(A Song of degrees.) I lift up mine eyes unto the mountains whence shall my help come?
Psalm 121 opens with lifted eyes and a question: where will help come from? Commentators read the psalm as the answer to the distress of the psalm before it. They differ over the hills: some see God's dwelling there, others a false hope the psalmist must drop.
The psalm before this one leaves God's people under pressure. That pressure is what makes the lifted eyes matter.
In the previous Psalm, distress and conflict mark the condition of God's people. Here the pressure is still on them, yet we see what the Lord is for them in their special circumstances. The greater the sense of need, the greater the discovery of what God is for us. That is why, like these saints of a future day, we are often put to the test. Learning our own helplessness, we come to see that God alone is our help and support.
Another writer names the thing that stops us looking up: confidence in ourselves.
When trial comes, our greatest weakness is often self-confidence. It makes us think we can meet the trial in our own strength, or by our own wisdom. We have to learn that when trial and temptation come we have no strength in ourselves. That lesson may come through bitter experience, as it did for Peter. At every step we need a helper to support us in the trial and carry us through the trial.
One writer explains what changes when the line is read as a question, with verse 2 as the answer.
The beauty of the connection shows more fully with a slight correction in the wording of the first verse. Many read it: "I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come?" The second verse is then the answer to that question. Adopt this change, and you can see faith in action. No sooner does the soul cry in its sorrow, "From where does my help come?" than the answer springs out, "My help comes from the LORD."
Commentators differ here. Some read the hills as Zion, God's own dwelling place.
To the singer of Israel, the holy hill of Zion was the dwelling place of Jehovah and the source of his deliverance. The same unseen, watchful Presence never slept. It held the weak exiles in His everlasting wings, whether they were in Mesopotamia or in Africa.
Others read the mountains as strength that only looks unshakeable.
He is surrounded by mountains that look strong, imposing and immovable. Some people in the world look like that too: settled in power, and beyond the reach of an enemy. But can we trust any fellow creature? The prophet Jeremiah tells us, "Truly the hills are a delusion, the orgies on the mountains. Truly in the LORD our God is the salvation of Israel" (Jer. 3:23). He sees his need of help. He also sees that human help is useless. So he turns from the creature to the Creator.
The older translation he quotes here reads: "In vain is salvation hoped for from the hills, and from the multitude of mountains."
Either way, the hills do not answer. The One who made them does.
The God-fearing man longs to escape from the land of his captivity, but mountains block his way. He looks at the difficulties, and the cry breaks out of him: "From where does my help come?" At once his faith replies, "My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth." The Maker of the mountains can lead him across the mountains.
In this psalm God carries two titles at once.
The psalm gives Him a double character: Creator of heaven and earth, and the Keeper of Israel, especially of the God-fearing. Jehovah would preserve him in all circumstances and for ever.
The lifted eye is a habit worth training, not just a reaction to crisis.
Verse 1 leads me to say this — that we should train our souls to look more at our resources than at our pressures or difficulties. We should make our hearts familiar with the promises and provisions of grace. Then, when the occasion comes, we may enter the field of battle like Jehoshaphat's army, with the sweet voice of these promises like music in our ears. That joy carries us on to victory. For "joy is strength," as Nehemiah told the congregation (Neh. 8:10).
The confession stays personal, not general:
He does not fall back on acknowledging a general truth that there is help in the LORD. In simple personal faith he says, "My help comes from the LORD."
- Need — the psalm starts from helplessness. The deeper the need, the fuller the discovery of what God is for us.
- Question — verse 1 is best read as a question, so that faith is caught in the act of asking and answering.
- Hills — some read them as Zion, where God lived; others as human power that looks strong but cannot save. Either way they are not the answer.
- Maker — the answer names Him Creator of heaven and earth. The Maker of the mountains can bring His people over the mountains.
- Mine — he does not settle for a general truth about help in the Lord. He says "my help." So look at your resources before your difficulties.
My help [cometh] from Jehovah, who made the heavens and the earth.
A man under pressure scans the horizon for rescue. Verse 2 is where the searching stops. In one line he names his Helper and says what that Helper has made.
Trouble does more than press on us. It teaches us something we would never learn in comfort.
In the previous Psalm, distress and conflict mark the condition of God's people. Here, while the pressure is still on them, we get to see what the Lord is for them in their special circumstances. The greater the sense of need, the greater the discovery of what God is for us. That is why we, like these saints of a future day, often face testing. Learning our own helplessness, we realise that our help and relief are found in God alone.
Many read the first verse as a question, with verse 2 as the reply. The hills he looks at are impressive, and that is exactly the problem.
Realising his need of help, a question at once rises in the Psalmist's soul: "From where shall my help come?" Mountains surround him. They look strong, imposing and immovable. So do some people in the world, who seem firmly established in power and safe from any enemy. But can we trust any fellow creature? The prophet Jeremiah tells us, "Truly the hills are a delusion, the orgies on the mountains. Truly in the LORD our God is the salvation of Israel" (Jeremiah 3:23). He needs help, and the help of man is useless. So the God-fearing man turns from the creature to the Creator.
The older translation he used reads, "In vain is salvation hoped for from the hills" — that is the sense his point rests on.
The whole verse turns on its first word.
He does not fall back on admitting a general truth that there is help in the LORD. In simple personal faith he says, "My help comes from the LORD."
The answer comes the moment faith cries out.
Read this way, you can see that faith is active. The soul cries in its sorrow, "From where shall my help come?" At once the answer springs out, "My help comes from the LORD." This illustrates a principle found everywhere in the Scriptures. If God works to relieve and deliver His people, He acts in connection with their faith, and in response to it. For example, Peter writes of an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled and unfading, kept in heaven for believers. Then he adds, "who by God's power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time" (1 Peter 1:4-5). God's own power produces and sustains faith in the soul. Yet faith is still the living link between the soul and God. It secures His intervention and brings Him in for our aid and deliverance.
The title added to the name meets the exact obstacle in his path.
The God-fearing man would love to escape from the land of his captivity, but mountains block his way. The difficulties force a cry out of him, and his faith replies at once. The Maker of the mountains can lead him across the mountains.
The name here also shows how much of God was known at the time. Christians know Him better still.
Notice the name used here: Jehovah, the covenant name of God in relationship with Israel. Notice too the added words, "who made heaven and earth." They fit the revelation God made of Himself to His earthly people. So Jonah confessed to the sailors, "I am a Hebrew, and I fear the LORD, the God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land" (Jonah 1:9)... The Christian is in the light as God is in the light, for God is now fully revealed in and through the Lord Jesus Christ.
Verse 2 is not the end of the psalm; it opens the rest of it.
In the rest of the Psalm the Spirit of God answers this simple faith. He unfolds the blessings of the one who looks to the LORD for his help. The one recurring thought in these verses is the constant care of the LORD. The word "keep" is the characteristic word of the Psalm. It appears six times in the last six verses.
- Need — Pressure is not a mistake. The deeper the sense of helplessness, the fuller the discovery of what God is for us.
- Question — The hills look strong but give no help. Real need drives the soul past the creature to the Creator.
- Answer — Faith replies with a name, and it says "my." A general truth about God's help carries no one through trouble.
- Maker — The One who made heaven and earth made the mountains too. Nothing in the way is stronger than the Helper.
- Keeper — The confession leads on to constant care. The psalm says "keep" six times as God's answer to that faith.
He will not suffer thy foot to be moved; he that keepeth thee will not slumber.
The pilgrim has just said where his help comes from: the LORD. Verse 3 is the answer he gets back — two promises, one about his feet, one about the eyes that watch them.
Verse 3 does not begin a new subject. It replies to the confidence just expressed.
Now we come to verse 3. Here, through the Spirit, God answers the faith of the second verse. The soul turns in the confidence of faith to the LORD, who made heaven and earth. And it can be sure of the support and protection of its all-powerful Keeper.
The foot stands for the way a person lives. One writer weighs God's watch over that walk against the lightest human sleep.
"He will not let your foot be moved" (v. 3). Of course, the foot reminds us of our walk, and God will not let it be moved away from the path of obedience. He is the Keeper of Israel. Sleep never interrupts the watch He keeps, and nothing else does either. Slumber may be broken and short, but not even this is possible for the Creator of the universe. He never stops watching over the welfare of all believers.
The promise is not that the road will be smooth. It draws a line between the hardships God permits and the one thing He refuses.
The road we travel may at times be rough. The enemy may oppose us with his tricks and traps. Temptations may abound, and difficulties arise. The LORD may allow all these trials. But there is one thing He will not allow. He will not let the feet of those who trust in Him be moved from the path that leads to glory. The LORD says, "He will not let your foot be moved." So in the next Psalm the godly soul can answer with complete confidence, "Our feet have been standing within your gates, O Jerusalem" (Psalm 122:2).
One writer sets out what this promise covers: a slippery path, a dark night, and the word "Keeper" itself:
Whatever the dangers, however slippery the path, the Lord will not let the foot of one who trusts in Him be moved — or, perhaps, "slide." The night may be ever so dark around us, but for Him the night shines as the day. Jesus saw from the mountain top His disciples struggling at the oars. In the same way God does not withdraw His eyes from the righteous. He always sees them in all their circumstances of trial and sorrow. And notice: He who watches over His saints this way is their Keeper. The word used here means to guard, to keep safe, to preserve.
Even God's own people fall asleep — in glory, in grief, and in disobedience. The Keeper never does.
An apostle may sleep on the mountain, in the presence of a glory too bright for nature. He may sleep again in the garden, in the presence of a sorrow too deep for us to bear. But the One who is our Keeper will "neither slumber nor sleep." A backsliding saint, like Jonah long ago, may be "fast asleep." He sleeps while the LORD is working, the wind is rising, the sea is raging, the ship is sinking, and the men of the world are trembling. But there is One who loved His own who are in the world, and loves them to the end. His love never stops caring for His own in all the storms of life.
The keeping promised here reaches in two directions at once.
The believer learns that the care of the Lord never stops: "He who keeps you will not slumber." He keeps each individual believer. And He is the Keeper of Israel as a whole.
Commentators differ on how directly the promise carries over to Christians now. One sounds a caution:
We must note that the literal application of this is not exactly ours now. Christ was counted among transgressors, and we have to go on without looking for complete deliverance. Yet we can be sure that the hairs of our head are numbered. God does not withdraw His eyes from the righteous now. But we do not expect Him to keep us safe on earth, as the Jew rightly will in the path of faithfulness. Still, our Father does watch over us with unceasing vigilance.
- Faith first. The promise arrives as the Spirit's answer to a soul that has just said its help comes from the LORD.
- Feet next. The foot stands for the walk, and God keeps that walk on the path of obedience.
- Rough, but not lost. God allows a hard road, enemies and temptations. He refuses one thing only: to let trusting feet leave the path.
- A Keeper who never blinks. The word means guard, keep safe, preserve. Darkness changes nothing: night shines as day for Him.
- Held to the end. The same care covers one believer and the whole people, until those kept feet stand inside the gates.