The Book of Psalms

Word Study

"be merciful," Hebrew chonneni (חָנֵּנִי), be gracious to me, doubled here for urgency. Hidden in a cave, David cries for mercy and cries it twice. The repetition is the mark of a man in real danger, and it is the only ground he offers for being heard.

"trusteth," chasayah (חָסָיָה), takes refuge. The word is not of an opinion held but of a shelter entered. "My soul trusteth in thee" -- David has already run in, and the rest of the verse tells where.

"shadow of thy wings," tzel kenafekha (צֵל כְּנָפֶיךָ). The image is of a small bird sheltering under the wings of a parent. David is at that moment in the literal shadow of a cave, yet he names a different shadow as his real covering; and a hunted warrior picturing himself as a tiny chick tucked under feathers is faith's true self-estimate.

"make my refuge," echseh (אֶחְסֶה). The same root as "trusteth" above, now stated as a settled resolve: "in the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge." What he has done he will keep doing.

"calamities," hawwot (הַוּוֹת), destructions. He does not pretend the wings mean the storm has gone. The calamities are still raging, real and near, and the plural piles them up.

"be overpast," ya'avor (יַעֲבֹר), pass by, pass over. And he sets a term to it: "until these calamities be overpast." He asks for a place to hide while they blow themselves out, confident that they will; the shadow of the wings is not a promise that the storm never comes, but a covering that keeps him safe until it passes.

Explanation

There is a quiet exchange of shadows in this verse worth pausing over. David is, at that very moment, sheltering in the literal shadow of a cave, a hole in the rock where he has fled from Saul. But look where he says his real refuge is: not "in the shadow of this cave," but "in the shadow of thy wings." The physical shelter of the rock becomes a picture of a deeper one; the cave keeps out the sun, but only God's wings keep out despair. And the image he chooses is tender beyond the setting, for a hunted warrior in a cave pictures himself as a tiny chick tucked under a parent bird's feathers, small, helpless, and covered. That is faith's true self-estimate: not the mighty man, but the sheltered fledgling. And notice the honesty of the time-limit he sets, "until these calamities be overpast." He does not pretend the wings mean the storm has gone; the calamities are still raging, real and near. He asks only for a place to hide while they blow themselves out, confident that they will. The shadow of the wings is not a promise that the storm never comes, but a covering that keeps us safe in the middle of it until it passes. Every believer, sooner or later, needs exactly this, not the removal of the trouble, but a place to be hidden until it is overpast.

Gospel Focus

"In the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge", the sheltering wings of God are opened wide to us in Jesus Christ, who longed to gather His people as a hen gathers her brood. Over Jerusalem the Lord Jesus wept, "how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!" (Matthew 23:37). The refuge David found under God's wings is offered in Christ, who spreads His arms, and on the cross those arms were stretched out to make a covering for sinners. In Him we "who sometimes were far off are made nigh by the blood of Christ" (Ephesians 2:13), and our life is "hid with Christ in God" (Colossians 3:3), safe under His wings until every calamity is overpast. For the storms of this life will pass, "these light afflictions" endure "but for a moment" (2 Corinthians 4:17), and there is coming a day when the calamities are gone for ever and God "shall wipe away all tears" (Revelation 21:4). Until then, run as David ran, not to the shadow of a cave, but to the shadow of the wings of Jesus, and make your refuge there. He will keep you covered until the storm is overpast.

Word Study

"fixed," Hebrew nakhon (נָכוֹן), established, steadfast, firmly set. The tone soars, and the key word is the opposite of everything David's situation was. He was on the run, homeless, hiding in a cave; his outward world was in chaos, and yet he says his inner world is nailed down.

"my heart," libbi (לִבִּי). "My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed" -- the repetition drives it home. That is the secret of praise in trouble: not steady circumstances, but a steady heart, and the heart is steadied not by the situation but by God.

"I will sing and give praise," ashirah va'azammerah (אָשִׁירָה וַאֲזַמֵּרָה). Out of that fixed heart flows a resolve to worship. Notice that the singing is a decision, not a mood; he does not wait to feel like praising, he announces that he will.

"my glory," kevodi (כְּבוֹדִי), here the soul, the noblest part of man. "Awake up, my glory" -- he rouses his own soul like a sleeper, taking himself in hand and stirring up worship on purpose.

"psaltery and harp," nevel vekhinnor (נֵבֶל וְכִנּוֹר). Having wakened his soul he summons his instruments off the wall: "awake, psaltery and harp." Everything within him and around him is called into the service of praise.

"awake early," a'irah shachar (אָעִירָה שָּׁחַר), I will wake the dawn. Most striking of all. The hunted man in the dark cave resolves to be up praising before the sun rises, as if his song will summon the morning. Faith does not wait for the light to feel like singing; it sings in the dark and wakes the dawn.

Explanation

Weigh the word "fixed," because it is the opposite of everything David's situation was. His circumstances were anything but fixed, he was on the run, homeless, hiding in a cave, his location changing by the day, his life hanging by a thread. And in the middle of all that instability he says, twice for emphasis, "My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed", established, steady, firmly anchored. His outward world was in chaos; his inner world was nailed down. That is the secret of praise in trouble: not steady circumstances, but a steady heart, and the heart is steadied not by the situation but by God. And notice that the singing is a decision, not a mood. He does not wait to feel like praising; he commands himself to it: "Awake up, my glory; awake, psaltery and harp." He rouses his own soul (his "glory") like a sleeper and summons his instruments off the wall, taking himself in hand and stirring up worship on purpose. Most striking of all, "I myself will awake early", literally, "I will wake the dawn." The hunted man in the dark cave resolves to be up praising before the sun rises, as if his song will summon the morning. Faith does not wait for the light to feel like singing; it sings in the dark and wakes the dawn.

Gospel Focus

"My heart is fixed, O God... I will sing and give praise", the fixed heart that sings in the dark is the gift of God in Jesus Christ, who Himself sang before His darkest hour and gives His people songs in the night. On the night He was betrayed, after the last supper, the Lord Jesus and His disciples "sung an hymn" and went out to the Mount of Olives (Matthew 26:30); the Saviour went toward the cross with praise on His lips. And He teaches His own to do the same, for Paul and Silas, beaten and chained in a midnight prison, "prayed, and sang praises unto God" (Acts 16:25), their hearts fixed in a dungeon as David's was in a cave. The stability of the believer's heart rests on Christ, "the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever" (Hebrews 13:8), and on a hope that is "an anchor of the soul, both sure and stedfast" (Hebrews 6:19). Because our heart is fixed on the unchanging Christ, we too can awake the dawn with praise while the trouble still lasts, singing "with grace in your hearts to the Lord" (Colossians 3:16). Let your heart be fixed on Jesus, and you will find, like David, a song even in the cave, and a praise that greets the morning before deliverance is in sight.

Word Study

"be thou exalted," Hebrew rumah (רוּמָה), be lifted high, be raised up. This is the psalm's refrain, sounded first at verse 5 and again here at the close. David asks nothing for himself in it, only that God be lifted high; hunted and afraid, his final petition is not "save me" but "be thou exalted."

"above the heavens," al-shamayim (עַל־שָׁמַיִם). Take in the sheer distance this prayer travels. The man saying it is in a cave, underground, hidden in a hole in the earth, and from that lowest of places he sends his praise to the highest of all.

"thy glory," kevodekha (כְּבוֹדֶךָ). The same word he used of his own soul in verse 8, "Awake up, my glory", now turned where it truly belongs. His one desire is that God's own weight and splendour be seen.

"above all the earth," al-kol-ha'aretz (עַל־כָּל־הָאָרֶץ). Heaven and earth together, nothing left out: "let thy glory be above all the earth." Between the refrain at verse 5 and the refrain here lie all the lions and nets and pits of the psalm, so that David's troubles are bracketed on both sides by the exaltation of God.

Explanation

Stand back and take in the sheer distance this refrain travels. The man saying it is in a cave, about as low as a person can be, underground, hunted, hidden in a hole in the earth. And from that lowest of places he sends his prayer to the highest of all: "Be thou exalted, O God, above the heavens; let thy glory be above all the earth." His body is below ground; his praise is above the sky. That is a wonderful thing to see, a man in the pit lifting God over the heavens, for it shows that worship does not rise from our circumstances but over them. And notice how the refrain frames the psalm. It appears first at verse 5 and again here at verse 11, and everything in between, the lions, the "teeth" that "are spears and arrows," the net spread for his steps, the pit dug before him, is held between two shouts of "Be thou exalted." David surrounds his troubles with the glory of God. The dangers are real, but they are bracketed, hemmed in on both sides by praise, so that the last word over his fear is not the fear but the exaltation of God. And there is a beautiful selflessness in it: hunted and afraid, David's final petition is not "save me" but "be thou exalted." The soul that has truly made God its refuge ends by caring more for God's glory than its own rescue.

Gospel Focus

"Be thou exalted, O God, above the heavens: let thy glory be above all the earth", this prayer is answered gloriously in Jesus Christ, who went from the lowest place to the highest, and whose glory shall indeed fill all the earth. David's cry from the cave is the pattern of the gospel itself, for Christ descended lower than any cave, into humiliation, suffering, and death, and therefore "God also hath highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above every name" (Philippians 2:9). He is now "exalted... above the heavens," "set on the right hand of the Majesty in the heavens" (Hebrews 8:1; Ephesians 4:10), and the day is coming when His glory will be "above all the earth," for "the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the LORD, as the waters cover the sea" (Habakkuk 2:14), and every knee shall bow to Him (Philippians 2:10-11). To pray "be thou exalted" is to align our hearts with the settled purpose of God, that His Son should be lifted high over all. So let the believer, in whatever cave of trouble, take up David's refrain and Christ's own path: give up demanding your own exaltation, and pray for His. The One you exalt from the pit is the One God has exalted above the heavens, and He will not forget the soul that sought His glory above its own safety.