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.