Psalm 76 (Summer of Psalms #4)

Psalm 76 is a psalm about fear — not anxiety, but fear in its proper place, the kind that drives you toward understanding rather than away from it. It is also a psalm about being humbled, brought low and made raw, because that is precisely the place from which God demonstrates His power.

I will admit up front that I came into this underprepared. I was nervous about it, I ran out of time more than once this week, and I asked people to pray for me — Erin prayed, the elders prayed. What I asked God for was to be coherent and genuine. And genuineness sometimes means being vulnerable and transparent. It is scary. I would encourage you to do it anyway.

A Psalm People Have Sung Into Battle

I have a bent for apologetics, and I enjoy the side pieces — probably more than I should. But a few things about this psalm are worth knowing before we read it.

First, the psalm names Salem and Zion right in verse 2 — and we have people here at Riverwood with both of those names. Those are excellent names.

Second, the superscription calls it a song. It was written to be sung, and people have been setting it to music ever since. There are some seriously good hymns built on it.

James Montgomery Boice, in his commentary on the Psalms, calls this one of several “fighting psalms.” You may have heard of imprecatory prayers — prayers against enemies. By his categorization Psalm 76 is an imprecatory psalm, grouped with Psalms 28, 46, 68, 83, and 110. Which raises the obvious question: why would we want that?

Look at how it has been used. Boice notes that Psalm 76 was sung by the English after the defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588, at a moment of national prayer and fasting. The Huguenots sang it marching into battle. And the Pilgrims sang it over themselves when doubt and fear crept in about the thing they were attempting — which is why the second-oldest settlement in New England, Salem, Massachusetts, takes its name from this very psalm.

I say all that to make one point: this psalm is known. It has been known for centuries. And apart from my yearly read-through, I had never sat down with Psalm 76 for its own sake. Scripture does not disappoint. The layers of understanding in it are incredible. The Bible was not written to you, but every word of it is for you.

In Judah, God Is Known

In Judah God is known; his name is great in Israel. His abode has been established in Salem, his dwelling place in Zion. — Psalm 76:1–2 (ESV)

We use the word “known” constantly, and in the Bible it carries real weight. A husband knows his wife. We know our God. It indicates intimacy — something close.

To know someone is to have grasped their character. You would say of a good friend, “If I am stuck on the side of the road, he will show up. I know him.” Or of a coworker, “She is always there. You can count on her.” It works in the negative too — we know certain public figures to be dangerous, people to keep away from. Knowing implies understanding.

And God says that in Judah, His people know Him. Have you ever stopped to consider what a privilege that is? That an almighty God is intelligible to you at all — that your brain can grasp anything true about Him — is immense. And we take it completely for granted. We show up, open the Bible, and get casual with it, because we happen to live on this side of history with all of that revelation already gathered for us.

Remember what it took. Prophets sent. Scripture kept, scattered, reassembled, preserved — all so that God would be known by His people.

Now compare that to how people throughout history approached their gods. Picture the scene you have seen in films: a hazy cave, someone in a drugged state divining the will of some obscure deity, catching glimpses and shadows, then stumbling back out once it wears off to relay fragments to the people. It is nothing.

We come to our God in the clear light of day. He showers love on us in His word — example after example, cross-reference after cross-reference, living testimony after living testimony. God knows you, and you can know Him. How incredible is that?

People today still try to be known through other means, because you were made to worship — and if it is not God, it will be something else. Money, power, influence, achievement, athleticism, even your own family. But you are already known by God, and you can know Him.

Knowing also involves remembrance. That is why Scripture says not to move the ancient landmarks — so we will think on things and hold onto them. We have had a lot of rain lately, and after the rain, when the sun comes through, something beautiful appears. A rainbow. What is it? God says it is His bow, set in the sky, so that you remember He will never again flood the earth. He wants you to remember something about His character: I did this once, and I will never do it again. You can know me and trust who I am.

Using the Right Words

There he broke the flashing arrows, the shield, the sword, and the weapons of war. Selah. Glorious are you, more majestic than the mountains full of prey. — Psalm 76:3–4 (ESV)

Glorious. Majestic. We use these words casually. “Glorious” becomes a victory in a battle movie. “Majestic” becomes a waterfall. But these are not landscape words — they are words pointed at God. Used properly, they help us stand in understanding of His character.

I misuse the word “awesome” constantly. Bridget brings home a free chicken sandwich and I say, “This is awesome.” Some small windfall comes in — “Awesome.” Am I actually struck with awe? Am I brought low with wonder? No. I am not.

I am not accusing anyone; I know this is just how we speak. But quietly contemplating the proper use of the words God gives us to describe Himself can draw us closer to knowing Him. Awesome wonder. I want to be struck by that. I pray you want to be struck by it too.

The Night an Army Died in Its Sleep

Commentators generally think Psalm 76 is looking back on Sennacherib’s campaign against Judah and King Hezekiah’s response. The full account is in 2 Kings 18–19, and I would encourage you to read the whole thing.

In 2 Kings 18:13–16, Sennacherib of Assyria takes all the fortified cities of Judah. Hezekiah sends word to him at Lachish: “I have done wrong. Withdraw from me. Whatever you impose on me I will bear.” The price is three hundred talents of silver and thirty talents of gold. Hezekiah empties the treasuries of the house of the Lord and of his own house — and then strips the gold off the very doors of the temple to pay it.

A king who knows God, in fear of a worldly ruler and a mighty army, tears the gold off God’s doors. He is afraid.

Then the Rabshakeh — the title of the official representing the Assyrian king — stands and shouts in the language of Judah, going over Hezekiah’s head straight to the people: “Do not let Hezekiah deceive you, for he will not be able to deliver you out of my hand. Do not let Hezekiah make you trust in the Lord.” How proud, how arrogant, how wrong-headed do you have to be? He does not know God. God’s people do.

And notice: Sennacherib is not threatening to slaughter them. He is promising prosperity — your own vine, your own olive tree, everyone eating from his own land, before being resettled. A massive force has marched all the way from Nineveh destroying everything in its path, and now it is offering good things.

In 2 Kings 19:14–19, Hezekiah takes the letter, goes up to the house of the Lord, and spreads it out before Him: “O Lord, the God of Israel, enthroned above the cherubim, you are the God, you alone… Incline your ear, O Lord, and hear… save us, please, from his hand, that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that you, O Lord, are God alone.” Can you hear the desperation in that?

God’s answer, in verse 32: the king of Assyria “shall not come into this city or shoot an arrow there or come before it with a shield or cast up a siege mound against it. By the way that he came, by the same he shall return… For I will defend this city and save it, for my own sake and for the sake of my servant David.”

That night the angel of the Lord went out and struck down 185,000 in the camp of the Assyrians. When the people rose in the morning, they were all dead bodies. Sennacherib went home to Nineveh, and while worshiping in the house of his god Nisroch, his own sons struck him down with the sword.

Now go back and hear the psalm again. The stout-hearted stripped of their spoil. They sank into sleep. All the men of war unable to use their hands. Both rider and horse lay stunned. An entire army rendered useless in a single night — and God did it for His own sake, because He said so, in response to one desperate prayer.

God Is Terrifying

Sitting with that leads me to one devastating conclusion: God is terrifying. Not “terrifying” the way we use it about a movie. I mean truly, utterly, universe-shaking terrifying. To understand who God is means seeing Him in every aspect He has given us to see.

Nothing humanity had to offer that night made any difference. Chariots — the tanks of their day. Riders and horses, the premier fighting force available. Siege engines, swords, shields, flashing metal, arrows lit with fire. All of it undone by a word.

I serve in the U.S. military. To kill 185,000 people in a single night is impossible — even with the most intricate weapons of war we possess today. It simply cannot be done. But that is His power.

“But you, you are to be feared! Who can stand before you when once your anger is roused?” (v. 7). We hear the angels crying “Holy, holy, holy,” covering their faces and their feet in His presence. The absolute power to create from nothing and to destroy everything simply by letting go. An unconquerable will. Incalculable glory. Kings fear Him — the pitiful figures we dare to call powerful men are struck face down. Eternity in our limited state would not be enough to grasp His nature.

And yet He is known to us. Back to verse 1.

From the heavens He declares righteous judgment, and the earth is stilled and humbled at His word. He arises to establish judgment and to save the humble of the earth. Notice: humility is not merely suggested there. It is required. Bent low in understanding.

“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Proverbs 9:10a). That sits on my heart like a stone. I think I understand a great many things in life, and then I come to consider God and I am simply brought down. I did not get it in the first place. Every ounce and inch He gives is a gift. He holds your thoughts together. He holds the molecules of your body together.

The Same Hands That Mend You

To come to know the Holy One is to know a person — a friend, a helper, a Father, and a Savior. And to know Him is to see that Father for who He is: strong, mighty, powerful.

For exactly those reasons, we who know Him trust that this might is what saves us. This power is what defends us. This righteous judgment is what we can rely on, so that we do not have to rely on our own. He is a good Father whose strength shows itself in gentleness and control — willing to fight for those He loves, and to crush whatever would harm His little ones.

Those same strong hands, when put to the task, take life on a scale we cannot imagine. That bothers people. It is hard to process. But they are the same hands that mend our wounds and our hearts, that put us back together at our most broken and vulnerable. We can feel protected because those hands are not turned against us.

Why would this God want us at all? Because He loves us. He wills the highest good for your life, unto His great purpose and glory. That is why His power is a source of comfort rather than dread. We are safe with Him. You belong to someone.

Why This Is Good News

Some of you will wince at the idea of a good God having these attributes — being capable of that kind of violence. If this lands wrongly, please do not sit on it alone. Reach out to me, to Erin, to Matt, to somebody. Let it drive you into study and prayer. If it is a head problem, work to resolve it. If it is a heart problem, ask God to help you understand who He is.

Because here is what I want you to see: this very power, the power His enemies cower before, is the power that defends you. You are known, seen, understood, and saved by Him.

And that is the gospel — that a good God came to earth to seek and save the lost. To take our place, to defend us, to die in our place, and to pay the consequences for transgressing an everlasting and holy God. A debt paid in Himself, in Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior.

To stand in His presence is a privilege. His enemies fall flat on their faces — but we get to stand. It is for you, loved ones, that He came and died and rose again. Remember that.