Today Daily Devotional

Many biblical psalms are about the king of Israel. Take Psalm 45. It was written for a king’s wedding, probably by the master of ceremonies. He invites everyone to raise a glass. Then he begins with compliments like these: “My king, you are the most excellent of men. You are mighty and victorious, a conqueror of nations. And your lips, even your lips—I hope the bride is listening—your lips have been anointed with grace.”

Wow! The king is quite the catch!

But then the emcee goes too far. Still singing the king’s praises, he says, “Your throne, O God, will last for ever and ever” (v. 6). Do you hear that? He calls the king “God”! That can’t be right. Whatever the literal words say, they have to mean something else, right? There is no way that the king is God!

Well, hold on. Suppose Psalm 45 is about Jesus. He is the king of Israel, after all. And suppose Jesus fills that psalm with new meaning. He is God, after all. And suppose Jesus has a wedding of his own. He is the Lamb of God, after all. And at his wedding supper, it will make perfect sense for the emcee to raise a glass and say to him, “Your throne, O God, will last forever and ever.” After all, Jesus is the King of kings and Lord of lords!

It’s the worst day of your life. You don’t know why, but you snap. And you lash out. And you do the worst thing you have ever done. After that, everything is a blur. Police. County jail. Courtroom. Judge.

Then comes the second worst day of your life. Two corrections officers lead you into a low building. One, two, three steel-bar doors clang shut behind you. You’ve arrived. For the next 10, 20, even 30 years, this will be your home.

You know you did it. You know you deserve this. But you feel alone, completely alone. And abandoned. The psalm says it best. So you cry out, “God, why have you forsaken me?” But you’d better be careful. This is no time for tears. The next 10, 20, even 30 years will be no time for tears. Not in this place where God is so far away.

It was the worst day of Jesus’s life. He was arrested, beaten, and condemned. Then he was nailed to a cross to die. His friends deserted him. His people turned against him. He was completely alone, abandoned. And from the pit of despair he cried, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Jesus knows what you are going through. And he will not abandon you. He will stay as close as your own breath.

Psalm 26 makes me uncomfortable. It’s full of boasting and pride. The psalmist says things like “I trust in you, Lord. My thoughts are pure. My desires are proper. I don’t associate with sinners. I lead a blameless life. And I always sing your praises.” The psalmist has a pretty high opinion of himself. But I don’t buy it. Nobody is that holy!

But there is Jesus. Throughout his life, he embodied the holiness described in Psalm 26. He trusted his Father completely: in the wilderness, at sea, under arrest, on the cross. The glory of God filled his thoughts, shaped his desires, and determined his actions. In life and in death, Jesus was blameless.

But Jesus did overturn one part of Psalm 26, and it was scandalous. His opponents complained, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them” (Luke 15:2). And they were right. Jesus spent quality time with people who simply did not measure up. To his opponents, that could only mean that Jesus himself did not measure up.

But they were using the wrong measure. To their way of thinking, sin had the power to turn water into poison. But the holiness of Jesus had the power to turn water into wine.

So Jesus transformed sinners back then. And he still transforms sinners today, sinners like you and me.

Are you in a position of authority? Don’t let it go to your head! God wants people to use whatever authority they have for good purposes, not to make a name for themselves or to become a law unto themselves. If only we would honor God’s intentions.

In the New Testament story of Jesus, powerful people see Jesus as a threat. Following a pattern described by Psalm 2, they “band together” (v. 2) to get rid of Jesus. To them, God’s authority amounts to “chains” and “shackles” (v. 3). So they crucify Jesus, who is the Lord’s “anointed” (v. 2), the “king” (v. 6).

In Psalm 2:6, God says, “I have installed my king on Zion, my holy mountain.” In a perverse parody of this statement, those powerful people install Jesus on a cross and plant it on a hill outside Jerusalem. But God exalts that hill. And the cross turns out to be a throne. Because on the cross Jesus shows what genuine authority looks like.

Powerful people may have nailed Jesus to a cross, but Jesus laid his life down by his own authority. And he did it in obedience to God the Father (see John 10:18). Jesus laid down his life for the sake of God’s good purpose of saving the world. That’s what real authority looks like.

The Bible doesn’t focus on the mechanisms of creation, the processes that formed planets, plankton, and platypuses. Instead the Bible points us to the voice of God: “He spoke, and it came to be; he commanded, and it stood firm” (Psalm 33:9). In other words, the vast universe, the solid ground beneath our feet, and the life that surrounds us—all of it results from God’s express purpose and intention.

The psalm says that everything was made “by the word of the Lord” (Psalm 33:6). The opening of the book of John picks up on that theme: “In the beginning was the Word. . . . Through him all things were made.” And the Word is Jesus. Jesus is God’s great purpose and intention.

The story of creation, as the Bible tells it, is this. Through the Word, God makes a home where the Word will come to live. John describes this a bit ­later, saying, “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us” (John 1:14).

One of our daughters sent a picture from her visit to the Grand Canyon. How can we not stand in amazement before that? How can we not glorify God for that? But as awesome as God’s creation is, even more awesome is this: the Son of God visits us within this creation and becomes one of us. How can we not glorify God for that?

Sometimes it’s just about impossible to fall asleep. You could be excited because you are planning to leave for a trip in the morning. You could be worried about your son’s opioid addiction. Or you could be terrified by a storm that threatens to sink your boat. Whatever the reason, you can’t sleep. Your eyes are wide open, and you’re staring into the dark. Now what?

Psalm 4 ends this way: “In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety.” That verse connects with a gripping scene one night on the Sea of Galilee. There, on a small boat in the midst of a raging storm, Jesus is fast asleep. The boat rises and falls on the swells, taking on water, threatening to sink. The disciples’ hearts are racing with fear. The fishermen among them know how dangerous the storm is.

But Jesus sleeps. He has no doubt that his Father will keep them all safe. As he lays down his head on a cushion, I imagine Jesus saying a trusting prayer: “In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety.”

When you have a hard time falling asleep, remember Psalm 4. Pray those words with Jesus. Repeat them softly. As you do, welcome his presence. And may you sleep.

Psalm 8 celebrates the glory of God. Take a look at the night sky, says this psalm. Moon, stars, galaxies. Vast beyond imagining! It all reflects the glory of God. And it reminds us how small we are. Not that we need a reminder. Lose your job, and you feel small. Fail at marriage, and you feel puny. Fall into depression, and you feel like nothing at all.

But there is more to being ­human than being small. Psalm 8 says that God made us just a little lower than the angels, and that God has given us special glory and honor. We may not be angels, but God has appointed us to care for the earth and all its creatures. And when we do that, we reflect the glory of God—like the vast universe does.

The book of Hebrews applies Psalm 8 to Jesus. It says, “Jesus was made lower than the ­angels for a little while” (Hebrews 2:9). The point? Jesus was made a human being. Jesus shared the eternal glory of God the Father. But he left that glory behind to become one of us, to become small right along with us.

So Jesus knows what it’s like to feel puny. He knows what it’s like to feel like nothing at all. But he also knows the special glory of being human. Imagine that.

Psalm 36 speaks about light and life in the same breath. No wonder. Most creatures need light to live—if not directly, then at least indirectly. So light and life go together.

All light and all life have their source in God. In the Bible’s first creation story (Genesis 1), there is only darkness until God says, “Let there be light.” Under that light, life emerges. In the Bible’s final new-creation story (Revelation 22:1-5), there is no darkness but only God’s light and an ever-fruitful tree of life.

And then there is Jesus. Crucified on a tree of death, he is the light of the world. And that light is our life. Jesus says, “Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).

As I write this, the darkness of winter is approaching. But ­every winter, no matter how dark and gloomy, gives way to the light and life of spring. In the same way, by his death on the cross Jesus defeated darkness and death, and by his resurrection he shines the springtime light of God’s new creation over the horizon. We still have to wait a while. But the time is coming when there will be no darkness and no death—only light and life!

Psalm 23 is credited to King David, who tended his father’s sheep when he was young. David was a shepherd who be­came Israel’s king. That was fitting, for in the biblical world, leaders were thought of as shepherds. They had a responsibility to protect and provide for their people. To say “The Lord is my shepherd” is to say that God is the ultimate source of safety and well-being.

Jesus calls himself “the good shepherd.” In other words, he is the true king over God’s people. But he is a different sort of king. Traditionally a king would take up a sword and raise an army to defeat the enemies of his people. That’s what David did. That’s also what some people expected Jesus to do.

But Jesus didn’t defeat great enemies by slaughtering them with weapons of war. He defeated them by being slaughtered himself. He let sin and death and all the powers of evil do their worst. And they did. But they had no power over Jesus, and death could not hold him.

Jesus rose from the dead. He is our good shepherd. He is our ultimate source of safety and well-being, now and forever.

King David in the Old Testa­ment had his share of suffering. That’s clear from Psalm 38, ­described as “a psalm of David.” He speaks of being wounded and filled with pain. Friends and neighbors abandon him. Enemies hate him and accuse him. Some want to kill him. It’s “because of my sin,” he says. And he’s right.

Not every sin leads to a particular suffering. And not all suffering is from particular sins. But rebellion against God’s ways does unleash suffering into our human experience. So David the sinner suffers, and from his suffering he cries out to God. Maybe you know what that’s like.

Jesus certainly knows. It’s there in Psalm 38. Yes, this psalm is about sin. And no, Jesus himself never sinned. But he did suffer. He suffered because the sins of the world, including my sins and yours, were laid on him. He carried that immense burden to the cross. The silent anguish, the pounding heart, the failing strength, the cry of forsakenness—it’s all there in Psalm 38, and it was all there on the cross.

But that was not the end. From his own suffering, Jesus cried out to God. And his cry was heard. On the third day, God raised him from the dead. Jesus had won the ultimate victory over sin. Yes, we still sin. And we still suffer. But sin no longer has the power to separate us from God. Jesus saw to that.