Time is a funny thing. For one, it is the constant we all live under. Time moves at the same rate. The second hand on the atomic clock does not speed up or slow down. Hours cannot be lost or added. We are subject to the never-ending march of the clock. The way we experience time can be drastically different, however. How was your vacation? “It was a terrific week, but it flew by.” How did it go washing dishes? “The hour drug on like it wouldn’t end.” An entire week of happiness feels briefer than a single onerous hour. The pace of time did not change, but it sure felt like it. This is the twilight zone of time. Bad times sloth along while wonderful seasons rabbit by. It is as if the more you pay attention to the clock the slower it passes. And Psalm 30 labors under this perception of time, and the result of its struggle reveals to us that reality can be quite different from our perception.

The heading for this psalm is a tad curious. It is a psalm set to musical instruments penned by David—this is typical—but an occasion for this song is given: the dedication of the temple, or literally the house. House could refer to the royal palace. This could be the dedication of David’s palace in Jerusalem. Yet, house is the regular term for the temple. Besides, we possess little data about the dedication of normal homes in the Old Testament (Deut 20:5). Thus, the dedication of the temple is the most natural reading of the line. This, however, raises questions. How could David write a song for the temple when it was not built until about a decade or more after he died? Solomon dedicated the temple not David. We do know that after God told David that his son would construct the sanctuary, he made a bunch of preparations for it. David stored up riches, plans, and worship organization for Solomon’s building project. Therefore, it is perfectly fitting that David wrote some music for his son to use at the dedication.

Yet, this stirs up another curiosity about the content. How does theme of this psalm correspond to the consecration of the temple? At first glance, nothing in this song seems to connect to temple sanctification. The theology of God dwelling in the temple is not overtly obvious. The psalm does not align neatly with temple inauguration. When appearances feels off, it is an invitation to go deeper. So, we will dig in and see what answers emerge.

This psalm opens in a typical way with the psalmist eager to extol and praise the Lord. He will magnify and give thanks to our wonderful God. And he quickly mentions the fountain of his gratitude. The Lord drew him up; he healed him. God lifted him up from the darkness of Sheol; Yahweh restored his life from the pit of death. The malady upon the psalmist—the danger that troubled him—was a mortal disease. Illness molested his body; some ailment hungered for his life. The oncologist gave him two days to live. Hospice was called. The funeral arrangements were set. David had picked out his favorite hymns for the wake. Family members uttered their final goodbyes. In and out of consciousness, thready pulse, weak breathing, the psalmist teetered on the brink of Sheol and was about to fall. All the life-saving measures had been packed up and put away. Morphine alone kept him comfortable at the end.

But then, against all the predictions of the doctors, to the amazement of the family, the psalmist got better. The Lord healed and restored vigor to the nearly dead body. One minute, you are checking his faint breathing, and the next, the psalmist is skipping around the room. The inexplicable cure can only add up to the miraculous. The Lord’s kind fingers are all over this. Thus, with his new lease on life, the psalmist is brimming with love and thanksgiving. He must worship; he has to extol the great grace of his God.

Yet, we should not miss that this healing is presented in the imagery of resurrection. To be drawn up from the grave, to be lifted out of Sheol, to be revivified from the pit, this lauds the power of God over death. Such is the Lord’s resurrection victory over our ancient foe of death. Therefore, Yahweh healed the psalmist from a mortal cancer, and he did so with the glorious lines of resurrection to foreshadow greater realities.

Nevertheless, how did the psalmist get so ill? Under theocracy, some diseases were just part of life. Other ailments were barometers of the curse; they heralded sin and God’s displeasure, which called for reconciliation. This entails humility and seeking God’s grace and mercy. David had gotten into trouble; this is why he is sick. And he narrates for us his transgressive behavior (v. 6). In his prosperity, he boasted, “I shall never be moved.” God made me a steadfast mountain. Now, this does not seem very tawdry but a sinister sin is confessed here—a pompous forgetfulness. It is the proud self-assurance of affluence. A life of ease and wealth belong to the list of God’s gifts, but it comes with dangers. As it says in Proverbs, do not give me riches lest I deny God and say, “Who is the Lord?” (Prov 30:8–9). Likewise, in Deuteronomy, the Lord warned Israel not to forget him in their prosperity (Deut 8:11–14). When they are fat and at peace, Israel will be tempted to neglect the Lord and credit themselves for their luxury. And the psalmist stumbled into this after a fashion. The Lord made him strong. In his good fortune, the psalmist was free from all stress, pain, and struggle. He patted himself on the back that the rest of his life would be a bed of roses, an easy stroll in paradise. He had obtained his utopia; pretentious confidence swelled his ego. The comfort of his opulence made him think he had arrived.

To be sure, he does credit the Lord for his mountain-top success, but he rests in his prosperity as his immoveable security. The psalmist’s faith has slipped from the Lord and landed upon wealthy ease. He is trusting in the external circumstance of riches for this suffering-free future. Resting in his affluence, he foolishly promised himself freedom from adversity.

This sinful ailment manifests itself prominently in our current time. Sure, we are not under theocracy; ease and poverty are no longer covenant sanctions based on our behavior. Nonetheless, wealth and prosperity still harbor their spiritual dangers if viewed wrongly. Indeed, we are prone to think, as does the psalmist, that the easy, good life is the best. No pain, no suffering, no stress over bills—is this not goal? Does not everyone want this? Is this not the best thing for us? Likewise, if prosperity pampers our every minute, does it not mean we are untouchable? Money solves every problem; wealth is the miracle cure for anxiety and worry. A fat bank account guarantees a happy future, the life that all envy. This is the spiritual stumbling block to affluent comfort. It is like a highly processed sugary dessert; it tastes great, but it is horrible for your health. Well, the psalmist struts around in his over-priced loafers, proud of his easy life, and the Lord sends a corrective. The sharp prick of discipline will pop his inflated self-assurance.

Yahweh hides his face and removes his generous kindness. God shuts off his blessings to release his disapproval and anger. The tough love of the Lord switches health with sickness, ease disappears in the fog of hardship. The good health of today becomes the lethal illness of tomorrow, and at this mortal cancer, the psalmist dismays. He is overcome with insecurity and doubt. Without his health, he laments that he has lost it all. Everything he thought secure is slipping away. His palace of comfort crumbles like a sandcastle before the incoming tide. The path of light and pleasures took a swift turn into the thorny road of the grave. His mortality avalanches upon him, knocking the air out of him, and so, he starts reasoning with God.

What gain is there in my blood? If he perishes, will any profit be earned? Surely not, for the dust of the pit cannot sing. The mud of Sheol cannot declare the truth and fidelity of God. The silence of the tomb will rob the psalmist of being able to worship and glorify the Lord. This is pretty typical language for the evil of the cursed death in Sheol. The punitive fate in the grave denies the psalmist his chief end—to glorify and enjoy God—stealing from heaven one more voice to sing praises. This holds together God’s honor and our well-being, which become one in pure worship.

Yet, as the psalmist frets his fast-approaching death, he cries out; he pleads for grace and petitions for mercy from his divine helper. And the gasp of prayer expresses a good sign, for it is a mark of faith. Yes, his faith stumbled in his affluent ease. His faith was weak, but it was not dead. The deadly danger reinvigorated his faith; it straightened out his bent belief to give him a direct view of the Lord. And as the psalmist lifts up his voice in humble faith, the Lord answers. This is how God lifted him out of the pit and rescued him from the gaping throat of the Sheol. David put his faith in God, and he was saved from death.

Such was the ordeal that sprang on the psalmist, and from it, a valuable lesson surfaced for him and us, which we will unveil in the second installment on Psalm 30.

©Zach Keele. All Rights Reserved.

You can find the whole series here.

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Post authored by:

• Zach Keele

  

  Rev. Zachary Keele grew up on a ranch in a small town named Crawford, Colorado. He attended Geneva College in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania and received his Master of Divinity from Westminster Seminary California. He has served as the pastor of Escondido OPC since 2006.

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