When Israel went out of Egypt, the house of Jacob from a people of strange language,
Israel's exit from Egypt was more than a nation changing address. God moved in among them, and nature itself gave way. Writers read this opening line as the start of a nation's history, as separation from the world, and as a rescue the psalm still holds up today.
Egypt held Israel for centuries. Its strange language marks it out as foreign ground — a place they lived, never a home. One writer ties the leaving and the gaining together, and finds meaning in the two names used:
Israel went out of Egypt, after centuries of bondage to a people of strange language. Egypt was not its proper dwelling, and Israel had to be separated from that association. But in being separated from Egypt, they found association with the living God. God's name is not mentioned in this section. Yet "Judah became His sanctuary and Israel His dominion" (v. 2) — that is, Judah (meaning "praise") became the dwelling of God. He dwells among the praises of His people. Israel (meaning "a prince with God") thus became the sphere of His dominion, just as the Church today is the sphere of His special authority.
Another writer marks this exit as the start of the nation's life and its new calendar. God's dwelling and His rule arrive together:
It was the beginning of their history as a nation: the Passover, as we know, rearranged their year for them. Egypt had been their home for a long time. Yet to those who are now to be the holy people of God, it is only a place of strange language. Only with redeemed ones can God dwell; and where He dwells He reigns.
These opening lines never name God. The psalm shows only His works. One writer reads that silence as closeness, not oversight:
Israel was now brought back to refer to God. Their souls were in communion with Him. Their minds were so full of Jehovah Elohim that they say "Him" without mentioning Him. They know Him as their God. They hide His name, as it were, in a secret triumph, as something that belongs to them, and put forward only His works. Then, having stated His works, the psalm calls on them to triumph before Him, the God of Jacob.
Two people can watch the same events and explain them in two ways. The difference is faith, not evidence:
In Psalm 114 faith looks back and sees in the deliverance of Israel from Egypt the power of the presence of God. The same power appeared again when Israel crossed the Jordan into the Land. Other eyes may have gazed on these stirring scenes and seen nothing but natural events and remarkable coincidences. Modern scepticism looks back and sees nothing more than that — if indeed it admits that anything happened at all... We know by faith. It was the presence and power of God.
The order of the verse matters for anyone reading it today. The departure comes first; the dwelling follows.
We read that when Israel came out of Egypt, "Judah was His sanctuary, and Israel His dominion." God took His place among them. When Israel went out, God went in. Here we see that to get the good of God's presence at any time there must be separation from the world, and Egypt is the picture of that world. (Mind, I do not say His presence, but the good of His presence.)
Nothing about the crowd leaving Egypt looked strong. Everything about what followed was.
As the morning light dawns on Rameses, what do we see? Not a well-disciplined army able to meet its enemies. We see six hundred thousand men on foot, going out with no apparent resources and burdened with the care of wives and little ones... But a blood-bought people, truly powerless in themselves, is going out — and not alone... Nothing in nature is more restless than the sea. Nothing seems so immovable and unbending as the mountain. Yet both confess a power that is sovereign and supreme.
The psalm is not only fine poetry about the past. One writer hears the same God at work in an old rescue and a present one:
Psalm 114 is of the highest style of poetry. But it is important to us because it directly connects the ancient deliverance of Israel out of Egypt with the present deliverance of the people. It sees the same Jehovah in both, calling the earth to tremble at His presence.
- Out — Egypt was never Israel's proper home; the strange language marks it as foreign soil they had to leave.
- In — when Israel went out, God went in; the going out is what made room for Him to dwell and to reign.
- Hidden — the psalm never speaks His name here; it holds it back in quiet triumph and shows only His works.
- Around — a defenceless crowd walked out, and the sea and the mountains gave way before the God in their midst.
- Ahead — the same Jehovah who delivered then delivers now, and the psalm calls the earth to tremble at His presence.
Judah was his sanctuary, Israel his dominion.
Psalm 114 looks back to the moment Israel walked out of Egypt. It names what that rescue produced: God took a holy place and a kingdom among a freed people. Two questions sit under the line. Why did God wait until the exodus to settle among them? And why does one verse give the same nation two names, Judah and Israel?
The order matters. The nation leaves Egypt in verse 1, and only then does God settle among them. One writer ties that order to the meaning of the two names:
It was the beginning of their history as a nation: the Passover, as we know, rearranged their year for them. Egypt was their home for a long time. But to those who are now to be the holy people of God, it is only a place of strange language. God can dwell only with redeemed ones. And where He dwells, He reigns: "Judah was His sanctuary; Israel His dominion." The names carry meaning beyond the history. The yoke he bears gives the "prince with God" his honour. The holy place is one with the place of "praise."
The word does not mean a building here. It covers a whole nation and land where God makes Himself known — and it shows what that place later became:
The whole system in Israel, as settled by the Lord, was a sanctuary. (Ex. 15:17, Ps. 114:2) For a sanctuary is a place where God makes Himself known, and the land of Israel was such a place. Jehovah was there. But Israel had revolted and disowned Jesus. And so it was "a dry and thirsty land" to the righteous.
Each name matches what is said about it, and one writer carries the pairing into the present day:
God's name is not mentioned in this section. Yet "Judah became His sanctuary and Israel His dominion" (v. 2). That is, Judah — a name that means "praise" — became the dwelling of God. Only when we separate from the world (Egypt) are we blessed with God dwelling among us. And He dwells amid the praises of His people. Israel — a name that means "a prince with God" — became the sphere of His dominion, just as the Church today is the sphere of His special authority.
Verse 1 and verse 2 happen together. As the people move one way, God moves the other:
We read that when Israel came out of Egypt "Judah was His sanctuary, and Israel His dominion." God took His place among them; that is, when Israel went out, God went in. Here we see what it takes to get the good of God's presence at any time. Mind, I do not say His presence, but the good of His presence. There must be separation from the world, and Egypt is the picture of the world. God never took up His place with them until then, and until He did, He did not make His presence felt. Now He does. Let me ask, "Have we all turned our backs to the world?"
Separation has a positive side. God gains a resting place, and His people gain safety from every enemy:
"Let them make Me a sanctuary; that I may dwell among them." (Ex. 25:8.) Are they content to "dwell alone"? Are they content not to be "reckoned among the nations"? Then God Himself will come and live among them. What a wonderful word that is, "Judah was His sanctuary!" (Psalm 114.) Here was a place where the Creator could find a refuge of rest. All around it, the waves of sin rolled over everything. And this is the positive side of separation. His people must now live in a way that matches this truth: God is present with them. Everything must take its colour from it. "The Lord is there." Then as to every enemy they are safe. Every enemy retreats. "The sea saw it, and fled."
The psalm looks back, but not only back. The same presence that made Judah a sanctuary will act again:
As prophecy, the psalm looks on to a coming day. Restored Israel will then acknowledge that they owe their deliverance and blessing to the presence of the Lord acting in almighty power — now as in the past.
- Redeemed — God does not settle among slaves in Egypt. He dwells with a people already brought out; redemption is the ground of everything in this verse.
- Sanctuary — Where He dwells, He makes Himself known. Judah, whose name means praise, becomes His dwelling, and He dwells amid the praises of His people.
- Dominion — Where He dwells, He reigns. Israel, the prince with God, gains honour from the very yoke it carries.
- Separated — As Israel went out, God went in. Turning your back on the world is what opens up the good of His presence.
- Result — The Creator gains a resting place. His people gain safety, every enemy retreats, and Israel will own that presence again.
The sea saw it and fled, the Jordan turned back;
The psalm looks back at two moments at the far ends of one journey. Water gave way when Israel left Egypt. It gave way again when Israel entered the land. The verse never names who did it. It reports only what the sea and the river did.
The two halves of the verse mark the start and the end of one route — out of slavery, into the promised land.
These verses set out the mighty power that worked for Israel in the days of their earlier deliverances. At the deliverance from Egypt the Red Sea fled. It bore witness to the presence of irresistible power. So did the Jordan at the end of their journey, at the entrance to the land, when it was driven back.
The two crossings were not copies of each other. What Israel saw was different each time.
At the crossing of the Red Sea, the waves fled before Israel; at the crossing of the Jordan, the flood was driven back out of Israel's sight. In the one case a path opened out before them, and they marched between two walls of water. In the other no water was visible. To the right and left of them, as far as they could see, lay a dry riverbed. "What ails you, O sea, that you flee? O Jordan, that you turn back?" The power of God was present — His rod and His ark. So the millions of Israel entered the promised land.
Two people can watch the same scene and come away with different accounts of it.
In Psalm 114 faith looks back and sees in the deliverance of Israel from Egypt the power of the presence of God. The same power showed itself again in Israel's crossing of the Jordan when they entered the land. Other eyes may have gazed on these stirring scenes and seen nothing but natural events and remarkable coincidences. Modern scepticism looks back and sees nothing more than that — if it admits that anything happened at all... We know by faith. It was the presence and power of God.
What did the sea see? The lines just before this verse put the Lord in the middle of His people.
A blood-bought people, powerless in themselves, is going out — but not alone. At that time "Judah became his sanctuary, Israel his dominion." The Lord was in the middle of His people, and what was the result? "The sea looked and fled; Jordan turned back. The mountains skipped like rams, the hills like lambs." Now nothing in nature is more restless than the sea. Nothing in nature seems so immovable and unbending as a mountain. Yet both confess a power that is sovereign and supreme. Both bow to His presence and own it. Nature's might must flee and tremble before Him. And this is man, who has power as lord over all His creation: man in his restlessness, man in his pride!
Both crossings blocked Israel's way completely. One writer sees death in each of them.
These were obstacles that only the power of God could overcome, each speaking of death in a different way, but no problem to a God of resurrection.
What happened to the sea happens in a person who knows God is present.
Dear friends, when you know you are in His presence, the first thing you realise is this: human restlessness and strength count for nothing. Both are subdued, though both come naturally to us. "The sea looked and fled." The sea was conscious of the presence of its Creator. But I must press that these things are to be known by us individually. It is the necessary result of entering His presence.
What the sea did once, creation will do again.
And nature will feel it again in a more terrible form, when the Lord rises up a second time for Israel and for judgment. There will be a great shaking then... The second coming will take the world by surprise. The presence of the Lord of old surprised the hills and the seas in the same way, as pictured here.
- Presence — the sea and the river move for one reason: God is there in the middle of His people.
- Bookends — the Red Sea marks the way out of Egypt, the Jordan the way into the land. His presence covers the whole journey.
- Barriers — both waters picture death, and neither is a problem to a God of resurrection.
- Subdued — the restless sea and the immovable mountain both yield. So must restless, proud man.
- Again — nature bowed once and will bow again, when He rises up a second time.
The mountains skipped like rams, the hills like lambs.
The psalm asks what could make solid ground behave like a startled flock, and the answer is not found in Israel's strength. Writers point to the One walking unnamed in the middle of His people.
Psalm 114 is poetry of the highest style. But it matters to us because it directly connects two deliverances: the ancient deliverance of Israel out of Egypt, and the present deliverance of the people. It sees the same Jehovah in both, calling the earth to tremble at the presence of Jehovah. It was right in those days. At Jacob's deliverance then, the sea fled and Jordan was driven back. What was this? Was it fright before the presence of man? The earth was now to tremble before Him who appeared for the deliverance of His people then, and for their sakes turned the sea into dry land, and the flint stone into a springing well.
Two people can look at the same event and read it in opposite ways. The difference is not the evidence.
In Psalm 114 faith looks back and sees in the deliverance of Israel from Egypt the power of the presence of God. The same power was to be seen too in Israel's crossing of the Jordan when they entered the Land. Other eyes may have gazed on these stirring scenes and seen nothing but natural events and remarkable coincidences. Modern scepticism looks back and sees nothing more than that, if it admits that anything happened at all… We know by faith. It was the presence and power of God.
Why compare a mountain to a ram? The word itself holds the answer.
There is a passage in Psalm 114 which gives us a hint of the meaning of the ram. When God led Israel out of Egypt, the victorious march is described as bringing all nature into subjection and sympathy with that wonderful deliverance… The word for "ram" means "the strong one." The skipping and leaping of the mighty mountains shows the divine majesty of God. The strongest and mightiest must quail before Him.
Verse 3 names two water crossings. The shaking hills of verse 4 belong between them.
The verses that follow set out the mighty power that worked for Israel in their earlier deliverances. At the deliverance from Egypt the Red Sea fled. It witnessed to the presence of irresistible power. At the end of their journey, at the entrance to the Land, Jordan was driven back in the same way. Between the Red Sea and the Jordan, the mountains of the desert had to bear witness to an unseen power when Sinai quaked greatly (Ex. 19:18).
Alongside the literal reading, some take the two sizes of hill as a picture of two levels of human power.
Verse 3 refers to the crossing of the Red Sea and the Jordan. These were obstacles that only the power of God could overcome. Each speaks of death in a different way, but neither is a problem to a God of resurrection. "The mountains skipped like rams, the hills like lambs" (v. 4). The mountains signify higher authorities or governments, and the hills lesser authorities. These were so affected that they could offer no opposition to Israel's newfound liberty.
Israel marched out of Egypt weak and unarmed, but not alone. Sea and mountain are opposites — one never still, the other never moving.
A blood-bought people, powerless in themselves, is going forth — but not alone… Jehovah was in the middle of His people. What was the result? "The sea saw it and fled; Jordan turned back. The mountains skipped like rams, the hills like lambs." Now nothing in nature is more restless than the sea (Isa. 57:20). Nothing in nature seems so immovable and unbending as the mountain (Ps. 46:2-3; Matt. 17:20). Yet both confess a power that is sovereign and supreme. Both bow to its presence and own it.
If mountains cannot hold their ground before Him, our own strength cannot either.
When you know you are in His presence, the first thing you realise is this: human restlessness and strength count for nothing. His presence subdues both… Then the strength and stability of nature is also touched. "The mountains skipped like rams, the hills like lambs." He subdues and refuses everything in us that is not of His Spirit.
- Presence. The sea, the river and the hills do not react to Israel. They react to the God in the middle of Israel. His presence is the psalm's whole answer.
- Power. The word behind "rams" means the strong one. The mightiest and most fixed things quail before God's majesty.
- Place. The two waters mark the start and the end of the journey, and the quaking mountain between them is Sinai.
- Reach. Read as a picture, mountains stand for greater authorities and hills for lesser ones. Neither can block a redeemed people's liberty.
- Response. Unbelief sees coincidence. Faith sees God. The presence that subdued nature still subdues our restlessness and our own strength.
What ailed thee, thou sea, that thou fleddest? thou Jordan, that thou turnedst back?
Psalm 114 has been picturing Israel's escape from Egypt: water retreating, hills leaping. Now it turns on the sea and the river and demands to know what frightened them — and the answer is not a natural one.
The question is not asked out of ignorance. It is asked so that the answer can land with force, and the answer is a Person the psalm has been deliberately holding back.
There is great beauty and natural power in the structure of this Psalm. Long ago this was the case — Israel went out of Egypt, Judah was His sanctuary, and Israel His dominion. What happened? How did nature shrink back before Him, before this power in Israel, before Israel coming out! What ailed the Sea and the Mountains? Tremble then now at the presence of Jehovah the God of Jacob!
Notice how long the psalm goes without naming God. That reserve is part of the poem's art — He stands behind His people until the moment He is named.
How beautiful is the hiding of Jehovah behind His people, and when He is brought forward! "Tremble, earth, at the presence of Jehovah." "What is all this? Why do the mountains skip? Why are the waters so shaken?" "Where is Jacob?" "Who is he?" The presence of Jehovah is with Jacob.
A crowd of freed slaves walked through those waters. Did the sea give way because of them?
Psalm 114 is poetry of the highest order. But it matters to us because it directly connects Israel's ancient deliverance out of Egypt with the people's present deliverance. It sees the same Jehovah in both, and calls the earth to tremble at the presence of Jehovah. It was right in those days. At Jacob's deliverance then, the sea fled and Jordan was driven back. What was this? Was it terror before the presence of man? The earth was now to tremble before Him who appeared for the deliverance of His people then.
The psalm sets the sea beside the mountains. They are opposites, and that is the point.
A blood-bought people, powerless in themselves, is going out — but not alone... Jehovah was among His people, and what was the result? "The sea looked and fled; Jordan turned back. The mountains skipped like rams, the hills like lambs." Nothing in nature is more restless than the sea. Nothing in nature seems so immovable and unbending as the mountain. But both confess a power that is sovereign and supreme. Both bow to its presence and own it.
The sea and the Jordan were two different crossings. They did not even look alike.
At the crossing of the Red Sea, the waves fled before Israel; at the crossing of the Jordan, the flood was driven back out of Israel's sight. In the one case a path opened before them, and they marched between two walls of water. In the other, no water was visible. To the right and left of them, as far as they could see, lay a dry riverbed. The power of God was present — His rod and His ark — and so the millions of Israel entered the promised land.
The two crossings did different work.
The Red Sea was God's way of power for bringing His people out of their slavery. The Jordan was His way of power for bringing them into the fullness of their blessings.
One writer sees the retreating water as a picture of death giving way before Christ.
The waters of death could not stay in the presence of Christ; the power of God in Him made them flee from His presence. Christ has entered into death so that we might pass through its waters with dry feet. Well did the psalmist write, as he thought over God's ways with Israel, "What ails you, O sea, that you flee? O Jordan, that you turn back?" (Psalm 114:5).
Anyone could have watched these events. But watching was not the same as seeing.
In Psalm 114 faith looks back and sees in Israel's deliverance from Egypt the power of the presence of God. The same power was seen in Israel's crossing of the Jordan when they entered the Land. Other eyes may have watched these stirring scenes and seen only natural events and striking coincidences... Unbelief may be driven into a corner and forced to admit that something did happen. Even then it cannot for a moment see what lay behind the something. We know by faith. It was the presence and power of God.
- Presence. The verse's question has one answer — God was there. The psalm withholds His name so that naming Him lands with full weight.
- Not people. The sea did not retreat before a crowd of freed slaves. It gave way because God was there.
- Everything. Restless sea and unmoving mountain both give way. Nothing in creation is too wild or too solid to obey Him.
- Out and in. The sea brought Israel out of slavery; the river brought them into their inheritance. The same power did both.
- Faith. Others saw coincidence; faith saw God. The event alone never convinces — only faith reads what stands behind it.
Ye mountains, that ye skipped like rams? ye hills, like lambs?
Psalm 114 has just described the sea fleeing, the Jordan turning back, and the hills leaping. Now the poet turns and asks the mountains what made them jump like that — and the answer, which comes in the next verse, is the point of the whole psalm.
The leaping of the hills points back to real events. It sits between two other moments in Israel's escape from Egypt. One writer ties it to the shaking of Sinai:
The verses that follow show the mighty power that worked for Israel in the days of their earlier deliverances. At the deliverance from Egypt the Red Sea fled, and so witnessed to the presence of irresistible power. In the same way, at the end of their journey, at the entrance to the Land, the Jordan was driven back. Between the Red Sea and the Jordan, the mountains of the desert had to bear witness to an unseen power when Sinai quaked greatly.
One writer ties Israel's ancient rescue out of Egypt to the people's present deliverance. He then presses the question the psalm is asking:
Psalm 114 is poetry of the highest order. But it matters to us because it directly connects Israel's ancient deliverance out of Egypt with the people's present deliverance. It sees the same Jehovah in both, and calls the earth to tremble at the presence of Jehovah. At Jacob's deliverance back then, the sea fled and the Jordan was driven back. What was this? Was it fear before the presence of man?
Notice that the psalm never names God until the answer arrives. Everything up to this verse speaks only of Israel, of Judah, of moving water and moving hills:
How beautiful is the way Jehovah is hidden behind His people, and then brought forward! "Tremble, O earth, at the presence of Jehovah." "What is all this, this skipping of the mountains, this astonishment of the waters?" "Where is Jacob?" "Who is he?" The presence of Jehovah is with Jacob.
The psalm pairs two opposite things on purpose, and the pairing carries a rebuke:
Now nothing in nature is more restless than the sea. And nothing in nature seems so immovable and unbending as the mountain. But both confess a power that is sovereign and supreme. Both bow to its presence and own it. Nature's might must flee and tremble in His presence. And this is man, who has power as lord over all His creation — man in his restlessness, man in his pride!
The psalm asks so that it can answer. And the answer is gentler than the shaking suggests:
The second part begins by asking what caused this. The answer shows another side of the One whose sovereignty is recognised here. He softens the majesty of His presence, to walk in company with the "worm Jacob." More than that, He makes His glorious power serve the needs of His creatures: "turning the rock into a pool, the flint into a fountain of waters."
Commentators differ on how to read the hills. Alongside the link with Sinai, one writer takes them as a picture of human authority:
The mountains signify higher authorities or governments, and the little hills, lesser ones. These were so affected that they could offer no opposition to Israel's new freedom.
One writer hears the same answer on a much smaller stretch of water, where the Sea of Galilee obeyed Jesus:
This was Jesus-Jehovah. This was the God whom the Jordan and the Red Sea had obeyed long ago. The answer lies there, whether we listen to the voice of the Red Sea in the days of Exodus, or to the Sea of Galilee in the times of the gospel. The presence of God tells the secret. "He spoke, and it was done."
- Presence — The answer to the question is the presence of God. The shaking of sea, river and hills is the evidence, not the cause.
- Hidden — The psalm keeps God out of sight behind His people, then brings Him forward. His presence is with Jacob.
- Not man — The sea, the river and the hills did not move in fear of any man. The question rules that out.
- Rebuke — The restless sea and the unmoving mountain both bow to that presence. Man, set as lord over creation, stays restless and proud.
- Stooping — The same presence that shook the hills turned rock into pools of water. He softens His majesty to walk with weak Jacob and meet his need.
Tremble, thou earth, at the presence of the Lord, at the presence of the +God of Jacob,
The psalm has been asking questions of the sea, the Jordan and the mountains — why they fled and why they skipped. Verse 7 answers them. It is not an explanation but a command to the whole earth. It names the One whose presence caused it all.
The people who were rescued now call on everyone else to admit who did it.
(vv. 7-8) Restored Israel calls upon the whole earth to acknowledge it was the presence of the Lord, the God of Israel. He was the One who crushed all opposition to His people, and He met all their needs.
Two people can watch the same events. One sees only nature and coincidence. The other sees God.
In Psalm 114 faith looks back at the deliverance of Israel from Egypt and sees the power of God's presence. The same power showed itself when Israel crossed the Jordan into the land. Other eyes may have looked at these stirring scenes and seen nothing but natural events and remarkable coincidences. Modern doubt looks back and sees no more than that, if it admits that anything happened at all. Even when it is cornered and has to admit that something did happen, it cannot see for one moment what lay behind it. We know by faith. It was the presence and power of God.
One writer names the two words used here, Adon and Eloah, and marks the change the psalm ends with.
Psalm 114 — Suddenly, with abrupt and rugged energy, it announces the presence of the Adon, the Eloah of Jacob. Every barrier to His purpose — the Red Sea and Jordan — vanished before Him. The wilderness, the place where the people were tested, is not mentioned, as a thing of no account. The mountains — surely Sinai — shook. "Tremble, O earth!" Yet for Jacob it is in grace, for He is the same One "who turns the rock into a pool of water." (v. 8.) Once in the majesty of Law, now in the supremacy of grace.
Of all the names available, the psalm chooses the one tied to the man who had least to boast of.
Now the psalm asks why the Red Sea and the Jordan were so affected, and the mountains too (vv. 5-6). The answer comes at once. The presence of the Lord stepped in and made the earth tremble. He is called "the God of Jacob," taking the part of one who was completely undeserving, weak and dependent (v. 7). But the result named here is not judgment. It is refreshment for a weary people: the rock turned into a pool of water, the flint into a spring of water. Such is His delivering grace.
Notice who gives the command, and what he still remembers about God.
It was the earth, because in Jacob He is on the earth. And when Jacob says "Tremble," he still remembers that to him He was a God of grace.
One writer links the old rescue with a rescue still to come.
Psalm 114 is poetry of the highest kind. It matters to us because it ties the ancient deliverance of Israel out of Egypt to the present deliverance of the people. It sees the same Jehovah in both, calling the earth to tremble at His presence. At Jacob's deliverance the sea fled and the Jordan was driven back. What was this? Was it fear at the presence of man? The earth was now to tremble before Him who appeared to deliver His people then, and who for their sakes turned the sea into dry land and the flint stone into a flowing spring.
The sea and the hills gave way before Him. One writer asks what His presence does among Christians now.
The most blessed revelation we can have here on earth is this: "For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them." (Matt. 18:20.) HE IS THERE. Does the fact of His presence govern us who are gathered? Does it drive out for ever all the restlessness and pride of nature that we all have to some degree, so that His people may come up to Him with nothing in the way? Do restlessness, natural ability and the pride of man, always exalting itself, flee and tremble in His presence?
- Presence, not phenomena. The sea, the river and the mountains did not give way before Israel. They gave way before the Lord, and verse 7 names Him.
- Presence discerned. Unbelief looks at the same events and sees coincidence; faith sees the power of God behind them.
- Presence in grace. He is called the God of Jacob, one weak, dependent and undeserving. What follows is not judgment but water for a tired people.
- Presence again. The old deliverance and the coming one belong to the same Lord. That is why the psalm calls the earth to tremble now.
- Presence tested. He is among two or three gathered in His name. The honest question is whether our own restlessness and pride tremble too.
Who turned the rock into a pool of water, the flint into a fountain of waters.
The psalm ends by naming the reason the sea fled and the mountains shook. It was the presence of the God of Jacob, who in the desert brought water out of solid stone. Two questions follow. Why does such power end in refreshment instead of ruin? And what does the rock stand for?
The verse answers the question the psalm itself has just asked. What follows the trembling of the earth is not destruction but supply.
The presence of the Lord stepped in and made the earth tremble. He is called "the Lord God of Jacob," so He takes the side of one who is completely undeserving, weak and dependent (v. 7). But the result named here is not judgment. It is refreshment for a weary people: He turns the rock into a pool of water, the flint into a spring of water. Such is His delivering grace.
The One whose presence shakes the earth walks with a weak people and meets their needs.
The second part begins by asking the cause of this. The answer shows another side of Him whose sovereignty is recognized here. He softens the majesty of His presence, so as to walk in company with the "worm Jacob." More than that, His glorious power is made only to serve the needs of His creatures: "turning the rock into a pool, — the flint into a fountain of waters."
The psalm looks back at a real moment. The people had no water, and they turned on Moses.
"Why did you bring us up out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and our cattle with thirst?" (Exodus 17:3)… It was true that no water was in sight. But water would appear. He "turns the rock into a pool of water" (Psalm 114:8). Moses with his rod was to strike the rock, the Lord standing before him upon it in Horeb, and water would come out. Moses did so, and water flowed out. God met their need freely and fully. The men, the women, the children, and the cattle all got the refreshment they wanted.
The second half of the verse names the least promising material of all. A Bible dictionary gives the Hebrew word behind it:
challamish, 'hard rock,' out of which water was brought. Deuteronomy 8:15; Psalm 114:8.
Another writer sees the same hardness in Israel. God has power over any creature to turn it to His purpose.
The presence of Jehovah is with Jacob. Tremble at the presence of Jehovah, at the presence of the God of Jacob. He has power over the creature to turn it to His purpose. He did this in the wilderness, turning the rock and the flint (and Israel too was such a rock) into pools and streams of water.
The water only came after the rock was struck. One writer sees Christ in that order.
Water was in the rock, but until struck, it did not give out water — so it was with Christ. And now He is revealed to us, in heaven, as the eternal Son of God, who was struck for us, and we can turn to Him and say, "There is our spring of living water, He is ours. We have eternal life in Him as a well of water springing up." All the way through the wilderness the water flowed, quenching their thirst and refreshing them. All the way, it spoke wonderfully of Christ.
The psalm does not treat this as buried history. It ties the rescue from Egypt to the deliverance of the same people by the same God.
Psalm 114 is poetry of the highest style. It matters to us because it connects the ancient deliverance of Israel out of Egypt with the present deliverance of the people. It sees the same Jehovah in both, calling the earth to tremble at the presence of Jehovah… The earth was now to tremble before Him who appeared for the deliverance of His people then. For their sakes He turned the sea into dry land, and the flint stone into a springing well.
The psalm leaves His people with a way to live, not only with wonder.
He brought water out of the flint rock. His presence makes the earth tremble, the earth that has forgotten Him. But for His people in the desert, His power and grace bring refreshment and life. They bring it out of what looks to man hopeless and most opposed. Dependence and confidence in Him — such is the peaceful path of faith.
- Presence. One cause explains the trembling of sea, river and mountains. The God of Jacob was there, among a weak and undeserving people.
- Power. He does not spend that power on display. He bends it down to serve thirsty men, women, children and cattle.
- Grace. His people meet refreshment, not judgment. One writer calls this His delivering grace.
- Picture. The rock gave nothing until it was struck. Christ was struck for us, and He is our spring of living water.
- Path. If flint can yield a fountain, nothing is hopeless. Depending on Him is the peaceful path of faith.