure defense of the righteous.
Bridging Contexts
THE PSALMIST GLORIES in God’s righteousness. The term is applied explicitly to God no less than three times in this psalm.10 Sometimes we have difficulty being comfortable with the idea of righteousness. It can seem to be hard and inflexible. We often relate it in our minds to human self-righteousness—a decidedly negative term used to describe fanatics and self-assured persons we would rather not be around.
It is dangerous, however, to judge God’s righteousness on the basis of rather limited and distorted human expressions of righteousness. His righteousness flows from that essential nature of holiness we discussed in relation to Psalm 5 (see comments). Righteousness is the demonstration—the living out, so to speak—of God’s innate character of holiness. Because God is incompatible with evil and relentlessly good, he can do no other than uphold righteousness.
It is God’s righteousness that enables the psalmist to trust in God as protective “refuge.” Because God is holy and righteous, the psalmist can depend on him to uphold the righteous and protect them from the attacks of the wicked. As such, then, divine righteousness takes on a softer edge defined by divine mercy and blessing. The two consequences of divine holiness and righteousness—judgment and mercy—can never be severed but continue to exist in tension.
It is, of course, how humans respond to God that determines whether they experience mercy or wrath, judgment or grace. The psalmist knows this and is careful to affirm innocence in verses 3–5.
Contemporary Significance
I WOULD LIKE to return to two images from Psalm 7 that I believe can help us transplant this psalm into the contemporary soil of our own time and place. The first image is the one with which the psalmist begins: the rather unexpected invitation to “take refuge” in God. The second is related to the first and actually forms the dominant theme that is viewed from a variety of angles throughout the whole psalm: the deep and sincere reflection on our character engendered by coming into the presence of God.
God is our refuge. How comforting it is to think of God as our “refuge.” This is a theme that returns time and again throughout the Psalter. The psalmists invite us to understand divine righteousness as a source of confidence and comfort rather than of fear and dismay. Yahweh, the righteous judge, is our refuge, in much the same way that for Isaiah, Yahweh, the Holy One of Israel, becomes not the anticipated destroyer but the unexpected redeemer of Israel.11
Yet often, precisely when we need that refuge most, we feel unable or unworthy to enter in. A minister friend of mine was enjoying a long-term effective ministry when he received the call from the bishop. A woman in the minister’s congregation had accused him of sexual improprieties and was threatening to sue. My friend knew the accusations were true, so he went down into his basement, pulled a gun out of the gun rack, and prepared to send a bullet through his heart to end his life.
Now my friend had been effectively preaching a message of a God of love and forgiveness for over twenty years! But in the hour of his own complete and utter powerlessness, his own faith was almost completely dismantled—he was unable to see beyond the God of judgment to the God of love offering refuge. Thankfully my friend survived. A providential phone call interrupted his plans and offered a new opportunity for counseling, healing, and restoration. But how many of us, faced by a crumbling world, fail to accept God’s invitation of refuge and hope?
Our hesitation need not be the result of our own sense of unworthiness and sinfulness. Sometimes we, like the psalmist, are beset from without by false accusations, failed finances, abusive partners, and a myriad of other circumstances either within our control or not. The sense of guilt and shame we can feel at such times often creates an almost insurmountable barrier to entering the refuge of God.
I remember a woman who was going through a particularly painful divorce from an abusive husband, explaining how difficult it had become for her to attend worship services because all she could do, she said, was to sit in the back of the sanctuary and weep. Her pain was so great, her embarrassment over the failure of her marriage so strong, that she almost cut herself off from what should have been a healing, caring community—the church of God. At least she kept coming—even if all she could do was weep. How many of us would have this woman’s courage? Or would we, like a wounded animal, crawl away to some remote hideout to heal or die on our own?
God is our refuge. He stands ready to deliver and to save. But a refuge must be entered before it is effective. Often our understanding of God’s righteousness prevents us from taking that step. Too often we understand God’s righteousness to mean that he judges not only our rebellious sinfulness but also our weakness and ineffectiveness as human beings. As a result, we do not take the steps to healing and wholeness that God provides.
Judge me, O LORD, according to my righteousness. The idea of God as refuge is a wonderful and important gift to all of us who live in the midst of a broken world (and that is all of us, whether we realize it or not). But sometimes we can take that refuge so for granted that we become almost exclusively focused on the sense of security, love, and acceptance that God provides. We forget that entering the refuge God provides means entering the presence of God himself, and that is not something to be undertaken lightly or unadvisedly.
The college at which I taught for many years announced a special chapel program. Rather than our usual format, the notice announced, this time we would have a “worship chapel.” Now, I had thought that all our chapels had intended to be worship experiences, so I came with some curiosity to see what this special format might be. As it turns out, the worship chapel was spent entirely singing choruses of praise to God. Now I enjoy praise choruses—in a balanced sort of way—and I certainly sensed a genuine spirit of sincere praise in myself and my fellow worshipers. But I left that experience with a deep-seated suspicion that we had only partially worshiped—that something quite necessary and important was still missing.
As a child I remember singing the classic hymn “Rock of Ages.” I envisioned being hidden in the cleft of the rock—covered over by the protective hand of God. In my youth I understood that God was protecting me from all those evils and attacks that came from without, and I took comfort in his divine care. Only much later, however (far too much later), I came to realize that God’s hand was protecting me from myself and the consequences of my own sin!
I believe firmly that true worship incorporates acknowledging and repenting of sin. Only then do we realize how totally dependent on God and his gracious mercy we really are. This is one aspect of worship that the more liturgically oriented traditions often do better—leading worshipers through moments of corporate recognition, contrition, and repentance for sin. Then comes the undeserved affirmation: “You are forgiven!”
When I recognized my sin, I began to understand at last the full meaning of God’s care and protection. Then I really began to read and understand the verses of this song: “Let the water and the blood, from thy wounded side which flowed, be of sin the double cure, save from wrath and make me pure.” I am a sinner deserving of punishment and death, but in Christ a gracious God has provided a way for restoration and new life.
That is what the psalmist’s protestation of innocence brings home to me. It is not just a rather brash claim of spiritual excellence and perfection. It is instead a clear recognition that taking refuge in the presence of God is not a condition to be entered into lightly. Coming into his presence should always force us to sober self-reflection and evaluation. It should not lead us too quickly or easily to absorption in the praise of our protector God. Instead, it should lead us first and always to acknowledge how much we need his divine gift of undeserved mercy and grace.
God does indeed offer refuge we can depend on. But being able to stand within the protective embrace of almighty God is not the assured result of our spiritual perfection and pride. It is instead the consequence of our recognition of our spiritual bankruptcy and our total capitulation to the immeasurable grace of our Savior and Lord. In the words of the wise woman of Tekoa, “God does not take away life; instead, he devises ways so that a banished person may not remain estranged from him” (2 Sam. 14:14). That is cause for hope and praise indeed!
Original Meaning
The Fate of the Wicked (7:14–16)
FROM THE DAUNTING description of Yahweh as the implacable enemy of the wicked, the psalmist moves on to describe the fate of the wicked themselves. Heaping up words relating to conception and birth, the psalmist scorns the one who is “pregnant with evil” and trouble.8 Such a one, saturated with evil, gives birth to a “lie” or “falsehood.” Whether this refers to false accusations put forth by the psalmist’s enemies or to an ironic declaration that their plans to defeat him will ultimately fail (cf. NIV “disillusionment”) is not clear. The latter may be more likely in light of the pattern established in this segment to describe how the enemies’ hostile intents recoil to their own detriment.
Pit. The enemy ultimately falls into the trapping pit prepared for the psalmist; that is, trouble and violence fall back on the head of their creator. Once again, this commentary on the hapless progenitors of the psalmist’s woes serves as a warning to dissuade them from their path of violent attack.
Bridging Contexts
THE PSALMIST GLORIES in God’s righteousness. The term is applied explicitly to God no less than three times in this psalm.10 Sometimes we have difficulty being comfortable with the idea of righteousness. It can seem to be hard and inflexible. We often relate it in our minds to human self-righteousness—a decidedly negative term used to describe fanatics and self-assured persons we would rather not be around.
It is dangerous, however, to judge God’s righteousness on the basis of rather limited and distorted human expressions of righteousness. His righteousness flows from that essential nature of holiness we discussed in relation to Psalm 5 (see comments). Righteousness is the demonstration—the living out, so to speak—of God’s innate character of holiness. Because God is incompatible with evil and relentlessly good, he can do no other than uphold righteousness.
It is God’s righteousness that enables the psalmist to trust in God as protective “refuge.” Because God is holy and righteous, the psalmist can depend on him to uphold the righteous and protect them from the attacks of the wicked. As such, then, divine righteousness takes on a softer edge defined by divine mercy and blessing. The two consequences of divine holiness and righteousness—judgment and mercy—can never be severed but continue to exist in tension.
It is, of course, how humans respond to God that determines whether they experience mercy or wrath, judgment or grace. The psalmist knows this and is careful to affirm innocence in verses 3–5.
Contemporary Significance
I WOULD LIKE to return to two images from Psalm 7 that I believe can help us transplant this psalm into the contemporary soil of our own time and place. The first image is the one with which the psalmist begins: the rather unexpected invitation to “take refuge” in God. The second is related to the first and actually forms the dominant theme that is viewed from a variety of angles throughout the whole psalm: the deep and sincere reflection on our character engendered by coming into the presence of God.
God is our refuge. How comforting it is to think of God as our “refuge.” This is a theme that returns time and again throughout the Psalter. The psalmists invite us to understand divine righteousness as a source of confidence and comfort rather than of fear and dismay. Yahweh, the righteous judge, is our refuge, in much the same way that for Isaiah, Yahweh, the Holy One of Israel, becomes not the anticipated destroyer but the unexpected redeemer of Israel.11
Yet often, precisely when we need that refuge most, we feel unable or unworthy to enter in. A minister friend of mine was enjoying a long-term effective ministry when he received the call from the bishop. A woman in the minister’s congregation had accused him of sexual improprieties and was threatening to sue. My friend knew the accusations were true, so he went down into his basement, pulled a gun out of the gun rack, and prepared to send a bullet through his heart to end his life.
Now my friend had been effectively preaching a message of a God of love and forgiveness for over twenty years! But in the hour of his own complete and utter powerlessness, his own faith was almost completely dismantled—he was unable to see beyond the God of judgment to the God of love offering refuge. Thankfully my friend survived. A providential phone call interrupted his plans and offered a new opportunity for counseling, healing, and restoration. But how many of us, faced by a crumbling world, fail to accept God’s invitation of refuge and hope?
Our hesitation need not be the result of our own sense of unworthiness and sinfulness. Sometimes we, like the psalmist, are beset from without by false accusations, failed finances, abusive partners, and a myriad of other circumstances either within our control or not. The sense of guilt and shame we can feel at such times often creates an almost insurmountable barrier to entering the refuge of God.
I remember a woman who was going through a particularly painful divorce from an abusive husband, explaining how difficult it had become for her to attend worship services because all she could do, she said, was to sit in the back of the sanctuary and weep. Her pain was so great, her embarrassment over the failure of her marriage so strong, that she almost cut herself off from what should have been a healing, caring community—the church of God. At least she kept coming—even if all she could do was weep. How many of us would have this woman’s courage? Or would we, like a wounded animal, crawl away to some remote hideout to heal or die on our own?
God is our refuge. He stands ready to deliver and to save. But a refuge must be entered before it is effective. Often our understanding of God’s righteousness prevents us from taking that step. Too often we understand God’s righteousness to mean that he judges not only our rebellious sinfulness but also our weakness and ineffectiveness as human beings. As a result, we do not take the steps to healing and wholeness that God provides.
Judge me, O LORD, according to my righteousness. The idea of God as refuge is a wonderful and important gift to all of us who live in the midst of a broken world (and that is all of us, whether we realize it or not). But sometimes we can take that refuge so for granted that we become almost exclusively focused on the sense of security, love, and acceptance that God provides. We forget that entering the refuge God provides means entering the presence of God himself, and that is not something to be undertaken lightly or unadvisedly.
The college at which I taught for many years announced a special chapel program. Rather than our usual format, the notice announced, this time we would have a “worship chapel.” Now, I had thought that all our chapels had intended to be worship experiences, so I came with some curiosity to see what this special format might be. As it turns out, the worship chapel was spent entirely singing choruses of praise to God. Now I enjoy praise choruses—in a balanced sort of way—and I certainly sensed a genuine spirit of sincere praise in myself and my fellow worshipers. But I left that experience with a deep-seated suspicion that we had only partially worshiped—that something quite necessary and important was still missing.
As a child I remember singing the classic hymn “Rock of Ages.” I envisioned being hidden in the cleft of the rock—covered over by the protective hand of God. In my youth I understood that God was protecting me from all those evils and attacks that came from without, and I took comfort in his divine care. Only much later, however (far too much later), I came to realize that God’s hand was protecting me from myself and the consequences of my own sin!
I believe firmly that true worship incorporates acknowledging and repenting of sin. Only then do we realize how totally dependent on God and his gracious mercy we really are. This is one aspect of worship that the more liturgically oriented traditions often do better—leading worshipers through moments of corporate recognition, contrition, and repentance for sin. Then comes the undeserved affirmation: “You are forgiven!”
When I recognized my sin, I began to understand at last the full meaning of God’s care and protection. Then I really began to read and understand the verses of this song: “Let the water and the blood, from thy wounded side which flowed, be of sin the double cure, save from wrath and make me pure.” I am a sinner deserving of punishment and death, but in Christ a gracious God has provided a way for restoration and new life.
That is what the psalmist’s protestation of innocence brings home to me. It is not just a rather brash claim of spiritual excellence and perfection. It is instead a clear recognition that taking refuge in the presence of God is not a condition to be entered into lightly. Coming into his presence should always force us to sober self-reflection and evaluation. It should not lead us too quickly or easily to absorption in the praise of our protector God. Instead, it should lead us first and always to acknowledge how much we need his divine gift of undeserved mercy and grace.
God does indeed offer refuge we can depend on. But being able to stand within the protective embrace of almighty God is not the assured result of our spiritual perfection and pride. It is instead the consequence of our recognition of our spiritual bankruptcy and our total capitulation to the immeasurable grace of our Savior and Lord. In the words of the wise woman of Tekoa, “God does not take away life; instead, he devises ways so that a banished person may not remain estranged from him” (2 Sam. 14:14). That is cause for hope and praise indeed!
Original Meaning
Concluding Praise (7:17)
THE PSALMIST CONCLUDES by returning to the theme of Yahweh’s “righteousness.” Yahweh is to be praised because he is a righteous judge, who can as a result be trusted to exonerate and uphold the righteous while punishing the wicked.
The LORD Most High. The divine title “Most High” (ʾel ʿelyon or simply ʿelyon) would seem in its origin to have assumed a range (or pantheon) of deities over whom Yahweh ranked as chief. This is not inconsistent with clear evidence of Scripture that throughout most of her history, Israel did not clearly deny the existence of other gods, although she understood Yahweh’s claim on her to be one of absolute allegiance and exclusive loyalty.9
Bridging Contexts
THE PSALMIST GLORIES in God’s righteousness. The term is applied explicitly to God no less than three times in this psalm.10 Sometimes we have difficulty being comfortable with the idea of righteousness. It can seem to be hard and inflexible. We often relate it in our minds to human self-righteousness—a decidedly negative term used to describe fanatics and self-assured persons we would rather not be around.
It is dangerous, however, to judge God’s righteousness on the basis of rather limited and distorted human expressions of righteousness. His righteousness flows from that essential nature of holiness we discussed in relation to Psalm 5 (see comments). Righteousness is the demonstration—the living out, so to speak—of God’s innate character of holiness. Because God is incompatible with evil and relentlessly good, he can do no other than uphold righteousness.
It is God’s righteousness that enables the psalmist to trust in God as protective “refuge.” Because God is holy and righteous, the psalmist can depend on him to uphold the righteous and protect them from the attacks of the wicked. As such, then, divine righteousness takes on a softer edge defined by divine mercy and blessing. The two consequences of divine holiness and righteousness—judgment and mercy—can never be severed but continue to exist in tension.
It is, of course, how humans respond to God that determines whether they experience mercy or wrath, judgment or grace. The psalmist knows this and is careful to affirm innocence in verses 3–5.
Contemporary Significance
I WOULD LIKE to return to two images from Psalm 7 that I believe can help us transplant this psalm into the contemporary soil of our own time and place. The first image is the one with which the psalmist begins: the rather unexpected invitation to “take refuge” in God. The second is related to the first and actually forms the dominant theme that is viewed from a variety of angles throughout the whole psalm: the deep and sincere reflection on our character engendered by coming into the presence of God.
God is our refuge. How comforting it is to think of God as our “refuge.” This is a theme that returns time and again throughout the Psalter. The psalmists invite us to understand divine righteousness as a source of confidence and comfort rather than of fear and dismay. Yahweh, the righteous judge, is our refuge, in much the same way that for Isaiah, Yahweh, the Holy One of Israel, becomes not the anticipated destroyer but the unexpected redeemer of Israel.11
Yet often, precisely when we need that refuge most, we feel unable or unworthy to enter in. A minister friend of mine was enjoying a long-term effective ministry when he received the call from the bishop. A woman in the minister’s congregation had accused him of sexual improprieties and was threatening to sue. My friend knew the accusations were true, so he went down into his basement, pulled a gun out of the gun rack, and prepared to send a bullet through his heart to end his life.
Now my friend had been effectively preaching a message of a God of love and forgiveness for over twenty years! But in the hour of his own complete and utter powerlessness, his own faith was almost completely dismantled—he was unable to see beyond the God of judgment to the God of love offering refuge. Thankfully my friend survived. A providential phone call interrupted his plans and offered a new opportunity for counseling, healing, and restoration. But how many of us, faced by a crumbling world, fail to accept God’s invitation of refuge and hope?
Our hesitation need not be the result of our own sense of unworthiness and sinfulness. Sometimes we, like the psalmist, are beset from without by false accusations, failed finances, abusive partners, and a myriad of other circumstances either within our control or not. The sense of guilt and shame we can feel at such times often creates an almost insurmountable barrier to entering the refuge of God.
I remember a woman who was going through a particularly painful divorce from an abusive husband, explaining how difficult it had become for her to attend worship services because all she could do, she said, was to sit in the back of the sanctuary and weep. Her pain was so great, her embarrassment over the failure of her marriage so strong, that she almost cut herself off from what should have been a healing, caring community—the church of God. At least she kept coming—even if all she could do was weep. How many of us would have this woman’s courage? Or would we, like a wounded animal, crawl away to some remote hideout to heal or die on our own?
God is our refuge. He stands ready to deliver and to save. But a refuge must be entered before it is effective. Often our understanding of God’s righteousness prevents us from taking that step. Too often we understand God’s righteousness to mean that he judges not only our rebellious sinfulness but also our weakness and ineffectiveness as human beings. As a result, we do not take the steps to healing and wholeness that God provides.
Judge me, O LORD, according to my righteousness. The idea of God as refuge is a wonderful and important gift to all of us who live in the midst of a broken world (and that is all of us, whether we realize it or not). But sometimes we can take that refuge so for granted that we become almost exclusively focused on the sense of security, love, and acceptance that God provides. We forget that entering the refuge God provides means entering the presence of God himself, and that is not something to be undertaken lightly or unadvisedly.
The college at which I taught for many years announced a special chapel program. Rather than our usual format, the notice announced, this time we would have a “worship chapel.” Now, I had thought that all our chapels had intended to be worship experiences, so I came with some curiosity to see what this special format might be. As it turns out, the worship chapel was spent entirely singing choruses of praise to God. Now I enjoy praise choruses—in a balanced sort of way—and I certainly sensed a genuine spirit of sincere praise in myself and my fellow worshipers. But I left that experience with a deep-seated suspicion that we had only partially worshiped—that something quite necessary and important was still missing.
As a child I remember singing the classic hymn “Rock of Ages.” I envisioned being hidden in the cleft of the rock—covered over by the protective hand of God. In my youth I understood that God was protecting me from all those evils and attacks that came from without, and I took comfort in his divine care. Only much later, however (far too much later), I came to realize that God’s hand was protecting me from myself and the consequences of my own sin!
I believe firmly that true worship incorporates acknowledging and repenting of sin. Only then do we realize how totally dependent on God and his gracious mercy we really are. This is one aspect of worship that the more liturgically oriented traditions often do better—leading worshipers through moments of corporate recognition, contrition, and repentance for sin. Then comes the undeserved affirmation: “You are forgiven!”
When I recognized my sin, I began to understand at last the full meaning of God’s care and protection. Then I really began to read and understand the verses of this song: “Let the water and the blood, from thy wounded side which flowed, be of sin the double cure, save from wrath and make me pure.” I am a sinner deserving of punishment and death, but in Christ a gracious God has provided a way for restoration and new life.
That is what the psalmist’s protestation of innocence brings home to me. It is not just a rather brash claim of spiritual excellence and perfection. It is instead a clear recognition that taking refuge in the presence of God is not a condition to be entered into lightly. Coming into his presence should always force us to sober self-reflection and evaluation. It should not lead us too quickly or easily to absorption in the praise of our protector God. Instead, it should lead us first and always to acknowledge how much we need his divine gift of undeserved mercy and grace.
God does indeed offer refuge we can depend on. But being able to stand within the protective embrace of almighty God is not the assured result of our spiritual perfection and pride. It is instead the consequence of our recognition of our spiritual bankruptcy and our total capitulation to the immeasurable grace of our Savior and Lord. In the words of the wise woman of Tekoa, “God does not take away life; instead, he devises ways so that a banished person may not remain estranged from him” (2 Sam. 14:14). That is cause for hope and praise indeed!