Psalms 77:2–6

In the earlier verses (2-9) we hear the language of a soul humbled under the mighty hand of God. There it learns the bitter lesson of the creature's emptiness and wretchedness under sin, and learns it deeply and thoroughly. Yet the groundwork of this soul-exercise is faith: "I sought the Lord." But a person who has wandered from the presence of God must pass through self-judgment on the way back. That process overshadows faith's proper action in the heart, and for a while it paralyzes it.

Psalm 77:2, "My sore ran and ceased not." What is the meaning of the word translated "sore"? A better translation has been proposed: "my hand at night was stretched out, and does not cease" — that is, he continued in prayer.

His hand (not his sore) had been stretched out in the night, and did not slacken; his soul refused to be comforted. He remembered past times of joy. They served only to contrast his present state with days when singing in the night was fitting. Songs were all banished now. Nothing but prayer, earnest continued prayer, suited him. But prayer seems unanswered.

We think that in doing so we are seeking the Lord, as Asaph did, for he says, "In the day of my trouble I sought the Lord." In fact, though, he was looking for some point of rest and comfort in himself. He goes on to tell us, "I remembered God, and was troubled." Think of that! You would expect that a believer could not think of God without a song on his lips. No, he remembered God, and was troubled. He did remember God, but what filled the vision of his soul was himself.

There is no comfort here, because God is remembered only as a witness, in holiness, to His creature's guilt and helplessness. Self is the subject that absorbs the thoughts. So God, when remembered, becomes the disturber of the soul instead of its light and confidence, because He is seen through a burdened conscience.

How many of us have had an experience like Asaph's? The easy-going and the worldly-minded among believers are not troubled in this way. They are not eager enough to please the Lord, not earnest enough, to face things. The careful and conscientious believer is the one plunged into these distresses. They are the ones who look within their own hearts, and are filled with grief at what they find.

The fountains of grace are in God; they flow out to meet the sinner in the word of His grace. What the tried soul needs for its relief is "contained in Scripture." The battered Christian knows this well. Light and joy return to the sin-burdened spirit of the self-condemned believer only when the heart turns away from dissecting itself. It must look instead at Him in whom the brightness of the Father's glory shines in loving mercy on us, as the effect of His atoning work.

In verses 2 to 6, it was all "my" — my this, that and the other. In verses 10 to 20, it is all "Your" — Your years … Your wonders … Your work … Your way … Your strength … Your arm … Your path … Your footsteps. Look at God's things, and there is deliverance, blessing and strength — after the weakness and humiliation of looking at our own.

We think that in doing so we are seeking the Lord, as Asaph did, for he says, "In the day of my trouble I sought the Lord." In fact, he was looking for some point of rest and comfort in himself... Think of that! You would expect that a saint could not think of God without a song on his lips. No. He remembered God and was troubled, because even while he remembered God, what filled the view of his soul was nothing but himself.

Here there is no comfort at all, because God is remembered only as a witness, in holiness, of His creature's guilt and helplessness. Self is the one subject that fills the thoughts. So God, when remembered, no longer gives the soul its light and confidence. He becomes the one who disturbs it, because the man sees Him through a burdened conscience. The soul does feel that power belongs to Him. But that sense only completes its collapse of heart.

When the self-judging spirit thinks of God apart from the word of His grace, God is not, and cannot be, the object of hopeful faith. He is where the conscience ends, in fear. Nothing drives fear out of the heart of a born-again man except the enjoyment of grace, really known. And grace can never be worked out from the inward experience of a heart that judges itself by the truth. The fountains of grace are in God; they flow to meet the sinner in the word of His grace.

Note the difference between crying out loud to God and talking things over in your own heart. While the second went on, his spirit was overwhelmed. The first gave up self and owned its dependence, and God listened to the cry. Everything that went on inside him before was genuine, yet it produced trouble — his earlier song, and his thinking of the Lord alike. But when the cry brought God in, His ways of old reassured the heart.

You might have imagined that it would lead him to a deep and complete distrust of himself. But verses 7, 8 and 9 show him tangled in a loss of all confidence in God. In his mind he argued from himself to God, from his own feelings to God's feelings. That, of course, is the principle of law and not of grace. He felt that if he had slid shamefully away from God, then God would be likely to cast him off.

In verses 2 to 6, it was all, "my" — my this, that and the other. In verses 10 to 20, it is all "Your" — "Your years… Your wonders… Your work… Your doings… Your way… Your strength… Your arm… Your arrows… Your thunder… Your path… Your footsteps." What deliverance, what blessing, what strength there is in looking at God's things, after the weakness and humiliation of looking at our own.

Clearly, when Asaph wanted to sleep, he thought that God was holding his eyes open. But it was his own worry that caused this. He was in effect fighting with himself, so troubled that he could not speak (v. 4).

"I complained, and my spirit was overwhelmed." He felt crushed beneath a load that he could not support. "You hold my eyelids open; I am so troubled that I cannot speak." He could find no words to express his inward misery.

He details his miserable experience. He analyses his miserable feelings. He looks back with longing to the brighter experiences of earlier days. He speaks of "my trouble … my sore … my soul … my spirit … my eyes … my song in the night [which he used to sing] … my own heart." It is all himself.

"You hold my eyelids open," he says: "I am so troubled that I cannot speak." His mind is full of the history of man, of "the days of old — the years of ancient times." God's dealings with men are working on him. From these he turns to review his own experience. He remembers his "music in the night," but he is not in the mood for music now.

Take a spirit that is only judging itself, and thinks of God apart from the word of His grace. To that spirit God is not, and cannot be, the object of hopeful faith. He is only where the conscience ends, in fear. Nothing drives fear out of the heart of a person born again except the enjoyment of grace, actually felt. And you can never work grace out from what a heart finds inside itself when it judges itself by the truth.

The easy-going, the worldly-minded among believers are not troubled in this way. They are not keen enough to be well pleasing to the Lord, not earnest enough to face things. These distresses fall on the careful and conscientious believer. They are the ones who look within their own hearts, and are filled with grief at what they find.

Searching our own hearts will only lay bare how helpless and sinful those hearts are. That work ends up raising the questions of verses 7-9.

He puts the matter very briefly — "And I said, This is my infirmity" (v. 10). It seems he had been treating it as a virtue. He acted as though there was something pious, and almost holy, in this constant moaning over his own faults. But now he became conscious that it was in no way a virtue but an infirmity, a weakness. A great discovery this, for it broke the kind of spell it had cast on his mind.

Once he had to say, "I am so troubled that I cannot speak." He looked back to a song in the night that had once been his, but which now was only a dim memory. Now, meditating on all the work of the Lord, he found his tongue once more. He had found something that gave him a worthy theme. "I will … talk," he said, "of Your doings."

He tells us in verses 5 and 6 the things that had been occupying his thoughts. "I have considered the days of old, the years of ancient times." I have been thinking about history long past. Older Christians often get troubled like this. They think the earlier days were far better than these… We find that Asaph had known brighter days himself. His circumstances had been better, and his soul had been brighter too.

He is taken up with the history of man, with "the days of old, the years of ancient times." God's dealings with men are working on him. From these he turns to look over his own experience. He remembers his "music in the night," but he has no heart for music now. He is busy talking with his own heart, and his spirit searches hard. Yet through all of this he still finds no rest.

Yet he had considered the days of old, the years of ancient times, no doubt wondering why God did not step in for him as He did for Israel long ago (v. 5)… If he had meditated on the truth of the Word of God, how much more fruitful that would have been! Searching our own hearts only exposes how helpless and sinful those hearts are, so this kind of searching ends up raising the questions of verses 7-9.

We have only to read the first six verses to see that Asaph began this Psalm completely taken up with himself. He spells out his miserable experience. He analyzes his miserable feelings. He looks back with longing to the brighter days of earlier times. He speaks of "my trouble … my sore … my soul … my spirit … my eyes … my song in the night [which he used to sing] … my own heart." It is all himself.

Note that there is a difference between crying out to God with the voice and talking things over with your own heart. While the second went on, his spirit was overwhelmed. The first gave up all claim on self and admitted dependence, and God listened to the cry. Everything that went on inside him before, though genuine, produced trouble — his earlier song, and his thinking about the Lord alike. But when the cry brought God in, His ways of old reassured his heart.

Before, he had "the years of ancient times" in front of him, clearly tied to his own experiences. Now he has "the years of the right hand of the Most High" in front of him. We spend our years like a story that is told, whether in ancient times or today. His years run through all generations, for from everlasting to everlasting He is God.

God stepped in for Israel long ago, and that is a lesson to study right to the end. That nation once experienced redemption by power. Could God drop those whom He has redeemed? Impossible. By redeeming power at the Red Sea, God became their God, and they became His people… He was a saint, and one of that redeemed nation, so how could God forsake him? He should expect deliverance, even if he could not see how it would come.

Job 30:9, "I am their song"; Psalm 69:12; 77:6, song; Isaiah 38:20; Lamentations 3:14 and 5:14, music. "On my stringed instruments" (margin, neginoth) shows the meaning clearly enough. The verb is to strike the strings.

We find that Asaph had known brighter days himself. When his circumstances were better, his soul was brighter too. "Let me remember my song in the night." I was so happy. I remembered when I could lie awake on my bed and sing to God. "Let me meditate in my heart." "Then my spirit made a diligent search." Yes, but in what direction? Clearly within.

The easy-going and the worldly-minded among believers are not troubled in this way. They are not keen enough to please the Lord, and not earnest enough, to face things. It is the careful and conscientious believer who is plunged into these distresses. They are the ones who look inside their own hearts, and they grieve at what they find.

Like Job, he meditated in his heart, but this brought no answer to a distressed heart. How much more fruitful it would have been to meditate on the truth of the Word of God! Searching our own hearts will only expose how helpless and sinful those hearts are. So this work leads to the questions raised in verses 7-9.

When a self-judging spirit thinks of God apart from the word of His grace, God is not, and cannot be, the object of hopeful faith. He is where the conscience ends in fear. Nothing drives fear out of the heart of a born-again person except the enjoyment of grace. And grace can never be worked out from the inward experience of a heart that judges itself by the truth. The springs of grace are in God, and they flow out to meet the sinner in the word of His grace.

Can we not say that it was the sense of the Lord's presence in the Philippian prison that made Paul and Silas sing "songs in the night"? If the Lord was not the object of their praise here, He was the subject of it, as He always must be. So they sang aloud, making melody in their hearts. They were not like those who sing "songs to a heavy heart". The presence of the Lord makes even "the tongue of the mute sing for joy."

In verses 2 to 6, it was all "my" — my this, my that and my other. In verses 10 to 20, it is all "Your". "Your years… Your wonders… Your work… Your doings… Your way… Your strength… Your arm… Your arrows… Your thunder… Your path… Your footsteps." What deliverance, what blessing, what strength there is in looking at God's things, after the weakness and humiliation of looking at our own.