What makes something valuable? What are the attributes of the precious? The list is by no means short. There is the source material (gold or oak), rarity versus the common, usefulness, desirability, expertise to create—I could go on. One thing, though, that generally increases value is durability, longevity. An age-old redwood far surpasses the seasonal dandelion. Part of what makes diamonds so costly is that they are forever. The imperishable is prized over the perishable, which says a lot about our consumeristic culture, where it seems like most things are made to be disposable. Building a quality product to last is not even attempted much anymore. Instead, the stuff on shelves has a designed short lifespan, an expiration date or is intended only for a single use or at least until the new model comes out. We live in a disposable society, where the extent of longevity is measured in recyclability. Yet if the expendable, the short-lived, is generally of less value, what does this say about the brevity of our lives? The shortness of a human life seems to clash with the inherent preciousness that we assign to life, and this uncomfortable tension lays heavy on the psalmist in this Thirty-ninth Psalm.

This song opens with a promise, a solemn resolution. The psalmist makes a promise to himself. He commits to keep his ways. He will protect his steps, and he will particularly guard against sinning with his tongue. He draws a line in the sand that he will not cross; he will not sin in his speaking. And the method of warfare against sin is a muzzle. He girds up his mouth with a gag to become mute and takes a self-imposed vow of silence. He will not even speak good things. His lips will know no sin, lies, or profanities, and his tongue will even refrain from fine and noble words. Good and bad, truths and falsehoods—not a single word will escape his mouth.

But, why does he swear himself to silence? Clearly to avoid sin, so he puts a term on his silence as long as the wicked are before him. He will not talk around wicked people because he is afraid that he will become like them. Evil conversation produces more sinful words. And this commitment to having a sin-free tongue by total silence appears to be further reaching. As James says, the man who tames the tongue is a perfect man. Blameless lips of silence represent his whole person and life. If he evades all sin with his mouth, then the rest of him will be untouched by iniquity. He will, then, be righteous—and pristinely so.

By a muzzle of muteness, the psalmist commits himself to being ideally upright. Even if he never says another word, he will be righteous. But his sworn silence does not go so well. With tape on his mouth, his pain ferments and boils. His heart becomes hot within him. During his quiet meditation, a fire roars within. And his hot heart, or searing mind, expresses a distinct emotion. The blood avenger, in pursuing justice, is also said to have a hot heart. The mind grows warm with passion for just retribution, truth, and rectitude. The psalmist swore silence to be righteous, but a truth burned inside him that had to come out. He was unable to maintain his muteness.

In his quiet pursuit for righteousness, a just truth forced him to speak, which exposes that his vow of silence is misguided. He thought that by being absolutely speechless he could be spotlessly righteous, but truth itself revealed otherwise. Righteousness could not be achieved by a muzzle. Truth demanded some conversation.

Thus, when he breaks his quiet, look what he says in verse 4. He asks the Lord to inform him about his end, to disclose the measure of his days, just how fleeting his life is. His first words are about his mortality, about the shortness of his life. His days are few, his years short. He is here today and gone tomorrow. And he particularly compares his span to that of God. Compared to the Lord, his lifetime is as nothing. Life for him is barely a handbreadth.

And it is not just his own shortness that presses down on him but the brevity of all humanity. The lives of all men are but a breath, a puff of smoke that quickly vanishes. Men walk about as a mere shade; women are a passing shadow. Humans make a lot of clamor for nothing. They labor and store up all sorts of stuff, but why? They cannot take it with them in death. We lay up treasure upon treasure, but who will enjoy it we know not. When we are gone, someone else will plunder our storehouses. Our time on this earthly orb is ephemeral. As humans, we are fashioned in the image of God. The Lord coronated men and women on the sixth day of creation as kings and queens next to him. As the crowning work of his creative labor, the Lord made male and female. Yet, the duration of our span is minuscule. Your average turtle can double or triple our lifespan. Cedars and redwoods that cannot even think or talk outlive us by thousands of years. And compared to Yahweh, infinite and immortal, we are but a mayfly. We hatch, wildly flutter around, and perish, and all between the rising and the setting of the sun.

But why? Why does the psalmist break his silence by remarking on the brevity of life? In his pursuit of righteousness by being quiet, he is forced to utter the reality that humans are fleeting. What is the connection between righteousness and transitory life? He tells us in verses 8–11: “Deliver me from all my transgression. . . . Remove your plague from me . . . When you discipline a person, you consume as a moth what is dear to him. . . . God rebukes for sin, and all mankind are a mere breath.” ¹

The fleeting nature of human life leads the psalmist to consider sin, his personal transgressions and the depravity of all people. Some commentators posit that the psalmist is deathly ill in this psalm—and he could be—but he does not have to be, for the disease he mourns is human mortality itself. It is not so much this or that sickness that troubles him, but his plague is the common curse, the fact that we die and death comes so quickly. Thus, he does not focus just on his own brevity but on the fleeting nature of all humans. Human life is but a breath, and it is ephemeral because we are sinners. Being perishable is God’s chastisement for our guilt.

Therefore, the psalmist vowed to be totally righteous by a muzzle, but a truth burned inside him that had to come out. Men die! Women expire! And a quick death comes from God’s punishing our sinfulness. His mortality shattered his oath for uprightness, revealing that he could not be righteous. He basically said, “I will be perfectly obedient. Oh, wait, I soon die as a sinner, which means righteousness is impossible for me.” He could not remain silent because he was unable to be righteous. This was the just truth that flamed up within him.

After this confession that he is a sinner, that death comes to all for all have sinned, however, he goes silent again for a moment in verse 9: “I am mute; I do not open my mouth.” Here, his quiet has a very different meaning. As it says, “You have done it.” This is silence before the act of God, which is the plague of death. The Lord released death as the common curse for sin, and before this sovereign deed, the psalmist goes quiet. The silence of attempted righteousness has become the hush of humble submission, which is the believing turn that will lead to comfort. But more on this later.

Note

1. All translations mine.

©Zach Keele. All Rights Reserved.

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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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