(To the chief Musician. A Psalm of David.) Jehovah, thou hast searched me, and known [me].
David opens this psalm by telling God what God already knows. The rest of the psalm grows out of that one line, and it raises two questions: what does this search involve, and why would David sing about it?
The opening statement sets up a sequence that runs to the end of the psalm. One summary divides it into three:
And so we see, as in Psalm 139, that the Trinity is omniscient (verses 1 to 6), omnipresent (verses 7 to 12), and omnipotent (verses 13 to the end).
The verb matters. David does not say God is looking into him now, or will one day; he speaks of something done.
Every human being has been searched by Omniscience, whether he is conscious of it or not. This will be made clear "on that day when God judges the secrets of men." … He has "hemmed us in, behind and before." He can look backward, and He can look forward also. All our history is before Him, as if it had been written after we had run our course. "O Lord, you have searched me," is the language of the Psalmist — not "you are doing it now, or will do it later," but "you have done it already."
The word behind "searched" carries the idea of winnowing — grain thrown up so the wind carries off the chaff. That image explains why the search can feel painful and still be kind.
And is this not dealing with us according to the divine order in Psalm 139? "O Lord, you have searched me and known me: you winnow my path." And what is the soul's reply to all the sifting it has consciously passed through? "Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me and know my thoughts." … Let this precious thought comfort our hearts. The Lord is sifting away much that we have cherished more than Himself. But He does it only to bring out what He knows lies at the bottom of our hearts. He by His Spirit has put it there: faith in Him, and love for Him.
David states this as a fact about himself. It is true of everyone else as well.
The psalmist stated the fact: Jehovah has "searched me and known me." It was to him an event of the past. We know that God does search and know people everywhere without their asking Him, and He does so without their knowledge. The thoughtless crowds that fill our streets are all known to God, individually, just as fully as every believer is known by Him. But the believer knows that God knows him, and this makes all the difference. The child of God welcomes such knowledge; he knows it is good for him.
If God already knows everything, why search at all?
Clearly not for His own information. Why then were we searched? We were searched so that we might know ourselves. This is what we have to learn at the beginning of God's dealings with us. We naturally do not want to be searched, for nothing morally good is found in us. … What will God learn by His searchings? Nothing from us. But we may learn a great deal, and we shall learn very much if we respond to His searchings and are glad to be searched. At first we do not like it, but when we see a little of the good of it we are glad to be searched.
Another writer goes further. God does more than see us:
But it is not without the most thorough searching out of all that we are. And this, where there is confidence, is a great grace. Only He can do it, and He does it according to His own perfection. He does it to purify us from everything inconsistent with Himself — with His own mind, and so with our blessedness, which lies in communion with Himself. … This is the conscience brought into the sense that God knows everything in us perfectly. All is under His eye, and He actually sees everything. It is not only that He sees, but He searches.
Being fully known was no threat to David. It was his song.
In this Psalm David lifts up his eyes and says, "O Lord, you have searched me and known me … and are acquainted with all my ways." He stands before the Lord, aware of Him. He rejoices in His full knowledge of himself and his ways, and makes it the theme of his song to Jehovah. To David, this intimate inspection was a matter for praise to God, the omniscient and omnipotent One, who had searched him and known him.
- Searched — the tense is past and finished. God has already examined every person, whether or not they ever notice.
- Sifted — God winnows away what we cherish more than Himself, to bring out the faith and love His Spirit planted in us.
- Known — God knows everyone. Only the believer knows that God knows him, and that makes all the difference.
- Taught — the search tells God nothing. It exists so that we may see ourselves, and it ends in purifying us for communion with Him.
- Sung — David turns the whole thing into praise, and by the psalm's close he asks for more of it, not less.
*Thou* knowest my down-sitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off;
Psalm 139 opens with David under the eye of God. Verse 2 shows how far that gaze reaches: the plainest movements of a day, and the thoughts behind them. The question is not whether God knows us, but what we do once we know He does.
Sitting down and getting up are things we do without thinking. One writer takes them as a sample of the whole of life, outward and inward.
The psalmist felt himself searched out fully in the presence of God — a searching he had been unable to carry out on himself. God knew every movement, whether sitting or rising. He not only knows, but understands the thoughts passing through every mind. He understands them better than we do (v. 2).
It reaches past our words to what drives them:
God knows every detail of our lives; every movement of the body, and the thought of the mind and heart the moment it begins. God knows the word we have formed inside before it leaves the tongue. He knows it completely: the motive and spirit behind it, the purpose of sending it out. Its sound may deceive others; we may deceive ourselves about the motive for it, but He knows everything about it perfectly.
God reads a thought before it has passed through our own minds.
All is known to the Lord. The unseen world as well as the future; all eternity is known to Him. All is naked and open before Him. He knows the hearts of men, yes, even our thoughts from far off, before they ever pass through our finite minds.
David does not say God is examining him or will examine him. The tense matters.
Every human being has been searched by Omniscience, whether he is conscious of it or not... "O Lord, You have searched me," says the psalmist. He does not say, "You are doing it now, or will do it later," but "You have done it already." He has "hemmed us in behind and before." He can look backward, and He can look forward also. All our history is before Him, as if it had been written after we had run our course.
One writer applies this verse to Jesus. The scribes never spoke their charge aloud, yet He answered it.
Loving hands bring a paralysed man to Him, and when He saw their faith He said to the helpless one, "Take heart, my son; your sins are forgiven." And now for the first time in the Gospel we read that the scribes said, "This man is blaspheming." They did not speak it out, but He saw their thoughts, for He is the One of whom David says: "You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar" (Ps. 139:2).
God knows everyone this way, whether they ask Him to or not. The difference lies in whether a person knows it and welcomes it.
The psalmist stated the fact: the Lord has "searched me and known me." To him it was an event of the past. We know that God does search and know people everywhere without their asking Him, and does so without their being aware of it. The crowds that fill our streets without a thought of Him are all known to God individually, just as fully as every believer is known by Him. But the believer knows that God knows him, and this makes all the difference. The child of God welcomes such knowledge; he knows it is good for him.
There is another side to this knowledge. The One who knows everything is the One who formed everything.
Psalm 139 shows the full exercise of heart that belongs to God's ways... not a thought escapes God. Morally speaking, no one can stay in His presence. But no one can get out of His presence either. There is nowhere He does not see, though conscience might be glad to flee. But this brings in another side. He knows all, because He has also formed all. This links us with His taking perfect notice of us in goodness. He cares for us. He watches over every part that is formed, just as He knows our every thought. And if He does, He has thoughts of His own too, and these are precious to us.
- Known. Sitting and rising stand for a whole ordinary day. God knows every movement, and the motive behind a word before it leaves the tongue.
- Understood. God understands our thoughts better than we do. He knows them before they pass through our own minds.
- Already. The search is already done. Our whole history lies before Him, as if written after we had run our course.
- Embodied. Jesus answered a charge the scribes never said out loud. One writer sees in Him the One David addressed in this verse.
- Welcomed. Everyone is known this way, aware of it or not. The believer knows it and welcomes it, because the One who reads his thought is the One who formed him, and God's thoughts toward him are precious.
Thou searchest out my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways;
Verse 3 adds to the list David has begun: the road he walks by day, the bed he lies on by night, and every other habit of his life. Is such complete knowledge a thing to dread or a thing to sing about?
The verse names movement and rest, then gathers everything else under "all my ways." One writer shows how far that reaches:
God knows every detail of our lives: every movement of the body, and the thought of the mind and heart the moment it begins. Every moment of the day of activity, the time of our rest — yes, He knows through and through all the ways that mark us out down here. God knows the word we have formed before it leaves the tongue. He knows it fully: the motive and spirit behind it, and the purpose we sent it out for. Its sound may deceive others; we may deceive ourselves about the motive for it. But He knows everything about it perfectly.
The word behind "search out" carries the sense of winnowing: tossing grain in the air so the wind blows the chaff away. One commentator sees a shift between verse 2 and verse 3:
The first section speaks of the Lord's knowledge of all things. The first two verses speak of knowledge only, though the Light that is never withdrawn searches everything out. But in the next verses He winnows the path. This hints at a judgment that sifts and separates, and its result would be thorough acquaintance, or familiarity, with all the ways.
If God winnows a life, He is separating something out. One writer ties that to the prayer David ends the psalm with:
What is the soul's reply to all the sifting it has knowingly passed through? "Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts!" … Let this precious thought comfort our hearts. The Lord is sifting away much that we have cherished more than Himself. But He does it only to bring out what He knows lies at the bottom of our hearts: faith in Him, and love to Him. He Himself put it there by His Spirit.
David does not say God is examining him now or will do so later. One writer weighs that past tense, and what the searching means for us today:
God, who knows all things, has searched every human being, whether that person is aware of it or not. The day when God judges the secrets of men will make this plain. His word searches "the thoughts and intentions of the heart" now, and that is how He brings His knowledge home to our conscience before that day. He has hemmed us in behind and before. He can look backward, and He can look forward too. All our history is before Him, as if it had been written after we had run our course. "O Lord, You have searched me" is the language of the psalmist — not "You are doing it now, or will do it later," but "You have done it already."
The same knowledge can crush a person or steady him. It depends on what he believes God intends toward him:
In the psalmist's experience, knowing that God knows everything at first plunges his soul into the deepest distress. He thinks of his own broken responsibilities towards God. At last he realises that God's "works" and God's "thoughts" are towards him in grace. Then God's knowledge of everything becomes the source of his deepest comfort.
God does not only watch the path; He shapes it:
Sometimes God will not let us go forward; at other times He will not let us go back, for He hems us in behind and before. In the way He governs us, He knows how to keep us from ways that would dishonour Him and bring shame and sorrow to our poor hearts.
God knows us whether we notice or not. The value of the verse lies in noticing:
God knows all about me at all times, whether I am sleeping or waking, whether I am aware of His eyes on me or not. But when I grasp that truth as the psalmist had, I will want to walk in the awareness of it every day, as he did. … Then I will have the happy assurance, in all I do and say, that God Himself is before me and around me every step of the way I take.
- Searched — the verbs are past tense. God has already examined the whole life, and our history lies open before Him, as if we had finished the race.
- Sifted — the word behind "search out" pictures winnowing. God blows the chaff away to bring out the faith and love His own Spirit put there.
- Known — path and lying down cover activity and rest. God knows a word, and the motive behind it, before it leaves the tongue.
- Comforted — that same knowledge first crushes a person. It becomes his deepest comfort once he sees that God's thoughts toward him are grace.
- Walked — the aim is not information but company. He hems us in, holds us back from ways that would dishonour Him, and goes with us every step.
For there is not yet a word on my tongue, [but] lo, O Jehovah, thou knowest it altogether.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thy hand upon me.
Verse 5 closes the opening section of the psalm, where the writer has traced how fully God knows him. Here the language shifts from what God sees to what God does — and the question is whether that hand is a threat or a comfort.
The first verses describe an eye that misses nothing. This verse describes a hand. One writer marks the shift as the psalm moves through its stages:
The first section speaks of Jehovah's omniscience. The first two verses give knowledge only, though the Light, which is never withdrawn, searches everything out. … The third subsection speaks not simply of knowledge, but of action: "You have hemmed me in behind and before, and laid Your hand on me." He realizes, as well he may, this knowledge as too wonderful for him — an unattainable height.
Older translations say "beset" or "hedged," and put it in the past: "You have beset me behind and before." The picture is a fence on both sides. No route is open except the one God allows:
"You have hedged me behind and before" (v. 5) — that is, God puts limits that we cannot ignore, whether we want to go forward or reverse our direction and return to a previous condition. So He lays His hand on us to preserve, to guide or to restrain, as He sees fit. The very knowledge that this is so is too wonderful for the psalmist to understand: it is high above his ability to search it (v. 6).
That restraint shows itself in ordinary life, and it comes as kindness:
Sometimes God will not let us go forward; at other times He will not let us go back, for He hems us in behind and before. In the way He governs our lives, He knows how to keep us from paths that would dishonour Him. Such paths bring shame and sorrow to our poor hearts. At times He puts His hand on us, so that we may feel it is He Himself who is dealing with us in wisdom and in love.
"Behind and before" covers time as well as space — the past already reviewed, the future already seen:
He has "hemmed us in behind and before." He can look backward, and He can look forward also. All our history is before Him, as if it had been written after we had run our course. The psalmist says, "O Lord, You have searched me." He does not say, "You are doing it now, or will do it later," but "You have done it already."
One writer turns to Jonah, who ran the opposite way from God's word, and asks whether we are any different:
Have we not, like Jonah, tried to go west when God has told us to go east? … And have we not had to learn, to our sorrow and shame, how useless such attempts are? Have we not also learned how near God's hand is to deliver those who call on Him out of the prison of distress they brought on themselves?
Being searched to the bottom and being at peace go together:
Looking more closely at the Psalm as a whole, its earlier part (verses 1–12) expresses, in language of rare grandeur, the believer's inward awareness that God knows him. The fullest sense of self-sifting — the most intimate searching of all that the heart holds — goes together with the fullest enjoyment of assured peace and confidence in God. His right hand holds firmly (verse 10) the soul on which His precious thoughts of peace are set. That grasp is sure salvation, and it holds through every experience of the pilgrim way.
God searches everyone. The difference is that the believer knows it — and welcomes it:
We know that God does search and know people everywhere without their asking Him, and He does so without their being aware of it. The thoughtless crowds that fill our streets are all known to God, individually, just as fully as every believer is known by Him. But the believer knows that God knows him, and this makes all the difference. The child of God welcomes such knowledge; he knows it is good for him. So at the end of this psalm David asked God to search him further; he had learned its value for his soul.
- Knowledge acts. The opening verses show God knowing; verse 5 shows God moving — the searching eye becomes a hand laid on a man.
- Hand as fence. He sets limits ahead and behind — to preserve, to guide, to restrain. Sometimes He will not let us go forward; sometimes He will not let us go back.
- Hand across time. "Behind and before" reaches over a whole life: our history stands before Him as though already written.
- Hand outrun in vain. Jonah's flight proves that no direction escapes it. The same hand delivers those who cry to Him out of trouble they made.
- Hand that holds. The grip that hems in is the grip of sure salvation. That is why David can end the psalm asking God to search him.
O knowledge too wonderful for me! it is high, I cannot [attain] unto it.
The psalmist has just traced what God knows about him: his sitting and rising, his words before he speaks them, his path in front and behind. Here he stops. The verse is his reaction to what he has seen: knowledge he cannot measure, cannot escape, and cannot climb up to.
The word "such" points backwards. One writer sets out the steps the first six verses take:
Psalm 138 had closed with the recognition that we are the work of God's hands. This psalm opens with the realization that, if this is so, God must know us fully, and we are always in His hands. So the first six verses speak of God's omniscience. First, He searches us and knows us. Then He searches into our paths and takes note of all our ways. Last of all, His hand is upon us, dealing with us according to His perfect knowledge. Such knowledge is too wonderful for us.
"It is high; I cannot attain it" admits a limit. When questions run past what God has revealed, one commentator treats this verse as the place to stop:
After all, these are matters which lie beyond the reach of finite minds. Is it likely that God would reveal to us such secrets of His high and eternal purposes — secrets that must lie on the plane of infinity? If He did, would we be any the wiser? No! It is well for us to call a halt here and say with the Psalmist, "Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it."
At first this knowledge brings fear, not comfort. Reading the psalm in four sections, one writer follows that fear — as far as Sheol, the world of the dead:
The first section speaks plainly of Jehovah's omniscience, as felt by one who is in awe of it. In the second section that fear breaks out into a cry. He longs to escape to the ends of the earth, or into Sheol itself, to be free from it — but he knows well that this is impossible… In the fourth section he is now with God against the evil shown in the world, and against what he fears and hates within himself. The presence of God becomes his sanctuary and refuge. He invites the searching Eye which he once dreaded.
A person can agree that God knows everything and still never have said what verse 6 says. One writer marks the difference:
No wonder the psalmist should say, "Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it." It is not that anyone might say, "God knows everything; and, of course, He knows all about me." A person might have that awareness and yet not know what it is to be searched by the Spirit of God. We must come into the sense of it. Until that happens there will not be the full sense of what the salvation of God is.
The verse just before speaks of a hand laid on him. One writer reads that hand as care in daily life:
Sometimes God will not let us go forward; at other times He will not let us go back, for He besets behind and before. In His ways of government with us, He knows how to keep us from paths that would dishonour Him and bring shame and sorrow to our poor hearts. At times He puts His hand upon us, so that we might feel that it is Himself dealing with us in wisdom and in love. Do we feel with the Psalmist that the knowledge of these things is too wonderful for us? How great God is! And yet to think that He stoops to deal with small mortals, with such insignificant people as we are.
God's searching could leave a person stuck looking at himself. One writer says the opposite happens here:
God's holy scrutiny does concern us and our ways. But it is not meant to occupy us with ourselves. On the contrary, self is lost in the sense of the wonderful grasp and range of the mind of God.
One writer names what turns his distress into comfort:
In the psalmist's experience, knowing that God knows everything at first plunges his soul into the deepest distress. He thinks of his own broken responsibilities towards God. At last he realizes that God's "works" and God's "thoughts" are toward him in grace. Then God's omniscience becomes the source of his deepest comfort.
- Searched. "Such knowledge" looks back at verses 1–5. God knows the sitting, the rising, the path and the unspoken word — and lays His hand on the man He knows.
- Stopped. Where God has not revealed, this verse is the place to call a halt instead of pushing past what a finite mind can hold.
- Shaken. His first response is awe and the wish to escape — not yet comfort.
- Steadied. Then he sees God's works and thoughts toward him in grace, and the knowledge that overwhelmed him becomes his deepest comfort.
- Sought. The psalm that opens "you have searched me" ends with him asking to be searched — the Eye once dreaded is now invited.
Whither shall I go from thy Spirit? and whither flee from thy presence?
The psalm has just left the writer overwhelmed: God knows him completely. Verse 7 is his first reaction — two questions looking for a way out, and the psalm turns that dead end into comfort.
The urge to run comes from what the psalm has already said. A man who has failed sees that God knows everything about him:
Thinking of his own failure to live up to his responsibility, the godly man is overwhelmed in the presence of the omniscience of God. He would gladly flee from the presence of God and escape His all-searching gaze. He finds, however, that God is not only omniscient but also omnipresent. There is no escape from the Spirit of God; no place that God cannot penetrate; no solitude where God is not; no darkness that can hide from God.
Wanting to get away from God is not new. It was the very first human reaction, and it failed:
This is the puzzle for many people who want to get away from God. The first man and his wife were the first to try it. They hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. It was a useless and fruitless effort. They had to come out of their miserable hiding-place and admit their terrible disobedience.
The verse pairs God's Spirit with God's presence. Writers read that pairing as a statement about who the Spirit is:
"If I make my bed in Sheol, You are there!" (Ps. 139:8). Here the psalm ascribes one of the attributes of God — His omnipresence — to the Holy Spirit. Indeed, it speaks of Him as God — "Your presence."
Forgetting this truth has a cost. David is the example:
David realised that there is no hiding place from God. His Spirit knew exactly where he was, what he was thinking, saying and doing. A most sobering thought. David's sin with Bathsheba and his other failures would never have happened had he remembered the omnipresence of the Spirit of God. Needless to say, the same applies to all believers in Christ.
There is a difference between agreeing that God sees everything and standing under that gaze:
There is no hiding from God's knowledge, no place where it is not. No wonder the psalmist should say, "Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain it." It is not that anyone might say, "God knows everything, and of course He knows all about me." A person might have that awareness and still not know what it is to be searched by the Spirit of God. We must come to feel it ourselves. Until that happens, we will not have the full sense of what God's salvation is.
The verses that follow do more than close the exits. The place of deepest solitude turns out to be the place where God holds him:
In the first part, Spirit and presence are, I suppose, essentially the same. Heaven and Sheol — the place of the dead, not Gehenna, the place of judgment — are far apart. Omnipresence alone is the question here. In the next part, it is about relation to the Omnipresent One, and that in dependence. The wings of the dawn and the farthest parts of the sea seem to carry the thought of complete solitude. But "even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me." In the third part, exposure is what he cannot escape. Darkness and light differ only for man; for God there is no difference.
The psalm does not leave the writer running. By the end, the man who wanted out is asking God to search him:
I cannot get out of God's hand, and I cannot stand before His presence; then comes this: "Search me… try me." It is real grace looking at us.
- Searched. Verse 7 is the reaction of a man already known through and through. That knowledge is what makes him look for a door.
- Flight. Wanting distance from God is the oldest human reflex. It was first tried among the trees of the garden, and it has never worked.
- Nowhere. Heaven, Sheol, the sea, darkness — God already fills every hiding place, and His Spirit reaches as far as His presence.
- Held. The loneliest place becomes the place of dependence. You cannot escape that hand — and it is the hand that leads and holds.
- Search me. The psalm ends by asking for the very search it began by fleeing. Writers call that grace, not threat.
If I ascend up into the heavens thou art there; or if I make my bed in Sheol, behold, thou [art there];
In the verse before, the psalmist asks where he could go to escape God's Spirit. Here is his first answer: the highest place and the lowest are both taken. Two questions press in — what is this "Sheol" he speaks of, and is a God you cannot get away from a terror or a comfort?
The psalmist names the two furthest points he can imagine. Neither works as a hiding place. One writer marks how far apart they are, and what the pair proves:
Here, Spirit and presence are, I suppose, essentially the same. But heaven and hell — Sheol or hades, not Gehenna — are as far apart as can be. It is omnipresence, simply, that is in question.
This is not calm reflection. One writer roots the wish to flee in a man's sense of his own failure before a God who knows everything:
Thinking of his own failure in responsibility, the godly man is overwhelmed in the presence of the omniscience of God. He would gladly flee from the presence of God and escape His all-searching gaze. He finds, however, that God is not only omniscient but also omnipresent. There is no escape from the Spirit of God; no place that God cannot penetrate; no solitude where God is not; no darkness that can hide from God.
This instinct is old. One writer traces the same attempt back to the first man and woman, who hid among the trees of the garden — "a vain and fruitless effort. They had to come out of their miserable hiding-place, and own their terrible disobedience."
Older English translations put "hell" here, and that misleads readers. One writer answers another who quoted the verse as a picture of hell:
"If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there" — a very strange verse for Dr. Farrar to quote. Strange, because the word for "hell" here is sheol, as of course he knows. It is one of the words he himself describes elsewhere as "a place both for the bad and the good," and which "means an intermediate state of the soul previous to judgment." So it is not "hell" in the ordinary sense at all.
The same writer presses the phrase further. If God is present in Sheol, and can be met there, then someone must still be there to meet Him: "even in sheol there is no escape from the presence of God... Can that be nothing at all?"
Being present is not the same as watching from a distance. One writer uses the verse to settle who holds authority in the unseen world:
It is folly to think of the abode of the lost as independent of God. Whether it be "the spirits now in prison," or the bottomless pit, or the lake of fire, God, not Satan, reigns. His will at last must be obeyed. "If I make my bed in Sheol, You are there!"
Jonah later tried what this verse rules out. One writer uses the psalm to explain what his flight did not mean:
He fled from the presence of the Lord. This cannot possibly mean that he fled from the presence of Him whom he knew as the omnipresent One... He did not flee from the presence of the Lord in the sense of escaping His knowledge and authority. It means that he left the land of Israel where Jehovah dwelt; he fled from the service-commission he had received.
So where does peace come from? One writer finds it in a change of subject:
The sense of God's omniscience and of His omnipresence cannot make a saint at home in God's presence. Rather the contrary. God's eye on him is no comfort. From under that eye he cannot escape, wherever he goes... What then can bring relief? The answer is very simple and very blessed. God's thoughts as revealed can do it. The Psalmist's thoughts about God have not done it.
For those who trust Him, the same reach becomes a promise rather than a threat — one writer links this psalm directly to the words of Jesus, "I am with you always."
- Searched — The wish to escape God grows out of His all-searching gaze, not out of doubt that He exists.
- Everywhere — Heaven and Sheol are the two furthest points, and God fills both. Distance is no defence.
- Sheol — The word means the state of the soul between death and judgment. It is not the "hell" of older English translations.
- Reigning — God does not just watch the depths. He rules there — God, not Satan.
- Rest — Peace comes when the writer stops studying himself and turns to God's thoughts toward him.
[If] I take the wings of the dawn [and] dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
God's knowledge of this man has covered every step, every word, every thought, until it feels like a net he wants out of. Verse 9 is his most extreme escape plan: travel at the speed of daybreak to the loneliest edge of the ocean.
The two halves of the verse combine speed and distance. Light from the rising sun crosses the sky in a moment. The far side of the sea was the emptiest place anyone in that world could name.
Suppose the swift rays of the morning sun carried him to the distant parts of the ocean, where no one lives. Even there he could not hide. God's hand would lead him, and God's strong grip would hold him.
The picture is about solitude, not just distance. What meets him there changes it:
Here it is a matter of relation to the Omnipresent, and that in dependence. The wings of the morning and the uttermost parts of the sea seem to convey complete solitude. But "even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me."
The urge to run starts with what the man sees when he looks at his own life.
The godly man thinks of his own failure in responsibility, and the God who knows everything overwhelms him. He would gladly flee from the presence of God and escape His all-searching gaze. He finds, however, that God is not only all-knowing but also everywhere present. There is no escape from the Spirit of God. No place that God cannot enter. No solitude where God is not. No darkness that can hide from God.
One man in Scripture set out on that voyage. Jonah was a prophet told to go east. He sailed west across the sea instead.
Foolish man! He had probably often read and sung the Psalm of David that asks, "Where shall I go from Your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from Your presence?… If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me." (Psalm 139:7-12) Yet "Jonah rose to flee to Tarshish from the presence of the LORD."
We repeat the same failure:
Have we not, like him, tried to go west when God has told us to go east?… And have we not had to learn, to our sorrow and shame, how useless such attempts are? We have also learned how near God's hand is to deliver those who call on Him out of the prison of self-inflicted distress.
Turn the verse around, and the same reach looks different:
The deepest self-searching — the most thorough sifting of all that the heart holds — goes together with the fullest enjoyment of assured peace and confidence in God. His right hand holds that soul in the grip of sure salvation. His precious thoughts of peace rest on it through every experience of its pilgrim journey.
Nothing about that ought to frighten someone who belongs to God:
There is no terror in this remembrance of God's all-pervading presence. For He who fills all things is the Saviour of His own (Eph. 4:10). The Searcher of His people's hearts is also the Redeemer of their souls.
Here commentators press a careful distinction. Knowing that God is everywhere does not, by itself, settle anyone.
The sense that God knows everything and is everywhere cannot provide that. The opposite is true. God's eye on him is no comfort. He cannot escape from under that eye, wherever he goes. To whatever place he might take himself, that eye would still be on him (verses 1-12). What then can bring relief? The answer is very simple and very blessed. God's thoughts as revealed can do it. The psalmist's thoughts about God have not done it.
The same presence meets us in Christ:
Scripture also bears witness that our Lord Jesus Christ is present everywhere, as God alone can be. How sweet the comfort His living words bring to everyone God's grace has saved: "Behold, I am with you always."
- Flight. The verse pictures the fastest, loneliest escape a person could try: sunrise speed to the far edge of the sea.
- Failure. Jonah tried it. He sailed west when God sent him east. The same instinct still drives us into self-inflicted distress.
- Hand. What waits at the end of the run is a hand that leads and holds — the Searcher of hearts is also the Redeemer of souls.
- Relief. Knowing God is everywhere brings no comfort by itself. His revealed thoughts do. Our own thoughts about God did not settle the psalmist.
- Promise. The reach that cannot be escaped becomes the reach that cannot fail: "Behold, I am with you always."
Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.
The psalm has just tried every hiding place a person could imagine and found God already there. This verse turns the escape around: God's hand does not only find the runaway at the far edge of the world; it leads him and holds him there.
Verses 7 to 12 record an escape attempt that fails at every point. One writer traces why:
When the godly man thinks of how he has failed in his responsibility, God's complete knowledge overwhelms him. He would gladly run from God's presence and escape His all-searching gaze. But he finds that God is not only all-knowing; He is also everywhere. There is no escape from the Spirit of God. No place can shut God out. No solitude is without Him. No darkness can hide anyone from Him.
Verse 9 speaks of the wings of the morning and the far edge of the sea. One writer explains what those pictures mean, and how God's hand turns being alone into dependence on Him:
In the next section it is relationship with the God who is everywhere, and that in dependence. The wings of the dawn and the farthest parts of the sea seem to carry the thought of complete solitude. But "even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me."
The verse names two things His hand does, not one. It leads, and it holds — and the holding is a matter of sheer strength:
Someone may go as far as possible over the sea, where no one lives. Even there God's hand will lead him, and His right hand of power will hold him.
Jonah was a prophet sent to the city of Nineveh. He took a ship the other way, "from the presence of the LORD." One writer explains what he could not have meant by that:
This cannot mean that he fled from the presence of the One he knew to be everywhere. David's psalm, which says this plainly, was already in Israel's hands, and Jonah must have known it… He did not flee from the presence of the Lord in the sense of escaping His knowledge and authority. It means that he left the land of Israel where the LORD dwelt; he fled from the service He had given him.
The hand that reaches the runaway is also the hand that lifts him out. One writer turns Jonah's story onto the reader:
Have we not, like him, tried to go west when God told us to go east?… Have we not had to learn, to our sorrow and shame, how useless such tries are? And have we not also learned how near God's hand is to deliver those who call on Him out of the prison of distress they brought on themselves? That deliverance comes as soon as we, in the fish's belly, have learned the lesson God was teaching us there.
The same hand feels different to different people. To a man who wants distance from God, being unable to get away is torment:
The state of man by nature is "without God," even though God may bless him with all natural things. He would be glad to be out of God's presence if he could, but in one sense he cannot. "If I take the wings of the morning…" You cannot fly from His presence; yet you are miserable in it.
For the one who belongs to Him, the identical facts read as care:
Here we see the people of God in the light of God, standing in His presence. He knows everything, and He is everywhere… And what a comfort to know that He knows and that He sees! He is about us, around us, with us everywhere. His hand leads, His hand holds up the saint, and darkness and light are both alike to Him.
- Flight — The psalm tries every exit and finds them shut. No height, no depth, no distance, no darkness lies outside God's reach.
- Reach — The wings of the morning and the far edge of the sea picture total solitude. That is the very place where His hand takes hold.
- Grip — His hand does two things there: it leads the way and it holds fast, and the holding is His right hand of power.
- Rescue — Jonah proves the point. A runaway escapes his assignment, never his God, and the hand that finds him lifts him out of the trouble he made.
- Response — For a man set on getting away, that nearness is misery. For one who belongs to God, the same nearness is comfort everywhere he goes.
And if I say, Surely darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night;
The psalmist has already tried heaven, Sheol — the place of the dead — and the far side of the sea — and found God in each. Verse 11 is his last idea: if height and distance cannot hide him, perhaps darkness can.
The verse is first a confession about us. One writer reads the whole psalm as the record of a man on whom God's light rises, and who does not enjoy it at first:
In Psalm 139 we have a man upon whom the light of God arises, but we find him at first very unwilling to be searched by that light. He would fly from it if he knew where a hiding place could be found. He says, "If I ascend to heaven, You are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, You are there!" … He has to learn there is no hiding place from God, and that God knows him perfectly.
Height and distance failed him. Here the problem is exposure, and the answer turns on what darkness is:
The wings of the dawn and the uttermost parts of the sea seem to convey the thought of the greatest possible solitude. But "even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me." In the third section, exposure is what he cannot escape: darkness and light are relative only to man; for God there is no difference.
Darkness is not neutral ground outside God's reach. He made it, just as He made light:
Or if he looks for cover in the dark, that is not darkness to God. Light and darkness make no difference to Him. He is the Creator of darkness, just as He is of light. Men love darkness rather than light because their deeds are evil. Still, it is folly for them to try to hide from God this way.
The man who wrote these words had already tested the dark, and lost. He hid his sin in the matter of Uriah, and God brought it into the open:
David's flagrant sin in the matter of Uriah the Hittite was committed in secret. But God knew the whole sordid story, and exposed his guilt to all Israel. The king said within himself, "Surely the darkness shall cover me." But he had to learn that the darkness itself could not hide from Jehovah. To his shame, he found his secret sin revealed in the light of the sun. Like Moses, David had to say to God, "You have set our iniquities before You; our secret sins in the light of Your presence."
The searching this verse tries to escape has a purpose. One writer ties it to the moment God gives a sinner life:
We can never get from under this searching process… When God gives life to a sinner, dead in trespasses and sins, He makes him know what he is. He is not only a sinner by acts of disobedience, but a sinner by nature, and sin "dwells" in him. And this He does by searching him, and winnowing his paths, and making him, in measure, see himself, even as God sees him.
This verse is not the psalm's last word. By the end, the same man asks for the very searching he once tried to escape:
The first section speaks of Jehovah's omniscience simply, as felt by one who is in awe of it. In the second section that fear breaks out into the cry of one who would gladly escape to the ends of the earth, or into Sheol itself, to be free from it. But he knows well that this is impossible… In the fourth section he is now with God against the evil shown in the world. From what he fears and hates within himself, the presence of God now becomes his sanctuary and refuge. He invites the searching Eye which once he dreaded.
- Dread. The verse is a man's last attempt to escape God's light — he would fly from it if he knew where a hiding place could be found.
- Dark. Darkness and light are relative only to man; for God there is no difference, because He created both.
- David. He tested this himself: what he did in secret in the matter of Uriah, God exposed to all Israel.
- Deliverance. That same searching is how God shows a sinner himself, as God sees him — not just wrong acts, but a wrong nature.
- Delight. By the psalm's end, the presence he tried to flee has become his refuge, and he invites the searching Eye he once dreaded.
Even darkness hideth not from thee, and the night shineth as the day the darkness is as the light.
The psalm moves in stages, and this verse closes the second one. Writers describe verses 7–12 as the section where the psalmist tests every possible escape route and finds each one already occupied.
What first reaches the soul is the knowledge of Jehovah, intimate and searching, and it makes the soul shrink before Him (vv. 1-6). It is the Light that makes the truth of everything clear. Where nothing in a person answers to it from God, the effort is to flee from His presence (vv. 7-12). But this is impossible! The heavens, Sheol, earth's unreachable places, or darkness itself, all bear the same testimony. How deeply solemn a thought for one who wants to escape that Presence, and to whom darkness would be a resource!
Another writer labels the three movements — God knowing everything, being everywhere, holding all power:
And so we see, as in Psalm 139, the Trinity is omniscient (verses 1 to 6); omnipresent (verses 7 to 12); and omnipotent (verses 13 to end).
Night is a real limit — for creatures. The verse says it is not a limit for God, and one writer draws the distinction exactly:
In the third, exposure is what he cannot escape: darkness and light are relative only to man; for God there is no difference.
These are not the calm words of a spectator. They come from a man who wanted to get out of God's reach and could not.
In Psalm 139 we have a man upon whom the light of God arises, but at first he is very unwilling to have that light search him. He would fly from it if he could find a hiding place… He has to learn there is no hiding-place from God, and that God knows him perfectly.
One writer calls that searching God's own way of dealing with a sinner He is bringing to life:
We can never get from under this searching process… When God gives life to a sinner who is dead in trespasses and sins, He makes him know what it is to be a sinner — not only by acts of disobedience, but by nature, with sin that "dwells" in him. And this He does by searching him, and sifting his paths, and making him, in measure, see himself, even as God sees him.
The psalm is David's, and one commentator ties the words back to the worst night of his life — his adultery with Bathsheba and the killing of her husband Uriah, arranged in private.
David committed his flagrant sin in the matter of Uriah the Hittite in secret. But God knew the whole sordid story, and exposed his guilt to all Israel (2 Sam. 12:12). The king said within himself, Surely the darkness shall cover me. He had to learn that darkness hides nothing from Jehovah, and, to his shame, God brought his secret sin into the light of the sun (Ps. 139:11-12).
The psalm does not end where verse 12 leaves it. The same eye that the psalmist first fled from he later asks to come closer.
The first section speaks of Jehovah's omniscience simply, as realized by one who is in awe of it. In the second section that fear breaks out into the cry of one who would gladly escape to the ends of the earth, or into Sheol itself, to be free from it. But he knows well that this is impossible. In the third section there is a change… The preciousness of God's thoughts toward him now takes possession of him. That the unsleeping Eye is on him, sleeping or waking, becomes only happiness… He invites the searching Eye which once he dreaded.
What makes the change possible is who this all-seeing One turns out to be:
There is no terror in this remembrance of God's all-pervading presence. For He who thus fills all things is the Saviour of His own (Eph. 4:10). The Searcher of His people's hearts is likewise the Redeemer of their souls… We cannot truly grow in the knowledge of God unless He brings us consciously under His eye, as in this Psalm. But this scrutiny our flesh instinctively avoids.
- Flight — Verses 7–12 trace one long escape run: heaven, the world of the dead, the far sea, and at last the dark. Every door is already occupied.
- Failure — Dark and light differ for us, not for God. The night hides nothing from Him.
- Fear — David had counted on the dark to cover him. God brought his secret sin out into daylight.
- Facing — God searches a person to make him see himself as God sees him. Our nature avoids that look, but growth depends on staying under it.
- Freedom — The psalmist ends up inviting the eye he once ran from. The One who searches the heart is the One who redeems the soul.
For thou hast possessed my reins; thou didst cover me in my mother's womb.
The psalm's first twelve verses press one fact home. God has searched the writer, and there is nowhere His eye does not reach. Verse 13 gives the reason for that knowledge: God formed this life at its very start. With that, the whole mood of the psalm changes.
Up to this point the sense of being watched has brought no comfort. One writer shows where relief enters:
Knowing that God sees everything and is everywhere cannot make a person at home in God's presence. Just the opposite. God's eye on him is no comfort. From under that eye he cannot escape, wherever he goes (1–12). What then can bring relief? The answer to this is very simple and very blessed. God's thoughts as revealed can do it. The Psalmist's thoughts about God have not done it. So up to verse 12 he is uneasy. In verse 13, however, he strikes a different note. The first thing that brings relief is remembering that God thought of him when he was in his mother's womb (13–16).
The word behind this phrase points to what is deepest and most hidden in a person. One commentator takes it literally and draws a lesson from the organ itself:
Everything about every individual is perfectly known to God, for He formed even the inward parts or kidneys, as the original really is, sometimes called "reins" because of being in driving control. The kidneys filter impurities from the blood, just as we are responsible to filter out all that is inconsistent with truth. God has made us with this ability, whether or not we use it rightly. But from the womb of one's mother, God is active in forming the individual (v. 13), and this fact awakens the praise of the psalmist's heart.
Older translations call these inward parts "the reins". God made that innermost place in a person, and that gives Him a right there no one else has:
"For You have acquired my reins" is the keynote of what follows. "The reins" stand for the very innermost parts. In the Old Testament they mean the deepest recesses of the mind. That is where the basic moral questions are weighed and settled — the good received and the evil rejected. God is the Master here — Lord of the conscience. Conscience keeps reminding us of Him and calls us before His judgment seat. He has gained this right over us by the fact the psalmist states next: that He is our Maker. "You have acquired my reins: You covered" — or, perhaps, "did interweave me in my mother's womb." Marvellous power was at work there — not aimlessly, but with purpose and plan.
The One who searches in verses 1–12 is no distant onlooker. His hands did the work:
We are the work of His hands. Here it is man as man, so that the earth out of which he was fashioned at first is like the womb out of which we were born. God has formed us, whether in the womb of dust or of our mother, the place where we were nothing before we were. The same God has always thought of us along the road. This is how confidence is gained. Gained this way, it still reaches to all God's creative knowledge and power. If He sees in the dark, He keeps in the dark.
This forming happened where no human eye could follow. Yet it was never out of God's sight:
What mysteries are wrapped up in the development of the unborn child! Every part unfinished, but not flawed — mysteries of nature, body, mind, soul and spirit; mysteries known to God alone. God knew every part before it existed, and it was written in His book. While the body was being formed, God's eye rested on it. How blessed for the Christian to realise that God was interested in him before he existed… There has never been a moment in our lives when God was not interested in us, watching over us and caring for us with an infinite and eternal love. And there never will be, for all eternity.
This has a direct bearing on how a person measures their own worth:
We do not become valuable by what we do (even if it is to marry), but are valuable because God has created us and we are precious in His eyes (see Ps. 139:12–16).
Many readers look for pictures of Christian truth in this verse. One writer allows that as application, but not as the foundation:
Christians are naturally disposed to find in all this the typical presentation of Christian truths. But however this may do as application, the literal meaning must come first, and be the foundation of all the rest. It is true that this speaks to us only of the Creator, and leaves the question of sin unbottomed. Yet a soul that has realized redemption can and will come back to God's creative thoughts, with fresh understanding of the truth that He cannot "forsake the work of His own hands."
- Maker — God did not just watch the writer's beginning. He formed the innermost part and wove the body together in the womb, with purpose and plan.
- Right — because He is Maker, He is Master of the conscience. He owns the deepest place in us, where we take in good and turn away evil.
- Reach — His eye rested on every member before it existed, so there has never been a moment of any life outside His care.
- Worth — God created us and holds us precious, and that is where our value comes from, not from what we achieve.
- Result — the eye that made the writer uneasy in verses 1–12 now becomes his reason for praise.
I will praise thee, for I am fearfully, wonderfully made. Marvellous are thy works; and [that] my soul knoweth right well.
The psalmist has just traced how fully God knows him, and found nowhere to hide — then at verse 14 his tone breaks into praise. What turns the strain of being fully known into worship, and why does he say fearfully as well as wonderfully made?
Up to this point in the psalm the searching eye of God brings no comfort at all. One writer traces the exact moment the mood changes, and locates it in the memory of God's care before birth.
What then can bring relief? The answer is very simple and very blessed. God's thoughts as revealed can do it. The psalmist's thoughts about God have not done it. So up to verse 12 he is uneasy. In verse 13 he changes his tone. The first thing that brings relief is remembering that God thought of him when he was in his mother's womb. That memory changes his whole key. "I praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made." He has stopped thinking about himself. He is now taken up with God.
The praise rests on a claim God has over the deepest part of a person — the "inward parts" of the previous verse. The claim is not random. It is the right of the One who made them.
The older word "reins" means the very innermost parts. In the Old Testament it stands for the deepest part of the mind. That is where a person settles the basic moral questions, takes in the good and turns down the evil. God is the Master there. He is Lord of the conscience, which keeps reminding us of Him and calls us before His judgment seat. He has this right over us for the reason the psalmist now gives: He is our Maker… Great power was at work there. It did not work aimlessly, but with purpose and plan.
The same eye that examines him now watched over him as he was formed. So the psalmist can end the psalm by inviting that examination.
The psalmist (Ps. 139:13-16) is troubled that God's eye is always on him. He has only to look back and think how that same eye watched over him before he was born, while his finely woven body was still taking shape. How could he do anything other than welcome the eye of such a One to search him through and through?
Another writer sets the same movement in order: God searches everything, the psalmist owns himself God's handiwork, and only then asks to be searched.
God searches everything. Even so, the psalmist says, "I am fearfully and wonderfully made." He sees that he is God's handiwork. Only then can he ask God to search him: "Search me… try me." It is real grace looking at us.
One writer compares the wonders in the sky with the person looking at them.
Astronomers turn their telescopes to the sky to see the marvellous works of God. But the most marvellous work of all is the astronomer himself. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. But do our souls know this well?
The word is not a spare adjective. It takes in what man is morally as well as physically — a single creature capable of the highest and the lowest.
Look at man; is he not most skilfully and wonderfully put together? See in the same person the loftiest flights of thought, and the most degrading passions! Physically and morally, we are fearfully and wonderfully made.
One writer keeps to the plain subject: these verses describe the forming of the natural body. He allows a picture-meaning beyond that, but only as a second sense:
Read these verses together, and leave out the words that older Bibles print in italics as added words. Then you will see that the subject is the creation of the natural body. With what we know now, we can see that it may also carry a figurative meaning.
Another writer shows what makes being fully seen by God end in praise rather than dread: Christ.
Suppose we could not link Christ with this psalm. Suppose we could not go on from it to see ourselves as God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus, with everything done under His eye. Then the thought of being shown as we are in His presence would fill us with dread instead of praise.
- Searched. The psalm opens with a man uneasy under an eye he cannot escape; verse 14 is where that unease breaks.
- Made. Relief comes from one memory: the same eye watched him take shape before birth. God's thoughts about him settle him, not his thoughts about God.
- Owned. God formed his innermost parts, so He holds a Maker's right over conscience and life. And He formed with purpose and plan.
- Fearful. The word covers more than the body. One person holds the highest thoughts and the lowest desires together.
- Welcomed. He knows he is God's handiwork. So he ends by inviting the very searching he once dreaded, and turns it into praise.
My bones were not hidden from thee when I was made in secret, curiously wrought in the lower parts of the earth.
God's eye, which the psalmist first tried to escape, now rests on the place where no human eye ever looked — the hidden beginning of his own body. It shows the unborn body as God's own work, known to Him before anyone else knew it existed.
Verse 15 sits at a hinge in the psalm. Until now the psalmist has been uneasy under a gaze he cannot escape. Here the same truth turns into comfort. One writer traces the change:
In the third part of the psalm there is a change. A tender thankfulness comes in. He thinks of how, in his mother's womb, this same all-knowing God had been at work, building the marvellous structure of the future man in mysterious secrecy. God's thoughts toward him now become precious to him. And now it is only happiness that the unsleeping Eye is on him, sleeping or waking.
Another writer names what did not bring relief, and what did:
Knowing that God knows everything, and that He is everywhere, cannot make a believer feel at home with Him. Just the opposite. God's eye on him is no comfort. He cannot escape from under that eye, wherever he goes… In verse 13, however, he strikes a different note. The first thing that brings him relief is remembering that God thought of him when he was in his mother's womb.
The older translations read "curiously wrought" where the ESV has "intricately woven." One writer gives the plainer word behind it — embroidered:
Scripture uses this verb in a striking passage in this wonderful psalm, the 139th, which traces God's thought and care of man from his beginnings in the womb: "My substance was not hidden from You, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought" — that is, embroidered — "in the lowest parts of the earth." And indeed, nothing pictures the fine interweaving of nerves, veins and arteries so well as a marvellous embroidery. This is true of all men. Can God then be lacking in consideration and tenderness for a being on whom He has bestowed such wonderful care?
Commentators differ over the phrase the ESV renders "the depths of the earth." One writer takes it as the stuff the body is made of, not a place, and reads the "frame" as our bony structure:
He goes on to speak of these marvels: the bony framework that holds up the flesh, and the delicate embroidery of vessels and nerves branching through it. God worked all of this in secret, in "underparts of earth." Surely that does not mean the ground, which would hardly have been true of Adam. It means that human substance which is only animated dust.
Another hears an echo of Adam, formed from the ground:
Certainly one's frame was not hidden from God. His Creator had acted in secret with marvellous skill "in the lowest parts of the earth" (v. 15). This may be a reference to Adam's being formed from the dust of the earth (Genesis 2:7).
One writer dwells on what stood in God's book before the body existed:
What mysteries are wrapped up in the development of the unborn child! Every part unfinished, but not flawed — mysteries of nature, body, mind, soul and spirit; mysteries known to God alone. God knew every part before it existed. He had written it in His book. Before it really existed, while it was being formed, God's eye rested upon it. How blessed for the Christian to realise that God was interested in him before he had any being.
Being made by God means belonging to God. One writer adds that we study the sky and miss the greater wonder nearer home:
But He has taken our inmost being as His own. He has made us for Himself. We are His, we belong to Him… Astronomers point their telescopes at the heavens to see the marvellous works of God, while the most marvellous works of all are there in the astronomer himself. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. But do our souls know this well?
- Secret — the verse describes what no one watched: God worked on the frame in a place hidden from every human eye.
- Seen — that secret was never secret from God; His eye was on each member before any of them existed.
- Embroidered — the older word "curiously wrought" means embroidered, like the woven nerves, veins and arteries of the body.
- Debated — writers differ over "the lowest parts of the earth": one reads the dust our bodies are made of, another an echo of Adam formed from the ground.
- Praise — the eye the psalmist first fled becomes the reason he worships; being made by God means belonging to God.
Thine eyes did see my unformed substance, and in thy book all [my members] were written; [during many] days were they fashioned, when [as yet] there was none of them.
The verse closes David's account of his own beginning: before he had a body, God had a record of him. The verse says two things at once. God watched the unformed body take shape in the womb. And His book already held the days that no one had yet lived.
Up to this point the psalm has been uneasy. One commentator traces the turn:
How can a saint come to feel at home in God's presence? Knowing that God knows everything, and is everywhere, cannot do it. Rather the opposite. God's eye on him is no comfort. Wherever he goes, he cannot escape that eye. What then can bring relief? God's thoughts, as He has revealed them, can do it. The Psalmist's own thoughts about God have not done it… In verse 13 he strikes a different note, and the first thing that brings relief is the memory that God thought of him while he was in his mother's womb. That memory has completely changed his tone. "I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well" (14). He has turned right away from thinking about himself, and is now taken up with God.
God did not watch an accident take shape. He worked with knowledge that ran ahead of the work:
And the Lord knew perfectly the substance of every individual long before this formation took place. He did not have to experiment to find what might work. Instead, everything about that person stood written in His book — figuratively speaking, of course — long before he existed. How little indeed can we understand such wisdom!
The same God who shaped the first man out of dust shapes each person out of nothing:
We are the work of His hands. Here it is man as man, so that the earth out of which he was fashioned at first is as the womb out of which we were born. God has formed us, be it in the womb of dust or of our mother, the place where we were nothing before we were.
Older translations read the middle of the verse as "in Your book all my members were written." Read that way, God's interest in a person starts before the person does. One writer carries that thought across a whole life:
God knew every part of the body before it existed. He had written it in His book. And while that part was still forming, before it truly existed, His eye rested on it. What a blessing for a Christian to realise that God took an interest in him before he existed at all! And to realise, as Paul did, that God's eye was on him from his mother's womb (Galatians 1:15). There has never been a moment in our lives — and there never will be, for all eternity — when God was not interested in us. He watches over us and cares for us with an infinite and eternal love.
The verse has sometimes been pressed into service to prove other doctrines. One commentator pushes back, while leaving room for a wider use:
People have often put forward another passage in Psalm 139 as proof that it gives us a plain revelation about the Church of God… Leave out the words printed in italics, and read these verses together. You will see that the subject is the creation of the natural body. Yet with the knowledge we now have, we can easily see that it may also have a figurative application.
Because the Searcher is also the Maker, the psalm can end with an invitation instead of an escape attempt:
If the Psalmist (Psalm 139:13-16) was troubled that God's all-seeing eye was always on him, he had only to look back. That same eye watched over him before he was born, while his finely woven body was slowly forming. How could he do anything but welcome the eye of such a One to search him through and through?
God wrote the record before we had achieved anything. One writer applies this to believers who feel passed over:
Behind this lies the old error that my value depends on what others think of me… We do not become valuable by what we do — not even by marrying. We are valuable because God has created us, and we are precious in His eyes (see Psalm 139:12-16).
- Seen — God's eye rested on the unformed body while it was still forming, before it existed.
- Written — God's book recorded everything about a person long before that person existed.
- Made — The Maker never experimented. He forms us in the womb of dust and in the womb of our mother, where we were nothing before we were.
- Welcomed — The eye that searches us is the eye that watched us form. So we can invite the search instead of running from it.
- Valued — Worth comes from being God's creation and precious in His eyes, not from what we manage to do.
But how precious are thy thoughts unto me, O God! how great is the sum of them!
For sixteen verses the writer has felt God closing in — searched, known, followed everywhere, with nowhere to hide. Then the tone changes: the God who knows everything about him has thoughts toward him too precious to count.
Being watched by God brings no rest on its own. Relief comes from another direction.
Here we have in the psalm which follows (139) how a saint can come to be at home in the divine presence. The sense of God's omniscience as well as of His omnipresence cannot provide that. Rather the opposite. God's eye on him is no comfort. From under that eye he cannot escape, wherever he goes... What then can bring relief? The answer is very simple and very blessed. God's thoughts as revealed can do it. The psalmist's thoughts about God have not done it.
God knows every detail of us because He made every detail of us.
He knows all, because He has also formed all. This connects us with His taking perfect notice of us in goodness. He cares for us. He watches over every part of the body as it is formed, just as He knows our every thought. If He does, He has His own thoughts too, and these are precious to us. This is just the change and working of faith. It must begin with conscience under God's eye, because that brings us into His presence. Then it reaches God's thoughts.
The same shift is described as a reversal of feeling: what first crushed the writer ends up steadying him.
When at last he realises that God's "works" and God's "thoughts" are toward him in grace, the omniscience of God becomes the source of his deepest comfort.
If God's thoughts are precious, where do we read them?
Our souls do not just need thoughts about God. Every religion, divine or human, true or false, will teach us to think about God. What we need is God's own thoughts brought into our souls. Those thoughts are learned only in the Word, with authority and without mixture. The Scriptures are these thoughts of God conveyed to us. And the psalmist can say of them, "How precious to me are Your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!"
God's thoughts about us stand far above our own low view of ourselves.
This is a blessed theme: the theme of God's thoughts. They are higher than our thoughts, as the heavens are higher than the earth. It is the theme of God's grace, which has no bottom and no limit. Here is real liberty. Our own thoughts are so narrow, so poor, so mean. Do we know what it is to have them beaten down by God's high, generous, liberal thoughts — His thoughts about us, about what we are in Christ?
What is God thinking about? One answer is a Person.
Every spiritual mind will readily agree that verse 17 applies to Jesus as its true subject. For it is He who from eternity filled the thoughts of God above all. The church, or any other creature, becomes the object of the Lord's thoughts only as it is in Him. Nor can those thoughts be numbered by the tongue of man. Their full expression is in Christ, and they are precious.
These thoughts did not begin when we did.
And these thoughts of God are eternal. He had them about us before the world began. Even then He purposed to have us in the same relationship His Son has to Himself, and in all the love of which His Son is the worthy object.
He tries to count them and gives up — and even that failure ends in comfort.
Those thoughts are numberless, for they are like the sand. How could they be counted? Trying to count them would put a man to sleep. But even sleep would not take him out of the presence of the Lord (v. 18).
Because His thoughts are precious, the psalm can end by inviting the very searching it once fled from.
And what is the reply of the soul to all the sifting it has consciously passed through? "Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts!" If that is the result, we may well say, "How precious to me are Your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!" ... Let this precious thought comfort our hearts. The Lord is sifting away much that we have valued more than Himself. But He does it only to bring out what He knows lies at the bottom of our hearts.
- Searched — The psalm opens with a man who cannot escape God's eye. That knowledge alone brings him no comfort.
- Turned — Relief comes from God's thoughts about him, not from his thoughts about God.
- Given — We do not guess at those thoughts. Commentators point to Scripture, where God gives us His mind.
- Filled — Christ is their true subject. He filled the thoughts of God from eternity, and in Him we become their object.
- Opened — Because they are precious, the man who once fled God's searching now asks for it: "Search me, O God."
[If] I would count them, they are more in number than the sand. When I awake, I am still with thee.
The psalmist gives up trying to count God's thoughts toward him — they outrun the grains of sand. Then sleep comes, and he wakes to find himself still with the God he could not get away from.
How can anyone be at home with a God he cannot get away from? One writer traces where the relief comes from — and it is not from the psalmist's own thoughts.
The psalm shows how a believer can come to be at home in God's presence. Knowing that God knows everything and is everywhere cannot provide that. Rather the opposite. God's eye on him is no comfort. He cannot escape from under that eye, wherever he goes. What then can bring relief? The answer to this is very simple and very blessed. God's thoughts as revealed can do it. The psalmist's thoughts about God have not done it. So up to verse 12 he is uneasy. In verse 13, however, he strikes a different note. The first thing that brings relief is the memory that God thought of him when he was in his mother's womb.
The verse before speaks of the "sum" of God's thoughts; this verse speaks of counting them one by one. A commentator holds the two together.
To him they were a revelation of God's thoughts toward him — precious thoughts of divine wisdom and love. Looked at as a whole — the final outcome of it all — the sum was great indeed. But if you took them up to look at them in detail, they were numberless as the grains of sand. And still, to the man wakened up out of the unconsciousness of his beginning, as he has been recounting it, this same God remains. Could he wish to have Him banished?
Why does waking come up at all in a verse about counting? One writer ties the two together.
Those thoughts are numberless, for they are like the sand. How could anyone count them? Trying to count them would put one to sleep; but even his sleep would not deprive him of the presence of the Lord (v. 18).
What are these countless thoughts about? One writer ties them to redemption.
The thoughts of God mentioned in verses 17 and 18 may be applied to the thoughts of His love in redemption. How precious are these thoughts, in which He has remembered the sinner's need. They are indeed more than the sand.
Another writer asks how long it would take to reach the end of them, and what to do with them now.
God is love, and all the thoughts of God spring from the great love of His heart... Eternity alone will be required to tell out all these great thoughts of love. Let us get our hearts and minds well stored with them. They were all purposed and thought out before the world's foundation.
Earlier that searching eye was no comfort. By the end he asks God to search him — the same eye, a changed heart.
He would not have it otherwise. He was oppressed before; now he is free in spirit, and he takes God's side against God's enemies... "O LORD, You have searched me and known me," are the opening words. "Search me, O God, and know my heart." ... Awake, he knows he is with God.
One writer sets David's words beside what God has done in Christ. The believer's portion, he says, is larger.
David could say, "When I awake, I am still with You" (v. 18). But we know the new creation power that worked in Christ in raising Him from among the dead... How blessed our portion, not only to be "still with" Him but to be seated there where He is in Christ Jesus.
One writer turns the verse into a daily habit.
"When I awake I am still with You" (Ps. 139:18). If you would still be with God, watch over your hearts every day; lock up your hearts with God every morning, and give Him the key.
- Searched. The psalm opens with God's eye on a man who cannot escape it, and up to verse 12 that thought leaves him uneasy.
- Relieved. The relief comes from God's revealed thoughts, not from the psalmist's own thoughts about God.
- Countless. Taken as a whole the sum is great; taken one by one the thoughts are as numberless as sand, and eternity alone will tell them out.
- Unbroken. Even sleep does not deprive him of the Lord's presence — he counts himself to sleep and wakes still with God.
- Welcomed. The man who could not escape God's eye now asks to be searched. The believer's portion runs further still: not only "still with" Him, but seated where Christ is.