Today Daily Devotional

Psalm 101 doesn’t make me think of Jesus—not at first. The poet sounds proud of his personal holiness. He seems a bit full of himself. “I will be careful to lead a blameless life,” he says (v. 2).

From there, the poet expresses all the ways he will distance himself from people who don’t measure up to his standards. And it’s not just a passive distancing. He intends to drive unworthy people away (v. 8). And he will only exchange hospitality with people who are faithful, like himself (v. 6).

This is when I start thinking of Jesus. Because Jesus fills out the meaning of this psalm by turning it on its head.

The Pharisee in Luke 7 might well have had a special affection for Psalm 101. He certainly limited his hospitality. Apparently even Jesus didn’t measure up! The Pharisee provided no water to wash Jesus’ feet (v. 44), no kiss to greet him (v. 45), and no oil to anoint him (v. 46).

But Jesus welcomed tears and kisses and perfume from a woman who was considered unworthy. And when he offered the generous hospitality of forgiveness, it brought forth an outpouring of love from the woman.

Jesus, the blameless one, ministered not only to the woman but also to his proud host. Jesus’ way is the more excellent way.

Jesus was put to death on a Friday. And he rose from the dead on the following Sunday. The Bible tells us quite a bit about those two days, which we now call Good Friday and Easter Sunday. But what about the in-between day, Holy Saturday? The Bible says next to nothing about it.

That leaves us to wonder. What was going on with Jesus on Saturday? He was dead. His lifeless body lay in a stone tomb. We tend to assume that his spirit was now with God in heaven, or paradise, as Jesus implied while he was dying on the cross (Luke 23:43, 46). But we aren’t told anything more.

On Saturday, while Jesus’ body lay dead, was his spirit aware, even alert? I wonder if Psalm 13 drifted through his mind, as if to say, “Father, if you don’t open my eyes, I will sleep forever in death! If you don’t open my eyes, my enemies will have won!”

But the psalm doesn’t end there. It turns to focus on God’s love and salvation. Did Jesus’ spirit then also say, “But I trust in your unfailing love”? And as darkness surrendered to light on Sunday morning, did Jesus praise his Father with more words from this psalm: “My heart rejoices in your salvation”?

Maybe Jesus gives more meaning to this psalm than we have realized.

The voice of the Lord features prominently in the Bible, from “Let there be . . . !” in Genesis 1 to “I am coming soon!” in Revelation 22. Like any voice, the voice of the Lord can whisper or shout. In 1 Kings 19, a gentle voice consoles the prophet Elijah, whose spirit is in turmoil. Psalm 29 describes a roaring voice that rips forests apart.

The voice of the Lord speaks to Jesus when he is baptized. It says, “You are my Son, whom I love” (Mark 1:11). That’s an echo of Psalm 2 and Isaiah 42. And it assigns a destiny to Jesus. He will be a king who rules as a servant. Jesus embraces that destiny in obedient, faithful trust.

In Psalm 29 the powerful voice of the Lord breaks cedars in pieces, “twists the oaks,” and “strips the forests bare.” Following the voice that calls to him, Jesus himself will be stripped bare and twisted. He will be broken in pieces on a tree. Crowned with thorns, he will be God’s suffering servant, the Savior of the world.

The voice of the Lord still speaks. If we listen carefully, we can hear it. From the cross the voice of the Lord whispers, “This is what power looks like.”

West Michigan winters can be gloomy. By early January, we’re remembering the green of last spring, the warmth of last summer, and the blazing colors of last fall. Memories of bright days can help us to endure dark ones.

Psalm 77 is set during a dark time. But the memory of brighter days keeps hope alive. The brightest memory recalls Israel’s escape from slavery in Egypt hundreds of years earlier, and especially how God cleared a path for them through the waters of the Red Sea (vv. 16-18).

But there’s something else to that memory. The psalm says, in effect, “God, in those days we saw what you were doing for us. But we didn’t see you directly. The damp seabed didn’t show your footprints. We could only see Moses and Aaron leading the way like good shepherds” (see vv. 19-20).

Well, many years later, in the person of Jesus, God took on human flesh. Jesus, the Son of God, was visible—feet, hands, and all. He left footprints. When we look at Jesus, we can see God. We see God going before us, leading the way.

The path that Jesus follows leads to the darkness of death. But he doesn’t turn aside. He is our good shepherd. He lays down his life for us. And we can see his feet, and his hands, nailed to the cross. When we see that, we know he loves us, even on the darkest days.

From one angle, the Bible tells an exclusive story about one God (the Lord), one man (Abraham), one nation (Israel), one Savior (Jesus), one people (the church). And who doesn’t want to be part of something exclusive?

But exclusive can be uncomfortable. While we’re on the inside looking out, we may get queasy seeing people on the outside looking in. Unless we’re looking down on them.

There is another angle in the Bible, though. From this ­angle, it’s not just a “one nation (Israel)” story. Psalm 87, for example, celebrates God’s exclusive love for Zion, the heart of Israel. But then it also pictures God welcoming other nations and saying of them, “This one was born in Zion.”

This angle widens in the New Testament. In Matthew 2, Magi come from faraway nations to worship the child Jesus. In Matthew 28, Jesus sends out his followers with good news for all nations. And in Revelation 7 we see a vision of a vast multitude from “every nation, tribe, people and language” worshiping God in heaven.

The wide-angle view paints a wonderfully inclusive picture of God’s love. From this angle, the only thing exclusive is Jesus. He alone is the Lamb of God. And he takes away the sin of not just one nation but the whole world!

Wild grapevines don’t produce much fruit. But the vines in a vineyard are a different story. With careful management, they produce clusters of fruit, casks of wine, and a decent return on investment.

The Old Testament pictures the people of Israel as God’s vineyard. But the investment doesn’t pay off. Israel resists God’s management and produces lousy fruit. So God cuts his losses and lets the vineyard go wild (see Isaiah 5:1-7).

Yet the story doesn’t end there. Psalm 80 pictures Israel as a single vine that’s barely hanging on. The psalm pleads, in effect, “God, the vine belongs to you. Take care of it!” From there, the psalm pushes harder: “God, the vine is your son. Won’t you take care of your own son?” (See vv. 14-15.)

The psalm is looking back to Egypt, where God told Pharaoh, “Israel is my firstborn son. . . . Let my son go!” (Exodus 4:22-23). Just as God rescued Israel from Egypt, the psalm pleads with God to rescue them again.

From there, the psalm looks ahead to Jesus, because he is the true vine, the firstborn Son of God (see vv. 17-19). And now, by the Holy Spirit and through faith, we are united with Jesus. We have become branches of the true vine, who pours out his life like wine so that we can truly live.

When life is out of joint, we need someone to lead us through the chaos and confusion. Someone reliable. Some­one we can count on. The Bible assures us that God is reliable. With God, “Yes” means yes and “No” means no. With God, promises are a sure thing. In other words, God is someone we can count on.

God made promises to King David: to love him forever, to make him the world’s greatest king, and to preserve his royal line. But by the time of Psalm 89, David’s royal line has known nothing but trouble. Reality is completely out of joint. Whatever happened to the promises?

Jesus was born into the royal line of King David. And he knew plenty of trouble. That trouble came to a head when he was crowned with thorns and nailed to a cross. A sign over his head said, “The King of the Jews,” just to rub it in. It looked like another dead end for David’s line. What about the promises?

Well, the story didn’t end there. Jesus rose from the dead! And forty days later he took his seat at the right hand of God the Father.

All authority in heaven and on earth belongs to Jesus. And he is King, now and forever.

That’s what happened with the promises. And that’s why we can count on God.

The philosopher Diogenes carried a lamp wherever he went, looking for an honest person. In the Bible, God conducts a similar search, looking for a good person.

First up, Noah. He is described as “a righteous man, blameless among the people of his time” (Genesis 6:9). But Noah turns out to be pretty much like everyone else, with a heart that inclines to evil. Another candidate is David. He is described as “a man after [God’s] own heart” (1 Samuel 13:14). But David behaves pretty much like every other king, with a string of crimes on his record.

It’s a frustrating search, leading Psalm 53 to conclude: “There is no one who does good, not even one” (v. 3). And that conclusion never changes. Not until God looks down from heaven and sees Jesus.

Jesus is truly righteous, blameless even. Jesus shares God’s heart, and he lives a life that pleases God from beginning to end. We all sin every day, doing things we shouldn’t do—sometimes things we don’t even want to do. But Jesus did not sin. Not once. Not ever.

Diogenes carried his lamp in the fourth century B.C. If only he could have waited about 400 years. He would have found what he was looking for—and what God was looking for too.

Does God hear our prayers? Yes. Does God answer our prayers? Yes. Not always when we want. And not always the way we want. But we do have this assurance: “In all things God works for the good of those who love him” (Romans 8:28).

Psalm 70 is framed by a single plea: “God, hurry up and help me!” (see vv. 1, 5). The poet is in trouble. People want to kill him, or at least ruin him. So the poet pleads for God’s help, saying, in effect: “Give me a reason to rejoice. Give me a reason to praise you” (v. 4).

When I read this psalm, I imagine Jesus on the most difficult night of his life. He knows that a cross awaits him, so he prays. He pleads with God: “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will” (Matthew 26:39). Three times he says that prayer. Minutes later he is arrested. The next morning he is nailed to a cross to die.

Did God hear Jesus’ prayer? Did God answer his prayer? Hebrews 5 says Jesus was heard because he submitted himself to the will of God. And God’s will was that Jesus would die. In the death of Jesus, God was working “for the good of those who love him.” How can we not love him?

When I was a youngster, my dad was in the Coast Guard. He was often at sea for a month at a time. But he never talked about it. Reading Psalm 107 makes me wonder, “What did my dad and his shipmates go through when towering waves tossed their ship about like a toy?”

We blame ocean storms on the movement of weather systems. This psalm, on the other hand, blames those storms on God. It pictures God stirring up the wind and the waves with nothing more than a word. The point of that picture is that God is in control. Various forces may combine to create storms. But none of it happens outside of God’s command and control. That’s a basic biblical perspective on what it means for God to be God.

The fishermen among Jesus’ disciples knew all about violent storms on the Sea of Galilee. During one of those storms, they were beside themselves with fear (see Mark 4:37-38). Imagine how stunned they were when Jesus, with nothing more than a word, calmed the wind and settled the sea. If God speaks to stir up the sea, who else but God would speak to quiet the sea?

The point? When Jesus speaks, it is the voice of God. We ought to listen to him, especially when life gets stormy.