(A Psalm. Of Asaph.) God, Elohim-Jehovah, hath spoken, and called the earth from the rising of the sun unto the going down thereof.
Psalm 50 opens like a courtroom scene. The first line stacks three names of God and calls the whole earth to attention, which raises two questions: who is this speaker, and why is He breaking His silence now?
The first line does not simply say "God." It stacks three titles. One of them is the name tied to God's promises to Israel.
In the first section we have the summons of God, who appears in full majesty. The Mighty One (El), God (Elohim), Jehovah; the Unchangeable — and this we know to be His covenant-name with Israel — summons the whole earth to hear His voice.
Sunrise to sunset sets the scale of this court. Its reach does not stop at the earth.
The leading subject of this magnificent and very wide-ranging Psalm is the majesty of the God of judgment, as it will be shown when the day of Christ is revealed. Its action is very wide, for its scope takes in heavenly things as well as earthly ones... The summons is mighty, and its force reaches everywhere. The earth is called from the rising to the setting of the sun (verse 1). What is more, the heavens are to hear that voice, which is soon to judge the people who bear His name.
J. N. Darby marks off the first two verses from the rest of the psalm.
The introduction of Psalm 50 is magnificent, but needs little comment, God shining out of Zion the perfection of beauty. Only note that the first two verses are the thesis; from verse 3 is the bringing it about.
The verse says God speaks and calls the earth. Yet right now He seems silent. One writer sets that silence against what is coming.
Creation's offended God keeps silent now. But the moment is coming fast when He will speak — not in grace, but in judgment that spares no one... Asaph wrote this three thousand years ago. He spoke as a prophet, voicing the feelings of the godly few left in Israel in the unmatched disorders of the last days.
Hamilton Smith hears waiting in that silence. He also hears blessing in the voice from Zion, before the judgment comes.
God is present in His majesty, as the mighty and unchangeable One, speaking to the whole earth from the rising of the sun to the going down of it. He speaks out of Zion, and so in sovereign blessing for man... During long ages God has kept silence while the world has ripened for judgment. At length the silence will be broken.
The three names of verse 1 do not stay a mystery. One writer points to Acts 17:31 to answer who this Judge is.
We know from Acts 17:31 that "El, Elohim-Jehovah," who judges, is the Lord Jesus.
L. M. Grant reaches the same conclusion from the psalm's own words, and reads its setting as the coming reign of Christ.
The psalm begins with three titles of the great Creator — "The Mighty One, God, Jehovah" (v. 1). This God of infinite majesty and glory has spoken, calling the earth from the rising of the sun to its setting. The glory of Christ's coming reign is clear in this message, as both expressions show — "the rising of the sun" and "out of Zion"... "God has shined," "Our God comes," clearly shows that the Lord Jesus is God. Though He has kept silence for centuries, then He will not, but will speak with such power that no one will be able to ignore it.
Set beside the psalm before it, this one has a different target.
Psalm 49 rebukes the folly of the worldly man who trusts in riches; Psalm 50 the religious man who trusts in forms of religion.
- Speaker. Three names open the psalm: El, Elohim, Jehovah — the Mighty One, God, and the covenant name God gave Israel.
- Silence. God speaks in this verse, yet He seems silent now. He is waiting while the world ripens for judgment.
- Reach. When He speaks, the call runs from sunrise to sunset, and the heavens must hear it too. No one will be able to ignore it.
- Judge. The Judge who calls the earth to court is the Lord Jesus — God Himself.
- Target. The call is worldwide, but the trial begins at home. It puts the religious person who trusts in forms on the stand.
Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty, God hath shined forth.
Psalm 50 opens with God summoning the whole earth, from sunrise to sunset. The second verse tells us where He appears from: Zion. So two questions press. Why does God shine out of one small hill, and what does that shining lead to?
Commentators read the opening verses as a heading. The rest of the psalm works it out.
The opening of Psalm 50 is magnificent, but needs little comment — God shining out of Zion, the perfection of beauty. Only note that the first two verses are the thesis; from verse 3 comes the bringing of it about.
This one line measures everything else in the psalm. It fixes the place where the throne stands.
The leading subject of this magnificent, wide-ranging psalm is the majesty of the God of judgment, as He will display it when the day of Christ is revealed. Its reach is wide: it takes in heavenly things as well as earthly ones. But the truth that fixes its special character is in the second verse. Read the psalm's details by that truth, and you will understand them rightly. God shines forth out of Zion. It is there that God sets the throne for judgment... Its scope takes in the blessedness of the remnant, chosen by grace, as well as the destruction of the ungodly and the sinner from Jehovah's presence.
Zion had nothing to recommend it as a place. The title it carries is borrowed, not earned.
Mount Zion was really nothing as a geographical feature. By nature it was just a flat-topped rock with cliffs on one side. It was easy to defend in those days of weak siege equipment. No one would have picked it as a place for comfortable living. But it took its real significance from the ark being brought there by King David... What made Mount Zion was not its physical beauty. God clothed it with His glory, because He was pleased to dwell there.
The word behind "beauty" points the same way.
The word translated here as "beauty" is sometimes translated "glory." One version reads, "Worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness." Another has, "Worship Jehovah in holy splendour" (Ps. 29:2).
Commentators set Zion against Sinai, the mountain where God gave the law.
Hebrews refers to Zion strikingly, where it says, "You have come to Mount Zion." It is indeed the most characteristic spot in the whole earth as the sign of grace. There are two mountains that have a place proper to them — the mount of law and the mount of grace. Sinai, I need hardly say, is the one, as Zion is the other. Sinai came into view when God tested Israel under law, and everything was favourable. He had brought the people out by His mighty power, in the freshness of their youth... and what did they come to? Ruin, worse and worse. Each method God tried in turn proved the hopeless evil of man, once God had fairly and fully put him to the test.
The names stacked up in verse 1 and the shining of verse 2 lead straight into fire and storm in verse 3.
The Mighty One (El), God (Elohim), Jehovah, the Unchangeable, summons the whole earth to hear His voice. Jehovah, we know, is His covenant-name with Israel. He shines out of Zion. He has chosen Zion as the place of His rest, so it is blooming out for Him in bridal dress, "the perfection of beauty." So they can claim Him as their own God. He comes out of the sanctuary, and not to keep silent. The fire of His holiness consumes before Him, and a storm gathers around Him. These signs show that He cannot yet display His holiness in the calm of settled love.
Commentators read this as still ahead of us. God is silent now, but not forever:
Creation's offended God keeps silent at present. But the moment is coming fast when He will speak — not in terms of grace, but of unsparing judgment... So wrote Asaph three thousand years ago. In prophecy he voiced the feelings of Israel's faithful remnant in the unmatched disorders of the last days.
The title finally rests on a Person, not a place.
We see the real Zion in Christ, risen from the dead and seated at the right hand of God. He is the centre of attraction for the people of God. He is the perfection of beauty. From Him shines out the light of the knowledge of the glory of God. So He is the joy of the whole earth of redeemed souls.
- Chosen — Zion was a bare, unattractive rock. God chose it, and that choice is the whole of its worth.
- Clothed — its beauty is borrowed glory. The word rendered "beauty" is elsewhere rendered "glory" or "splendour."
- Grace — Sinai is the mount of law, Zion the mount of grace. Sinai tested man and man failed; Zion is the sign of grace.
- Shining, then speaking — verses 1–2 state the case, verse 3 carries it out. God is not silent forever; fire and storm follow the shining.
- Christ — commentators point past the hill to the risen Christ. He is the perfection of beauty, and God's glory shines out from Him.
Our God will come, and will not keep silence fire shall devour before him, and it shall be very tempestuous round about him.
The psalm has just announced God speaking from Zion, and in verse 3 that announcement becomes an arrival. Who is this "our God," why the long silence, and what does the fire mean?
Verse 3 is not the destination but the road. Commentators tie it to the footing these worshippers stand on with God.
Psalm 50. They now come into the covenant "by sacrifice"; not by obedience, as at Sinai. Verse 3 is the way He gets to Zion.
From this verse on, the psalm voices the hope of the remnant — the faithful few within Israel who are sure their God will come.
The first two verses are the great fact, but from verse 3 it is the prophetic anticipation of the remnant. "Calling the earth" is the topic. The remnant are sure He will come and call those who have made a covenant with sacrifice, and yet He will not raise the question of neglected sacrifices.
Who is the "our God" that comes? The psalm opens with three names for Him, and one writer says they settle His identity.
The psalm begins with three titles of the great Creator — "The Mighty One, God the LORD" (v. 1). This God of infinite majesty and glory has spoken, calling the earth from the rising of the sun to its setting. The glory of Christ's coming reign is clear in this message. Both expressions show it — "the rising of the sun" and "out of Zion," called "the perfection of beauty," as it will be only in that day. "God shines forth," "Our God comes" — this shows that the Lord Jesus is God. He has kept silence for centuries, but then He will not. He will speak with such power that no one will be able to ignore it.
If He will not keep silent, He has been silent until now. That silence has a reason, and an end.
The verses that follow declare that God has reached the throne of blessing in Zion through judgment. During long ages God has kept silence while the world has ripened for judgment. At last God will break the silence and come with the devouring fire of judgment.
But long silence has an effect. People draw a wrong conclusion from it, and God's answer names what He will actually deal with.
As to Israel, God does not complain that they lack sacrifices. No ceremonial religion will be in question, but wickedness. Because God had kept silence in long patience, the world may imagine that He can be dealt with as man is — with outward forms, sacrifices, ceremonies, and no conscience, and that God sees no further. But God sets before man what he has done.
The fire that goes before Him and the storm that surrounds Him are not decoration. They say what kind of coming this is.
Thus they can claim Him as their own God, who comes out of the sanctuary, and not to keep silent. The fire of His holiness consumes before Him, and a tempest gathers around Him. These signs show that He cannot yet display His holiness in the calm of contented love. No, it is judgment for which He comes, and He summons heaven and earth as His witnesses.
People still complain that God does nothing. This verse answers them — but not in the way they expect.
People are asking today, Why does God keep silence and not intervene? But when He speaks next it will be in JUDGMENT. Then this Scripture will be fulfilled: "Behold, he is coming with the clouds, and every eye will see him, even those who pierced him, and all tribes of the earth will wail on account of him" (Rev. 1:7). Today God is silent, and His day of mercy stretches on. When He speaks again it will be a matter of His government — and who will stand then?
Who will stand? The answer turns on how a person deals with God now.
He who knows God well enough to praise Him, who owns what He is and blesses Him for what He is, and who lives rightly, will have God's blessing in the way He governs. The man who brings offerings as though he could quiet God that way, and goes on without paying attention to Him in his conscience — God will reprove him and set before him everything he has done: if now, for salvation; if in judgment, there is no one to deliver.
- Silence. God's quiet is not absence or approval — it is long patience, while the world ripens for judgment.
- Misread. People read the silence as proof that God is like them. They think outward forms and a quiet conscience are enough.
- Broken. The silence ends when He comes. He speaks with power no one can ignore, and His charge is wickedness, not missed ceremonies.
- Fire. Fire goes ahead of Him and storm surrounds Him. His holiness cannot yet appear as calm, contented love.
- Ours. Yet the psalm still says "our God" — those who own Him now will meet the very One they have waited for.
He will call to the heavens from above, and to the earth, that he may judge his people
God takes the seat of Judge in this psalm, and He calls heaven and earth to watch. Why does the trial of one nation need such witnesses, and what will He charge His own people with?
Verses 1 and 2 state the fact. From verse 3 the scene plays out. God calls creation to stand as witness while He deals with one nation.
The opening of Psalm 50 is magnificent, but needs little comment. God shines out of Zion, the perfection of beauty. Only note that the first two verses are the statement. From verse 3 it is carried out. But God calls heaven in to stand by as a witness of righteousness, and the earth too. Yet the judgment is the special judgment of the people.
Another writer sets out the shape of the whole psalm.
Psalm 50 is a judgment about the living, in the land. Faith grasps verses 1-4. The Judge announces verses 5 and 6. Verses 7-15 are God's address in court. Verses 16-21 speak to the wicked. Verse 22 is an appeal to such people. Verse 23 speaks to His own.
God does not hand this trial to anyone else.
The heavens bring in their display of the righteousness of God — and note, that display is distinct in itself from His judgment. It is the glorified saints who display this, with Christ Himself, so fully that they will judge the earth. It is not judgment through secondary causes: God is now Judge Himself — and so He gathers His saints too.
One writer notes how unusual this scene is in Scripture.
Psalm 50 tells us and them of the Lord's judgment of His people Israel, set out nowhere else in the Bible as it is here (1-6). He comes to judge them, with all the heavenly saints in His train. This is how the heavens will declare His righteousness (6).
The ones on trial are the ones He owns.
In verse 6, note, God owns Israel as His people, but judges it as such — mark that, for it is another important element.
A summons is not the same as destruction.
Those gathered here are clearly the ones He calls His people in the seventh verse, and they are Israel. They are gathered for judgment. That is, not for wrath to fall on them, but so that He may plead with them about their sin. But God's controversy with them must now be declared. It is the legal controversy, not yet the question of their rejection of Christ, which the next psalm shows from another side.
When the pleading begins, the complaint is not about missed offerings.
When Messiah comes in and Jehovah judges, God summons all the heavens and the earth to judge His people. He then pleads with them on the ground of right and wrong — not looking for sacrifices, but for righteousness.
The psalm sorts the godly from the wicked, and it does so inside a system built on offerings.
Here the public judgment shows everything in its true light and real character. It marks off the godly from the wicked and deals with each in righteousness. The earth is in question here, though God also summons the heavens to testify to Jehovah's righteousness. Zion is the seat of His display in judgment. Most remarkable of all, this comes in the middle of a legal and ceremonial system, yet it sets the symbolic sacrifices aside completely, even for the righteous.
One writer applies this call to our own day.
God's witness is twofold. Across the face of heaven and earth, Scripture is written out again in signs that cannot be corrupted, signs anyone may appeal to. God has surely not done this in vain: He can still "call to the heavens above and to the earth, that He may judge His people" (Ps. 50:4), and rebuke the unbelief that lifts itself up against Him in the very face of such evidence.
- Summoned. Verses 1-2 announce the fact. From verse 3 the court assembles, and this call to heaven and earth opens the session.
- Witnessed. Heaven stands by as a witness of righteousness, and earth with it — all creation is called to the trial of one nation.
- Judged in person. No secondary causes, no deputies. God is Judge Himself, and He comes with His heavenly saints. That display is how the heavens declare His righteousness.
- Owned. Those on trial are still "His people." They are gathered not for wrath, but so that He may plead with them about their sin.
- Weighed by righteousness. The charge is right and wrong, not ritual. Sacrifices are set aside. And the creation called as witness there still testifies against unbelief now.
Gather unto me my godly ones, those that have made a covenant with me by sacrifice!
In Psalm 50 God speaks from Zion and calls heaven and earth to attention. His first word is not a verdict but a command to gather. Everything hangs on who these gathered ones are, and on what a covenant "by sacrifice" means.
The verse sits inside a scene of assembly. God arrives before He reads a single charge, and the signs around Him leave no doubt about what is coming.
He shines out of Zion. He has chosen Zion as the place of His rest, and it is blossoming for Him like a bride in her wedding dress, "the perfection of beauty." So they can claim Him as their own God. He comes out of the sanctuary, and He does not come to keep silent. The fire of His holiness consumes before Him, and a storm gathers around Him. These signs show that His holiness cannot yet appear in the calm of contented love. No, He comes for judgment, and He summons heaven and earth as His witnesses.
Two Hebrew words carry the verse. One stands behind "faithful ones," which older translations render "saints." The other stands behind "made."
Verse 5, "saints" — Chasidim, "pious ones"; "made" — literally, "cut."
The word points to how a person stands toward God:
chasid, "pious toward God," also translated "holy" and "godly." The word occurs often in the Psalms, where God speaks of His saints.
God could have described this group in many ways. He names one mark only, and Jesus does the same with His own.
One simple mark separates the remnant from this judgment: "Those who had made a covenant with God by sacrifice." He does not describe them by any long account of what they had done or suffered for Him. He speaks of them as believers, as sinners trusting in the blood and sacrifice of the Saviour. This is enough for the purpose. In the same way, Jesus introduces the saints to the Father by that one character: they knew He came from the Father, and they believed the Father sent Him (John 17).
Notice also what God does not fault them for. The complaint that follows in the psalm never concerns their offerings.
Saints are gathered by sacrifice. Redeeming grace and the sense of its need must come in for them to be owned by God as His; but these are gathered to God... So here, as to Israel, God does not complain of a lack of sacrifices. No ceremonial religion will be in question, but wickedness.
Commentators differ here. One reading contrasts this covenant with the one Israel accepted at Sinai:
They now come into the covenant "by sacrifice"; not by obedience, as at Sinai.
Another reading names the gathered ones as Israel, says why God gathers them, and warns against reading our own standing into the verse:
Nor is it according to Scripture, or in keeping with the gospel, to speak of our making a covenant with God by the work of Christ. God has covenanted with us by it, if you like to use the expression... Those gathered here are plainly the ones He calls His people in verse 7, and they are Israel. They are gathered for judgment: that is, not so that He may pour out wrath on them, but so that He may plead with them about their sin. And the "covenant by sacrifice" clearly refers to Exodus 24. There the nation took on themselves to keep all the Lord's words, and the blood of the sacrifice was sprinkled on them.
A third reading looks to the saints in glory:
In verses 5, 6 we have, I have no doubt, a reference to the glorified saints who will shine in the day of the Lord... They had made a covenant with God by sacrifice. The Lamb is the Lord their Righteousness, and the heavens will convincingly reveal that righteousness.
The command is not just "gather" but gather to Me. One writer links that call to an older promise about where God's people gather. He quotes an older English translation, not the ESV.
Genesis 49:10 also gives us an instructive prophecy about Christ being the gathering centre for His people: "... unto him shall the gathering of the people be." So also Psalm 50:5 says, "Gather my saints together unto me."
- Sacrifice sets the scene. God comes out of Zion with fire and storm and calls heaven and earth as His witnesses. The court forms before He speaks a charge.
- Sacrifice names them. They are chasidim, "pious ones," pious toward God, and the word behind "made" is literally "cut."
- Sacrifice is their only credential. God lists nothing they did or suffered; He identifies them as sinners trusting in the blood.
- Sacrifice, not obedience. Commentators differ on which sacrifice is in view: the blood sprinkled at Sinai, or faith in Christ's blood. All agree the ground is a sacrifice, and that God never faults these people for missing offerings.
- Sacrifice gathers to a Person. The call is not to a place or a system but to a Person: Christ is the gathering centre for His people.
And the heavens shall declare his righteousness; for God executeth judgment himself. Selah.
Psalm 50 reads like a courtroom scene: God calls heaven and earth as witnesses before He deals with His own people. Verse 6 closes that opening summons, and it leaves two questions — what does heaven testify to, and why does God keep the verdict in His own hands?
The trial has not started yet. The first six verses set the court up, and verse 6 finishes that setup.
Psalm 50 shows how God acts toward Israel, and the principles He acts on, at the time when He shows Himself... It is the judicial act in which the saints in covenant with God in Christ sit with Him as judges, while the Jewish people, His earthly people, are called up to answer... Up to verse 6 is the forming of the session. Then from verse 7 is the statement of the pleading on God's part.
Heaven is not just scenery here. It gives evidence, and that evidence is not the same as the sentence that follows.
Heaven is called in to stand by, a witness of righteousness, and the earth as well... The heavens bring in their display of the righteousness of God, though in the end God is seated in Zion. Note that this display is distinct in itself from His judgment... God does not judge through anyone else: He is now Judge Himself — and so He gathers His saints too.
How can the heavens declare anything? One answer points to who heaven has already received.
Also, the heavens will declare God's righteousness. How? Because the heavens have received the Lord Jesus back. That is the sign that He righteously obtained eternal redemption by His sacrifice at Calvary. So it will be evident that "God Himself is Judge" (v. 6) — God as revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. It is such a fact that calls for a "Selah," pause and consider.
What is the righteousness heaven declares? The writers below quote an older translation, which reads "The heavens shall declare His righteousness."
God's righteousness means His consistency with His character. Becoming His righteousness means our being illustrations and displays of it. And this explains the language of the Psalmist, "The heavens shall declare His righteousness."
Another writer points to the day when saved sinners are seen in glory.
For "the heavens shall indeed declare His righteousness." That will be when sinners like ourselves are seen in their place in glory, "made the righteousness of God in Him." They are there through the display of this righteousness at the cross.
The same declaration cuts two ways, depending on what a person has done with Christ.
The scene being cleared in judgment, God gathers around Him those who are in relationship with Him on the ground of sacrifice — the death of Christ. The earth has shown the unrighteousness of man. Now, at last, the heavens will declare the righteousness of God. That righteousness deals in judgment with those who reject Christ, and it blesses those who trust in Christ.
Commentators differ over who is in view here. Some take verses 5 and 6 to speak of saints already in glory.
In verses 5 and 6 there is, I have no doubt, a reference to the glorified saints. They will shine in the day of the Lord, in the glory whose light will make the earth and its people afraid... The Lamb is the Lord their Righteousness, and the heavens will convincingly reveal that righteousness. Its announcement to the earth will come from there.
Another reading takes the ones gathered in verse 5 to be Israel, with a covenant that goes back to Exodus 24, not to the cross.
Those gathered here are plainly the ones He calls His people in the seventh verse, and they are Israel. They are gathered for judgment — that is, not so that wrath may fall on them, but so that He may plead with them about their sin. And the "covenant by sacrifice" clearly refers to Exodus 24. There, as a nation, they promised to keep all the Lord's words, and the blood of the sacrifice was sprinkled on them.
- Session. Verses 1–6 form the court; from verse 7 God begins to plead His case with His people.
- Judge. God does not send anyone else to pass sentence. He takes the bench Himself, and gathers His own as He does it.
- Witness. Heaven testifies to righteousness. That testimony is not the same as the judgment that follows.
- Evidence. Heaven received Christ back after Calvary; that reception is the proof heaven declares.
- Verdict. One righteousness, two outcomes: it judges those who reject Christ and blesses those who trust Him. No wonder the verse ends with "Selah" — pause and consider.
Hear, my people, and I will speak; O Israel, and I will testify unto thee I am God, thy God.
God has called the earth from one end to the other, and now He turns to the people themselves — not as a stranger, but as their own God. This verse opens the case: He is both Judge and witness, and the nation on trial is the one He calls His own.
The first six verses set the scene. From this verse the proceedings begin:
This is the judicial act. The saints, who are in covenant with God in Christ, sit with Him on the bench. God, the God of the remnant of the Jews, speaks and comes, calling the earth from the rising of the sun to its setting. He calls up the Jewish people, His earthly company, to plead… Up to verse 6 the court is being formed. From verse 7 God states His case.
You might expect God to accuse them of neglecting worship. His complaint runs the other way:
In verse 7 the people are judged. God does not want sacrifice, He wants righteousness. He will not have wickedness, nor, now, the wicked among His people.
Another writer names what God had grown tired of:
The verses that follow declare God's testimony to Israel, reproving them for trusting in the outward form of religion. God does not reprove them in relation to their sacrifices, as if they had not brought them. God has grown weary with religious men who keep bringing sacrifices. They treat Him as if He were claiming cattle from them, or as if He were hungry and needed meat.
People can treat God the way they treat each other — with the right forms and no conscience behind them. God's long patience only fed the mistake:
God has kept silence in long patience. So the world may imagine He can be dealt with as a man is — with outward forms, sacrifices, ceremonies, and no conscience — and that God sees no further. But God sets before man what he has done… Take the man who makes offerings as though he would quiet God that way, and goes on without taking heed to Him in his conscience. God will reprove him, and set in order before him all he has done.
The words that close the verse are a claim of relationship. Judgment and mercy meet in them:
Verses 7–15 state the Lord's case as Himself the witness against His people. God affirms judgment against ungodliness, and still holds His "people" fast in the steadfast grip of a mercy that never goes back on itself. "Hear, O my people!" "I am God, your God." Israel, as a nation, is an indestructible reality. God will assert His holiness in judgment — the Lord will judge His people. But mercy is His last counsel as well as His first concerning the people of His name. It was for that nation that Christ died.
Commentators divide the psalm in different ways. One writer sets out the two audiences and the verses that belong to each:
Judgment is coming. In view of it, God here addresses first the righteous in Israel (verses 7–15), and then the wicked (verses 16–23). He encourages the righteous to hold on their way, confessing Him (verses 14–15). He urges the wicked to listen to what He says.
The psalm that follows answers the call to hear:
We have seen God speaking in Psalm 50, declaring His greatness, His righteousness and truth. Psalm 51 is all prayer to God. Giving God His place, David takes his own rightful place as a sinner through and through, dependent on the mercy of God. In Psalm 50 God had said, "Hear, O my people, and I will speak" (v.7), for He was speaking to the whole nation of Israel.
- Speaks — Verses 1–6 assemble the court; from verse 7 God states His own case against His own people.
- Testifies — The complaint is never that offerings were missing. God wants righteousness, not cattle He already owns.
- Exposes — Men read God's long silence as approval. He reaches past the ceremony to what a man has done.
- Claims — "I am God, your God" holds the nation fast even while judging it; mercy is His last word as well as His first.
- Answers — God speaks in Psalm 50. His people speak back in Psalm 51, taking the place of confession.
I will not reprove thee for thy sacrifices, or thy burnt-offerings, continually before me;
God opens His case against His own people. The surprise is where the charge does not fall: their altar was busy, their offerings never stopped. So what is He accusing them of?
The verse clears the ground. God says plainly that this is not a complaint about an empty altar. So what does He want instead?
The verses that follow declare God's testimony to Israel. He reproves them for trusting in the outward form of religion. God does not reprove them over their sacrifices, as if they had not brought them. God does not want sacrifice from man; what He demands is righteousness.
If God never wanted the animals for their own sake, why did He ask for them?
Since God is absolutely righteous, He firmly refuses some things that seem right to men... How valuable were their sacrifices of animals to Him? God did command such sacrifices in Exodus and Leviticus. But He did not command them because He desired such things. He commanded them only to show that they were all symbols of the one future sacrifice of Christ. Israel should at least have realized that they were only symbols. What they were symbols of, they no doubt did not know.
Every animal already belongs to Him. So a person can do every outward act and still hold back the one thing God asks for.
I must get the conscience with God, and Christ from God, or I have got nothing. A Jew could bow his head low and do all of that while his soul was not with God. So God treats it all with complete contempt. He says, "My son, give me your heart." "The cattle on a thousand hills" are Mine. "If I were hungry, I would not tell you." It is no use your bringing offerings: I want you, not your offerings.
Israel never stopped calling themselves God's people. Yet their giving had lost its heart. The same drift can reach Christians.
What follows has great practical power, and its principle applies directly to the Church. Israel's folly had been the diminishing of God. They forgot the rock that gave them birth, yet they did not stop thinking of themselves as the people of God. So sacrifice abounded, while mercy perished from the land... But hearts that did not know the secret of His praise grudged the incense their hands brought there. They gave in the vain hope of receiving in return. They did not know the way of Him who gives generously and does not find fault.
God does not withdraw the word "reprove" — He redirects it. He does rebuke, but not for a missing offering.
So here, as to Israel, God does not complain of a lack of sacrifices. No ceremonial religion will be in question, but wickedness. God has kept silent in long patience. So the world may imagine that He can be handled the way a man is — with outward forms, sacrifices, ceremonies, and no conscience — and that God sees no further. But God sets before man what he has done... One man may bring offerings as a way of quieting God, and go on without taking heed to Him in his conscience. God will reprove that man, and set in order before him all he has done.
God has cleared away what He does not want. Now He names what He does.
He goes on to the positive side. What He really sought was thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is the sign of conscious dependence, and of their awareness of the gifts of His generous hand. A vow was of a higher character than an offering of thanksgiving. It expressed more definite faith in God under the pressure of circumstances. God has clearly said that He does not require sacrifice. That shows what He does insist on: the New Testament sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving. With this must also be joined the faith that has to underlie it if it is real. That faith draws nearer to Him in the day of distress. It does not wander off into paths devised by one's own wisdom, and it does not give way under the pressure. With it comes the most encouraging assurance: "call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me."
- Not the altar. God's rebuke is not that offerings were missing. Israel brought them without stopping. The complaint lies somewhere the ritual never touched.
- Not the animals. He never wanted the animals themselves. They were symbols pointing to the one sacrifice of Christ.
- Not a supply. Every animal already belongs to Him. Offerings add nothing to God. He wants you, not your offerings.
- Not a substitute. Sacrifice can abound while mercy perishes. Giving can become a grudging trade instead of praise.
- What He does want. He wants thanksgiving that owns its dependence, and faith that calls on Him in trouble. His answer is the promise of deliverance, and the glory returns to Him.
I will take no bullock out of thy house, [nor] he-goats out of thy folds
God speaks here to His own people, and He opens His case by saying what it is not about. He refuses their animals first — which raises the real question: what does God look for from those who worship Him?
The charge is not that the altars had gone cold. Israel kept bringing sacrifices. That was the problem. The offerings had taken the place of the God who asked for them.
These verses give God's testimony to Israel. He rebukes them for trusting in the outward form of religion. He does not rebuke them over their sacrifices, as if they had not brought them. God does not want sacrifice from man; He demands righteousness. He has grown tired of religious men bringing sacrifice after sacrifice, as if He were claiming cattle from men, or as if He were hungry and needed meat.
Refusing their offerings is only half of God's case. The other half names what the quarrel is really about:
In Psalm 50 God summons the whole world, and pleads with His people about their wickedness. He will not accept their ceremonial offerings. But His quarrel with them is that they have not kept the law.
A bull from your house was never yours to begin with. Ask who owns the herds, and the idea of feeding God falls apart.
First He says what His case is not about. It is not about their rituals — peace-offerings or burnt-offerings. He wants no bull or goat of theirs, no flocks and no herds. Everything that exists belongs to Him, and He knows all He owns. Their thinking implied that He was limited like them, and hungry. If that were so, why would the Owner of the world bring His needs to them to meet?
If God never wanted the animals, why did He command them at all?
How much were their animal sacrifices worth to Him? God did command such sacrifices in Exodus and Leviticus. But He did not command them because He wanted such things. He commanded them to show that they were all symbols of the one future sacrifice of Christ. Israel should at least have realized that they were only symbols — though they surely did not know what the symbols pointed to.
A gift counts only when the heart is in it. What God looked for from the herds was love.
God did not want cattle, bulls, or goats. He says, "I do not depend on bulls or goats at all, if they are not a sign of the love of your heart. What I am looking for is the love that ought to be flowing." He looked for a response that matched how far He had made Himself known. But they made light of the greatest proof of what God was.
The refused bull exposes a way of thinking about God: that we can supply Him, oblige Him, put Him in our debt.
Man would like to make God a receiver instead of a giver; but this cannot be... God can accept the smallest gift from a heart that has learned the deep truth in those words, "Of your own have we given you." But the moment a man dares to take the place of the "first" giver, God's reply is, "If I were hungry, I would not tell you." ... The great Giver of "all things" cannot "need anything." Praise is all we can offer to God. And we can only offer it when we know, fully and clearly, that our sins are all put away.
God does not leave the altar empty. Two things take the place of the animals:
He goes on to the positive side. What He sought was thanksgiving, the sign of conscious dependence, and of their awareness of the gifts of His generous hand... He has plainly said that He does not require sacrifice. So what He insists on here is the New Testament "sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving." And with it must go the faith that lies underneath it, if it is real — faith that in the day of distress draws nearer to Him, instead of wandering off into paths our own wisdom invents, or giving way under the pressure.
- Refused, not missing — Israel did bring their offerings. God refused them, because outward form had replaced righteousness.
- Owned already — every animal on the altar was His before it was theirs. No one can feed the Owner of the world from His own herds.
- Symbol only — God commanded the sacrifices not because He wanted them, but because they pictured the one future sacrifice of Christ.
- Heart wanted — bulls and goats mean nothing to God unless they carry the love of the heart. He looks for a response that matches how far He has made Himself known.
- Thanks given — He asks for thanksgiving, the mark of conscious dependence. With it goes faith that draws near in trouble, instead of finding its own way out.
For every beast of the forest is mine, the cattle upon a thousand hills;
God speaks here as the owner of everything. He answers people who kept bringing Him animals, as though the altar met some need of His. If nothing on earth is outside God's ownership, what could anyone give Him? And what does He want instead?
The verse names two kinds of animals. God claims the wild ones, and also the herds men had bred and counted as their own. Even that huge number falls short.
In fact, all the beasts of the forest are His, and the cattle (the domesticated animals) on a thousand hills — a great understatement indeed! (v. 10). Birds of the mountains too, and wild beasts of the field (in contrast to the forest) belonged to God (v. 11). Did He need the few animals they might sacrifice?
God is not complaining that the sacrifices had stopped. The problem lay somewhere else.
The verses that follow declare God's testimony to Israel, rebuking them for trusting in the outward form of religion. He is not rebuking them as if they had failed to bring their sacrifices. God does not want sacrifice from man; He requires righteousness. He has grown tired of religious men who keep bringing sacrifices, as if He were claiming cattle from men, or as if He were hungry and needed meat. Every beast of the forest is His, and the cattle on a thousand hills. All the fullness of the earth is at His disposal.
Behind religious offerings often sits a quiet assumption: that we can put God in our debt.
Man can never make God his debtor, though he is always trying to. Psalm 50, Isaiah 1, and Acts 17 all prove the same thing. Man — whether Jew or Gentile — never stops trying to give something to God. But the effort is useless. God's reply to the man who tries to make Him a debtor is, "If I were hungry, I would not tell you." God must be the giver, man the receiver.
If God will not take the animals as payment, the question becomes what He is asking for. One writer puts the answer in a single sentence, and ties it to the older worship that never touched the heart.
A Jew could bow his head like a reed and do all that without his soul being with God, so God treats it all with complete contempt. He says, "My son, give Me your heart." "The cattle on a thousand hills" are Mine. "If I were hungry, I would not tell you." There is no use in your bringing offerings: I want you, not your offerings.
Since God lacks nothing, giving to Him can look pointless. One writer draws the opposite conclusion, and answers two objections from Scripture.
The cattle on a thousand hills are His, and the fullness of the earth. But Pharaoh called Israel's plan to worship God "idleness." The disciples called the spending of three hundred denarii on the body of Jesus "waste." Yet to give the Lord His own is neither idleness nor waste — the honour or the sacrifice, the love of the heart, the work of the hands, or the goods of the house. It is chief work to render to God.
The same ownership is also read as a comfort for anyone worried about resources for God's work.
The vast riches of the world — indeed, the infinite riches of the universe — belong to God… If anything is required for the service of God there is no need to go to anyone to meet the need; God will supply what is required, and we only need to ask Him for what is needed.
Verses 14 and 15 supply the positive side, and it reverses the direction of traffic entirely. Israel is not told to supply God; they are told to call on Him.
Now God makes it clear that He does not depend on them in any way. Instead He tells them to depend on Him: "Call upon Me in the day of trouble, and I will deliver you, and you shall glorify Me" (v. 15). So God takes from Israel every right to trust in what they could do for Him. He shows them to be completely dependent on His pure goodness.
The psalm's dismissal of offerings is not the end of the story. One writer moves from the empty altar to the one offering God received.
I would search the world through for sacrifices, but I cannot speak of them to You. Your loving-kindness sweeps them all away. The beasts on a thousand hills, He says, they are Mine. What then am I bringing to Him?… But now One Sacrifice has been offered, and accepted too. The blessed Lord was delivered for our offences, and raised again for our justification. In this way God has swept everything away, so that we may have to do with Him, directly with Himself.
- Owner. Wild beasts, bred herds, birds, the fullness of the earth — God owns far more than any worshipper could carry to an altar.
- Not hungry. The offerings never met a need in God. He wants righteousness, not the outward form of religion.
- Not a debtor. Man keeps trying to give God something and put Him in his debt. God must be the giver, and man the receiver.
- Not your offerings — you. The Owner of everything asks for the heart, and for a cry to Him in the day of trouble.
- Not waste. Because all is His, nothing spent on Him is thrown away. Giving Him His own is our chief work.
I know all the fowl of the mountains, and the roaming creatures of the field are mine
God is bringing a charge against His own people, and the subject is the animals they keep offering Him. Verse 11 is part of His answer. Nothing that flies or roams was ever theirs to give Him — so what were the sacrifices meant to supply?
The surprise of this section is that God does not accuse Israel of neglecting the altar. Their offerings were steady; something else was missing.
These verses declare God's testimony to Israel, reproving them for trusting in the outward form of religion. God does not reprove them in relation to their sacrifices, as if they had not brought them. God does not want sacrifice from man, He requires righteousness. God has grown weary of religious men who keep bringing sacrifices. It is as if He were claiming cattle from men, or as if He were hungry and needed meat. All the fullness of the earth is at His disposal.
Another writer shows how this decline begins.
Spiritual declension usually shows itself this way in its earlier stages. Methodical formalism takes the place of heart-devotion. Love grows cold, because the cause that stirs love in the heart is becoming daily more and more remote.
The list widens. Verse 10 named the forest and the cattle on the hills. Verse 11 adds the birds, and the wild creatures no farmer ever raised.
Was God in need of their bulls and goats? In fact, all the beasts of the forest are His, and the cattle (the domesticated animals) on a thousand hills — a great understatement indeed! Birds of the mountains too, and wild beasts of the field (in contrast to the forest) belonged to God. Did He need the few animals they might sacrifice?
God does more than own these creatures. He knows them. So no gift from Israel's flocks could supply a need in Him.
He desires no bullock or goat, no flocks or herds of theirs — He to whom all that exist belong, and who is well acquainted with all His possessions. Were He, as this implied, limited as they are, and hungry, why should the Owner of the world bring His wants to them to be satisfied?
One writer hears this verse behind the Lord's claim on a colt that belonged to someone else.
He has a right to them, for He is the Creator, and He can say as He has said: "For every beast of the forest is mine, the cattle on a thousand hills. I know all the birds of the hills, and all that moves in the field is mine." … No doubt the majestic words "The Lord has need of them" made such a deep impression on the hearts of these men that they were ready at once to let them go. They either owned the colt or had charge of it.
God has ruled out the idea that His people supply Him. He does not leave them with nothing to bring.
He goes on to the positive side. What He really sought was thanksgiving. It is the sign of conscious dependence, and of their awareness of the gifts of His generous hand. … Faith must go with it — the faith that must lie underneath thanksgiving if it is real. That faith draws nearer to Him in the day of distress. It does not wander off into paths devised by one's own wisdom, and it does not give way under the pressure.
If everything already belongs to Him, does giving become pointless? One writer answers with two examples of that mistake.
The cattle on a thousand hills are His, and the fullness of the earth. But Pharaoh treated Israel's proposal to worship God as "idleness." The disciples call the spending of three hundred denarii on the body of Jesus a "waste." But to give the Lord His own — the honour or the sacrifice, the love of the heart, the labour of the hands, or the substance of the house — is neither idleness nor waste. It is chief work to render to God.
- Owner. The hills and the fields were His first. No worshipper brings Him anything He lacks.
- Knower. He owns them and He knows them. No offering can inform Him or add to Him.
- Reproof. The charge is not too few sacrifices. It is ritual that outlives the heart-devotion that once fed it.
- Wanted. He seeks thanksgiving, the sign of conscious dependence. With it goes faith that draws nearer to Him in the day of trouble.
- Response. Because it is all His, giving Him honour, love and labour is not waste — it is the chief work a person can do.
If I were hungry, I would not tell thee; for the world is mine, and the fulness thereof.
In Psalm 50 God puts His own people on trial — not for skipping their sacrifices, but for misunderstanding them. Verse 12 answers with an impossible case: even if God could go hungry, He would not come to us, because the world is already His.
The psalm is a courtroom scene. One writer names what God is actually charging His people with:
after
Psalm 50 is God summoning all the world — pleading with His people on the ground of wickedness. He will not accept their ceremonial offerings, but the ground of His controversy is their not keeping the law.
Verse 12 is the sharp end of that argument. Their offerings assumed a God who could run short of something:
He desires no bull or goat, no flocks or herds of theirs. Everything that exists belongs to Him, and He knows all His possessions well. If He were limited as they are, and hungry, why would the Owner of the world bring His needs to them to meet?
The verse also answers an old human instinct: the effort to put God in our debt. One writer states it plainly:
after
Man can never make God his debtor, though he is always trying to. The fiftieth psalm, the first chapter of Isaiah, and the seventeenth of Acts all prove one thing. Man, whether Jew or Gentile, is always trying to give something to God. But it is a useless effort. To the man who tries this way to make God his debtor, the reply is, "If I were hungry, I would not tell you." God must be the giver, man the receiver. "Who," says the apostle, "has given a gift to Him?"
A man can perform every religious duty while his conscience has never once been honest with God:
A Jew could bow his head like a reed and do all that without his soul being with God. So God puts complete contempt on all of it. He says, "My son, give me your heart." "The cattle on a thousand hills" are Mine. "If I were hungry, I would not tell you." It is no use your bringing offerings: I want you, not your offerings. Cain worked far harder tilling the ground than Abel did over the lamb. But Cain's conscience had never been with God, and he had never seen the ruin that had come in.
The psalm then turns to what God does want:
He goes on to the positive side. What He really sought was thanksgiving, the sign of conscious dependence and of their awareness of the good things from His generous hand… With it must go the faith that underlies real thanksgiving. That faith draws nearer to Him in a day of distress. It does not wander off into paths of one's own devising, or give way under the pressure. The most encouraging assurance goes with this: "call upon Me in the day of trouble: I will deliver you, and you shall glorify Me."
Even the trouble, on this reading, serves the same purpose as the verse itself — to relocate the giving:
God completely takes away from Israel any claim to have confidence in what they could do for God, and shows them to be entirely dependent on His pure goodness. In fact, He would Himself send them trouble, so that they would call upon Him, and when He delivered them, they would glorify God — not do something for Him!
If God needs nothing, what is left to bring? One writer answers, and adds a condition:
God can accept the smallest gift from a heart that has learned the deep truth in the words, "Of your own have we given you"; but the moment a man presumes to take the place of the first giver, God's reply is, "If I were hungry, I would not tell you"; for He "is not served by human hands, as though He needed anything, since He Himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything." The great Giver of "all things" cannot possibly "need anything." Praise is all that we can offer to God; but it can only be offered in the full and clear knowledge that our sins are all put away.
The same ownership that makes our gifts unnecessary to God makes His supply certain to us:
The servant's path is one of dependence on his Lord and Master and faith in Him for material support… He has said, "The silver is mine, and the gold is mine," and "every beast of the forest is mine, the cattle on a thousand hills… the world and its fullness are mine," so it is a small thing for God to meet the needs of His servants, as many have gladly proved over the years.
- Owner — God owns the world. Bringing Him animals to meet a need He does not have makes no sense.
- Debtor — No one can put God in his debt; God must be the giver and man the receiver.
- Heart — God has only contempt for offerings from a conscience that has never been with Him. He asks for the person, not the present.
- Thanksgiving — He seeks thanksgiving, the sign of conscious dependence. With it goes faith that calls on Him in trouble.
- Praise — Praise is all we can offer, and we can offer it only when we know our sins are put away.
Should I eat the flesh of bulls, and drink the blood of goats?
In Psalm 50, God brings a charge against His own people. Here He asks a question that answers itself: does the Creator need food from their herds? Behind that question lies an idea that outlives animal altars — that worship is something we hand up to God to keep Him satisfied.
God starts with what His charge is not about. Israel's altars were busy. His complaint lay somewhere else.
First, negatively, He declares what it is not about. It is not about their ritual services — peace offerings or burnt offerings. He desires no bull or goat, no flocks or herds of theirs — He to whom everything that exists belongs, and who knows all His possessions well. If He were limited as they are, and hungry, why would the Owner of the world come to them to meet His needs? But did they really think Him an eater of bulls' flesh, or that He drank the blood of goats? What sort of people were they, in fact, who needed such arguments? But these are not ideas too crude for men, as plenty of evidence shows.
The word translated "bulls" here carries the idea of strength.
In Psalm 22:12, for "strong bulls" the word is abbir, meaning "mighty one"; it is translated "bulls" in Psalm 50:13, Psalm 68:30, Isaiah 34:7, and Jeremiah 50:11.
Even the strongest animal on the altar adds nothing to the One who already owns it.
Behind the picture of a hungry God lies an instinct that runs through every kind of religion: the wish to put God under obligation. One writer traces that instinct across both Jew and Gentile, and finds the same answer waiting for it.
Man can never make God his debtor, though he is always trying to. The fiftieth psalm, the first chapter of Isaiah, and the seventeenth of Acts all prove that the constant effort of man, whether Jew or Gentile, is to give something to God; but it is a wasted effort. The reply to man, as he tries to make God his debtor, is, "If I were hungry, I would not tell you." God must be the giver, man the receiver.
Read quickly, verses 8–13 sound like a rejection of the sacrificial system God Himself had commanded. The point is narrower and sharper than that: the problem is what the worshippers were resting on.
The verses that follow declare God's testimony to Israel, reproving them for trusting in the outward form of religion. God does not reprove them in relation to their sacrifices, as if they had not brought them. God does not want sacrifice from man, He requires righteousness. God has grown weary with religious men continually bringing sacrifices, as if He were claiming cattle from men, or as if He were hungry and needed meat.
Having said what He does not want, God says what He does.
He goes on to the positive side: what He really sought was thanksgiving, the sign of conscious dependence and of their awareness of the gifts of His generous hand… He insists on the New Testament "sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving." With it must go the faith that must underlie this if it is real. That faith draws nearer to Him in the day of distress. It does not wander off into paths devised by one's own wisdom, or give way under the pressure. The most encouraging assurance goes with this: "call upon Me in the day of trouble: I will deliver you, and you shall glorify Me."
Thanksgiving is not, then, a cheaper substitute offering we can afford. It has its own condition, and that condition is a settled conscience.
Man would gladly make God a receiver instead of a giver; but this cannot be… God can accept the smallest gift from a heart that has learned the deep truth in those words, "Of your own have we given you." But the moment a man presumes to take the place of the first giver, God's reply is, "If I were hungry, I would not tell you"… Praise is all that we can offer to God. But we can only offer it with the full and clear understanding that our sins are all put away. And we can only know that by faith in the value of an accomplished atonement.
- Owner, not eater. The question about eating bulls' flesh is an argument from ownership. Everything on the altar was already His, so no gift can meet a need in Him.
- Strength included. The word for "bulls" carries the idea of "mighty one" — even the strongest gift on the altar leaves God no richer.
- No debtors. Man keeps trying to give God something and put Him in his debt. God insists on being the giver and man the receiver.
- Form on trial. God did not complain that Israel brought too few sacrifices. They leaned on the outward form, while He was looking for righteousness.
- Thanks instead. He sought thanksgiving instead: dependence said out loud. It springs from faith that calls on Him in trouble, from hearts that know their sins are put away.
Offer unto God thanksgiving, and perform thy vows unto the Most High;
Psalm 50 is a courtroom scene: God states His case against His own people. Their sacrifices were not missing — the heart behind them was, and verse 14 names what He wants instead.
The verses just before make God's independence plain. The problem was never a shortage of animals on the altar.
These verses give God's testimony to Israel. He reproves them for trusting in the outward form of religion. He does not reprove them over their sacrifices, as if they had not brought any. God does not want sacrifice from man; He asks for righteousness. He has grown weary of religious men who keep bringing sacrifices, as if He were claiming cattle from men, or as if He were hungry and needed meat. Every beast of the forest is His, and the cattle on a thousand hills. All the fullness of the earth is at His disposal.
Offerings piled up while the heart behind them drained away. One writer traces this to a shrinking view of God, and to a hidden motive in the giving.
Israel's folly had been to make God small. They forgot the rock that gave them birth, yet they never stopped thinking of themselves as the people of God. So sacrifice abounded, while mercy perished from the land. They drew near in His courts. They said, "The temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord." But hearts that did not know the secret of His praise grudged the incense their hands brought there. They gave in the empty hope of getting something back. They did not know the ways of the One who gives generously and does not find fault.
Thanksgiving is not a smaller substitute for sacrifice. It is what sacrifice was meant to express, and the vow ranks higher still.
He goes on to the positive side. What He sought was thanksgiving. It is the sign of conscious dependence, and of their recognition of the gifts of His generous hand. A vow stood higher than an offering of thanksgiving. It expressed more positive faith in God under the pressure of circumstances. The clear statement already made, that sacrifice is not required, shows that He insists on the New Testament "sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving." Faith must underlie that praise if it is real: the faith which in the day of distress draws nearer to Him, instead of wandering off into paths devised by one's own wisdom, or giving way under the pressure.
The next verse tells them to call on Him in the day of trouble. That shows which way this exchange runs, and one writer marks how vows stand for us today.
What then did God really expect from them? Simply thankful and dependent hearts (vv. 14-15). He rightly expected the sacrifice of honest thanksgiving, and honesty in paying their vows. Today, under grace, we are told not even to make vows (Matt. 5:33-34). But when Israel made vows, they were guilty if they did not keep them. Now God makes it clear that He does not in any way depend on them. He instructs them to depend on Him... In fact, He would Himself send them trouble, so that they would call upon Him. When He delivered them, they would glorify God — not do something for Him!
Because praise gives God His place, it turns out to be where a believer's power lies.
We find the spirit of praise is the spirit of power. It must be so, because God is exalted in it. It is what the fiftieth psalm asks from His people on His part: "Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving, and perform your vows to the Most High… whoever offers praise glorifies Me." This marks the life that comes from God: it turns back to God again. And the joy of the Lord is always its principle of strength. A simple lesson, but, oh, that it were learned!
The same offering shapes the whole Christian life, and it runs in one direction only.
A Christian life is a sacrifice of praise to God in which the infinite value of the Lord Jesus Christ is confessed to Him. It is a sacrifice of praise to God, the heart thanking God for what He has done. Not a new claim upon God, not a claim at all; but the answer to God's claim, the answer of praise to Him for all that He has done for us.
- He owns it — every beast of the forest and the cattle on a thousand hills are already His. No offering can meet a need in God.
- He wants thanks — thanksgiving shows a heart that depends on Him and sees what His generous hand gives.
- He wants it kept — the vow ranks higher, because it is faith speaking under pressure. Israel was guilty if a vow went unpaid.
- He wants the call — trouble comes so that we call on Him. He delivers, and He gets the glory. He never depends on us.
- He is glorified — praise answers God's claim; it never makes one. The life that turns back to Him finds His joy as its strength.
And call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.
Psalm 50 is God's case against people whose religion had become routine — sacrifices at the altar while the heart stayed far away. Then comes verse 15, where God asks nothing but a cry for help.
The verses just before strip away any idea that God is fed or supplied by what people bring Him.
The verses that follow declare God's testimony to Israel, reproving them for trusting in the outward form of religion. He is not reproving them for failing to bring sacrifices. God does not want sacrifice from man; what He asks for is righteousness. God is weary of religious men who keep bringing sacrifices, as if He were claiming cattle from men, or as if He were hungry and needed meat. Every beast of the forest is His, and the cattle on a thousand hills.
So what does God want instead? One writer sees Him stripping Israel of every claim, and putting dependence in its place.
Now God makes it clear that He does not depend on them in any way. Instead, He tells them to depend on Him (v. 15). So God takes away from Israel every right to trust in what they could do for God. He shows them to be wholly dependent on His pure goodness. In fact, He would Himself send them trouble, so that they would call on Him. When He delivered them, they would glorify God — not do something for Him!
One writer points to two sisters who took their trouble straight to Jesus, and warns us against turning anywhere else.
In their time of trouble, the sisters turned to their divine Friend. Jesus was a sure resource for them, as He is for all His tested ones — wherever they are, however they are, whoever they are. "Call upon Me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you shall glorify Me." We make a most serious mistake when, in any time of need or pressure, we turn to people or things for help or sympathy. We are sure to be disappointed. Those streams run dry. Those supports give way.
Real thanks rests on faith, and trouble shows which way that faith turns.
The thanksgiving He asks must be joined with the faith that underlies it, if it is real — the faith which in the day of distress draws nearer to Him instead of wandering off in paths devised by one's own wisdom, or giving way under the pressure.
Sometimes the trouble is our own doing. King Jehoshaphat's was, and he still called.
Jehoshaphat had put himself into a completely false position. He had linked himself with the most ungodly of Israel's kings… No wonder, then, that the Syrian captains mistook him for Ahab. But at his very lowest point — in the very shadow of death — "he cried out." That cry went up to the gracious and ever-attentive ear of Jehovah, who had said, "Call upon Me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you." Precious grace!
Daniel and his companions faced a death sentence in a foreign land. They prayed this promise together.
Counting on God, Daniel associated his companions with himself in his prayers. It is the first instance of united prayer recorded in Scripture. That these children of the captivity turned to it shows us the secret of their holy and separate walk… They were only foreigners in a strange land, exiled for the sins of their nation. Now they faced a speedy death, unless the forgotten dream could be recalled and interpreted. But they knew the One they were dealing with, the One who had said in their own Scriptures, "Call upon Me in the day of trouble: I will deliver you, and you shall glorify Me."
The promise sets no timetable. A delay does not mean it has failed.
The evil has risen so high that escape seems impossible. Even so, God remains the solid Rock on which the godly may fully depend… An answer may be delayed for a time, but this is only a test of faith, to move the heart to keep praying.
- He needs nothing. Every beast and every hill is already His. Routine sacrifices give Him nothing He asked for.
- So He asks trust. He looks for thanks and dependence — a heart that leans on His goodness, not one that supplies His needs.
- Call first. Other helpers and our own plans run dry. Verse 15 sends you past them, straight to God.
- He delivers. Jehoshaphat cried out from a mess of his own making, and God heard him. Daniel and his companions pleaded this promise under a death sentence, and God answered.
- You glorify Him. God may send the trouble Himself, so the rescue is His alone. The praise then goes back to Him — never to anything we did for Him.
But unto the wicked God saith, What hast thou to do to declare my statutes, or that thou shouldest take my covenant into thy mouth,
In Psalm 50, God speaks as judge over His own people. At verse 16 He turns to the wicked man who recites His law, and asks what right he has to say the words.
Here God turns to the man whose words and intentions do not match.
Too often people put on a religious appearance that deceives others, but certainly does not deceive God. He says to such people, "What right have you to recite my statutes or take my covenant on your lips?" (v. 16). One may easily declare to others what God says to them, but with no intention of acting on what he teaches. This is contemptible arrogance, for the person himself hates instruction and casts God's words behind his back (v. 17).
The verse fixes on the mouth. One writer explains why speech gives a person away.
A barren profession may exist, sadly, alongside hatred of correction and a contemptuous rejection of the words of God. The heart takes secret delight in what it may never indulge openly, because fences around people can hinder that. The tongue is always freer than the steps, and it shows what the heart is set on.
Nobody arrives at this condition in one step. One writer traces the earlier stages of the decline.
Spiritual decline usually shows itself this way in its earlier stages. Methodical formalism takes the place of heart-devotion. Love grows cold, because the thing that stirs love in the heart is becoming more and more distant every day. Love is of God; God is love. Outside His presence it cannot survive, and faith alone keeps us there.
The same writer notes what such people never stopped believing about themselves:
Israel's folly had been the belittling of God. They forgot the rock that gave them birth. Yet they never stopped thinking of themselves as the people of God. So sacrifice was plentiful, while mercy vanished from the land.
From verse 16 on, the words change shape. They no longer name a nation. They speak to wickedness itself, as if to one person.
Here wickedness is spoken to as if it were one person. That makes the direct appeal to conscience clearer and stronger. A form of godliness combined with an excess of selfish wickedness is a fatal symptom. It shows that the closing days have come.
To recite God's statutes is to teach others. That raises the stakes.
He had a conscience that condemned evil in others, as the Gentiles did. But he also had the Word of God, so he taught others about good and evil. Yet he did not keep what he gloried in teaching. This is the most plainly displayed guilt of all. To teach the truth is more than to know it, so the responsibility of the teacher is a grave one indeed.
What about the prayers of such a person? One writer draws the contrast between whom God ignores and whom He hears.
If people deliberately turn from God and throw His words behind them, He is silent towards them, whatever they claim to be (see Ps. 50:16-22). On the other hand, God listens to the cry of the most unlikely and undeserving. We see this in how the One who said, "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father," lived in this world. He proved Himself to be "kind to the ungrateful and the evil."
- Mouth. God challenges the right to speak His words. A man may recite them with no intention of acting on them. That is arrogance, not piety.
- Heart. The tongue moves more freely than the feet. So an empty profession can sit beside a hatred of correction, and the speech shows where the heart is.
- Drift. People drift here; they do not decide it. Routine religion replaces heart-devotion, love cools, and sacrifice multiplies while mercy disappears.
- Reach. God speaks to wickedness as if to one person, which sharpens the appeal to conscience. A form of godliness joined to selfish wickedness marks the closing days.
- Silence. Those who throw God's words behind them meet a God who does not answer; the ungrateful and evil who cry to Him find He does.
Seeing thou hast hated correction and hast cast my words behind thee?
In Psalm 50 God judges His own people, and here He turns to the man who recites His covenant but lives against it. Verse 17 says why that mouth has no right to speak: it has thrown away the words it repeats to others.
Verse 17 answers a challenge God has just made about who may recite His statutes.
Too often people put on a religious appearance that deceives others, but certainly does not deceive God. He says to such people, "What right have you to recite my statutes or take my covenant on your lips?" (v. 16). One may easily declare to others what God says to them, but with no intention of acting on what he teaches. This is contemptible arrogance, for the person himself hates instruction and casts God's words behind his back (v. 17).
The discipline this man hates is correction. So why can his outward life still look respectable?
An empty profession may exist, sadly, alongside hatred of correction and contemptuous rejection of the words of God. The heart finds its secret delight in what it may never act out openly, for there are fences put around men which may prevent this. The tongue will always be freer than the steps here, and shows what the heart is set on.
Long silence from God can look like approval. Verse 17 shows what He was watching all along.
No ceremonial religion will be in question, but wickedness. Because God had kept silent in long patience, the world may imagine He can be dealt with as a man is. Outward forms, sacrifices and ceremonies will do, with no conscience, as if God sees no further. But God sets before man what he has done.
What does God accept instead, and what becomes of the covenant this man claims?
Thanksgiving, uprightness and calling on God are the only things He recognises. As for the wicked, God refuses to deal with them on the ground of covenant at all. They are marked out by their rejection of His words, and by lust, lying and slander.
This verse also shapes what happens when such a person prays.
Clearly, if men deliberately turn from God and cast His words behind them, He is silent to them, whatever they profess (see Ps. 50:16-22). Yet God just as clearly listens to the cry of the most unlikely and undeserving. We see it in the life of the One who said, "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father." He indeed proved Himself to be "kind to the ungrateful and the evil."
The warning is not limited to Israel of that day.
Verses 16-22 connect closely with what comes before, but they apply more widely. The psalm speaks to wickedness as though it were a single person, which makes the appeal to conscience sharper and more forceful... When a form of godliness is joined to an excess of selfish wickedness, that is a fatal sign. The closing days of the long-drawn-out age of grace have come (2 Tim. 3).
That widens the verse past obvious frauds, and one writer presses the word hypocrisy further still.
The word hypocrisy is usually taken to mean a false profession of religion. It does mean that, but it means much more. Quiet agreement with principles that do not govern the conduct deserves the name of hypocrisy. Looking at it this way, we may all find cause for deep humbling before the Lord. How often do we listen to truth and appear to agree with it fully, and yet its power never shows in the life. It does not govern the conduct.
- Mouth — Reciting God's statutes costs nothing. The psalm asks what right a man has to speak words he never means to obey.
- Heart — What he hates is correction. Outward restraints may hold the conduct for a while, but the tongue shows where the heart is really set.
- Ceremony — God's quarrel is not with missing sacrifices. It is with religion carried on with no conscience, as if He saw no further than the forms.
- Covenant — A man who rejects God's words cannot claim God's covenant. God withdraws the ground he stands on.
- Silence — God answers thrown-away words with silence. Yet the same God hears the cry of the most undeserving. So the warning ends as an appeal, not a verdict.
When thou sawest a thief, thou didst take pleasure in him, and thy portion was with adulterers;
God has just turned to the person who recites His covenant but lives another life. Verse 18 is the first item on the charge sheet, and it raises an uncomfortable question: can a man be guilty of crimes he never committed?
The verse does not target open criminals. It targets religious people, and it starts by questioning their right to speak for God.
Too often people put on a religious appearance that deceives others, but certainly does not deceive God. He says to such people, "What right have you to recite my statutes or take my covenant on your lips?" (v. 16). A person can easily tell others what God says, while having no intention of obeying it himself. That is contemptible arrogance, because he himself hates instruction and throws God's words behind his back (v. 17).
So their character, not their covenant standing, decides how God deals with them.
God refuses to deal with the wicked on the ground of the covenant at all. What marks them out is their rejection of His words, together with lust, lying, and slander.
The wording is careful. It does not accuse these people of stealing or adultery. It accuses them of enjoying those who do — and God counts that as guilt.
The people who professed to belong to God kept up a round of religious ceremonies. Yet they hated instruction and treated His words with contempt. They might not be guilty of any gross sin, such as stealing. But they took pleasure in a thief, and they had shared with adulterers, if only in mind and imagination. They used their mouths for evil-speaking, deceit, and slander.
Why does the psalm name theft and adultery? Both belong to the commandments about how we treat other people. That part of the law follows the heart.
The practical life will be what the heart is, and the second table of the law shares the fortunes of the first. Sadly, an empty profession can go together with hatred of correction and contempt for the words of God. The heart finds its secret delight in what it may never indulge openly, because there are fences around men that may hold them back. The tongue will always run freer than the steps, and it shows where the heart is set.
Read alongside what follows it in the psalm, verse 18 describes a man who has simply stopped asking who he stands with — and the pull is usually gain.
Such people will easily take part with a thief if they see any prospect of personal profit, and they will not hold back from joining with adulterers. So the question of his associations means nothing to him (v. 18).
The same charge reaches the company we keep now. Tolerating known wrong in someone else is not neutral ground.
One of the charges God brings against Israelites is, "If you see a thief, you are pleased with him, and you keep company with adulterers." We must refuse evil: first in ourselves, and second in others. We cannot tolerate wicked doctrine or wicked conduct.
Why does this life feel safe? Because nothing happens. But God has not stopped watching what a man does.
God has kept silence in long patience. So the world may imagine it can handle Him the way it handles a man: with outward forms, sacrifices and ceremonies, and no conscience. It may imagine that God sees no further. But God sets before man what he has done. Someone may make offerings as though that would quiet God, and go on without taking any notice of Him in his conscience. God will reprove that man, and set in order before him all he has done. If that happens here, it is for his salvation. If it happens in judgment, there is no one to deliver him.
- Profession — God's charge falls on people who recite His covenant and hate correction. A religious front fools others, not God.
- Pleasure — The sin here is not theft or adultery. It is taking pleasure in the thief and sharing with the adulterer — even if only in mind and imagination.
- Heart — Fences can keep the hands clean while the heart keeps its secret delight. The tongue runs freer than the steps, and it shows where the heart is set.
- Company — The hope of profit makes such friendships easy, until a man stops caring who he stands with. Refuse evil first in yourself, then in others.
- Reckoning — People mistake God's long silence for agreement. But He will set before a man everything he has done — now, for his salvation, or in judgment, where no one can deliver him.
Thou lettest thy mouth loose to evil, and thy tongue frameth deceit;
God speaks here as a judge listing evidence. After naming the company the wicked man keeps (v. 18), He turns to the man's speech. There are two charges: what he hands over to his mouth, and what his tongue builds. Both belong to a man who still keeps up a religious profession.
The verse shows a man who no longer guards what he says. Then it goes further: he uses his speech as a tool. One writer takes the phrases in turn:
He will give his mouth to evil. He has no concern about guarding his lips. Instead he speaks what is harmful and frames deceit — that is, he plans deception on purpose (v. 19), even against his closest relatives (v. 20).
The second half is not careless talk. He plans it.
Why does God point at speech? Outward behaviour can be fenced in. The tongue is not. That makes words the clearest evidence of what a man loves:
Sadly, an empty profession can sit alongside hatred of correction and scornful rejection of God's words. The heart finds its secret delight in things it may never indulge in the open. There are fences put around men that can block that. The tongue will always be freer than the steps, and it shows where the heart is set. Yet with a mouth let loose in evil, the tongue will cover that license with deceit. Often nothing looks more like righteousness than the voice of slander. It is never far from a ready announcement of someone else's evil — while the one announcing it really enjoys that evil.
Notice what the deceit does: it dresses up the evil. A slanderer can speak in a tone that sounds like concern for what is right.
So does a religious profession count for anything? One summary of the psalm answers plainly:
God refuses to deal with the wicked on the ground of covenant at all. What marks them is the rejection of His words, along with lust, lying, and slander (compare verses 19, 20).
Lying and slander stand there beside lust as the marks that settle the case. God reads the mouth as a description of the man.
Many readers expect God's complaint against Israel to be about neglected offerings. One writer shows the real contrast:
…divine judgment is carried out, and this brings in other matters too. There is the contrast between ceremonial religion, which God may have ordered in His goodness to man, and that practical righteousness which God must have to own man… So here, as to Israel, God does not complain about a lack of sacrifices. No ceremonial religion will be in question, but wickedness. Because God had kept silent in long patience, the world may imagine He can be handled as a man is — with outward forms, sacrifices, ceremonies, and no conscience — and that God sees no further. But God sets before man what he has done.
A smooth religious routine proves nothing while the tongue frames deceit. God's long silence is not His approval.
This is not only a portrait of someone else. One writer applies the same danger to believers today:
And our hearts are no better than the hearts of the believers of old. We too sometimes dwell on things of bad report. The next result, of course, is to speak evil of the person concerned — because out of the fullness of the heart the mouth speaks. So we become slanderers, and we are doing the devil's own work, helping him. We all do well to remember that the Bible says: Remind them… to speak evil of no one (Titus 3:1-2). And again, Do not speak evil against one another, brothers (James 4:11).
Slander does not stay inside someone else's psalm. It starts with what we choose to dwell on.
- Mouth given. The first fault is surrender — no guard on the lips, so harmful speech flows out.
- Tongue framed. The second fault is design — he plans the deceit, and aims it at his closest relatives.
- Heart exposed. The tongue runs freer than the feet. So it shows where the heart really is, even when behaviour is fenced in.
- Covenant void. A man who recites God's words while he lies and slanders gets no covenant standing with God.
- Sacrifice useless. God's complaint is not about missing offerings. It is about wickedness. Ceremony never replaces practical righteousness.
Thou sittest [and] speakest against thy brother, thou revilest thine own mother's son
Psalm 50 is a courtroom scene. God comes to judge His own people, and verse 20 is the sharpest charge on the list: a religious man sitting down to attack his own brother.
The psalm does not treat everyone alike. It sorts the people into two groups, and this verse belongs to the second.
God comes to judge them, and all the heavenly saints come with Him. In this way the heavens will declare His righteousness (v. 6). In view of that coming judgment, God speaks first to the righteous in Israel (vv. 7-15), and then to the wicked (vv. 16-23). He encourages the first group to keep on their way and to keep confessing Him (vv. 14-15). He urges the second group to listen to what He says.
These people are religious. They keep the forms. What exposes them is not the altar but the tongue. They may never have done these things with their hands.
They kept up a round of religious ceremonies. Yet these people, who claimed to be God's own, hated instruction and treated God's words with contempt. They might not be guilty of any gross sin, such as stealing. But they took pleasure in a thief, and had shared with adulterers, if only in mind and imagination. They had used their mouth for evil-speaking, deceit, and slander.
Sitting down to speak against a brother is not a slip of the tongue. The mouth is handed over to evil, and the deceit is planned.
He gives his mouth to evil. He takes no care to guard his lips. He speaks what is harmful and frames deceit — that is, he plans the deception on purpose (v. 19) — even against his closest relatives (v. 20). This is the case of "deceiving and being deceived." People like this deceive themselves into thinking they are right, and that God does not care about their gross evil!
Why is this sin so easy to miss in ourselves? Because it does not look like malice. It looks like a stand for what is right.
The mouth is let loose in evil, and the tongue covers that freedom with deceit. Often nothing looks more like righteousness than the voice of slander. Slander is never far from the eager spreading of another's evil, and that is what the slanderer truly enjoys.
The psalm names a brother, a mother's son. Closeness makes us feel free to say anything about each other, and that freedom is exactly what needs a guard.
There is neither truth nor love in running someone down, but a constant risk of false witness... Being close to someone makes us feel free to speak about them. That closeness should press us to be more careful, not less. "Do not speak against one another, brothers." At times we must plead with a person or correct him. But angry put-downs, and above all habitual ones, are unworthy of those who bear the Lord's name.
The remedy is not silence about wrong. It is a change of direction: say the hard thing to the person's face, and the good thing behind his back.
"The backbiter injures three people: himself, the one who listens, and the person he is talking about." If I have a fault to find with someone, he should be the very first to hear of it. How few of us do this! ... "I am determined," said an old saint, "never to speak of a man's virtues to his face, or of his faults behind his back." ... If we see anything wrong in a person, let us go straight to him and speak plainly. And if we have nothing good to say about him, let us kindly draw the curtain of silence around him.
Nothing happened. No lightning fell. People took that silence as approval, and they were wrong.
God kept silent and bore with them patiently. So men thought that all was well, and that outward religious ceremonies satisfied God, just as they satisfied themselves. When, however, God speaks, He raises the question of man's unrighteousness. "These things you have done." Man's religion is one of outward forms with nothing to disturb the conscience. God begins with the conscience, and raises the question, "What have you done?"
- Profession. These people keep the religious forms. Their religion is real enough to perform, but too shallow to touch the conscience.
- Tongue. The evidence God brings is not stolen goods but speech: evil-speaking, deceit and slander from a mouth that also keeps the forms.
- Disguise. Slander is hard to spot in yourself. It sounds like a stand for righteousness, while it really enjoys another's fall.
- Family. The closer the tie, the freer the speech feels. And the closer the tie, the more care it demands. Here the slander has reached a brother.
- Reckoning. Men mistook God's long silence for agreement. When He speaks, He starts with the conscience: "What have you done?"