The Power Of The Psalms

   Every since they were first written, the Psalms have been a book to which men have turned time and again. The reason for this isn’t hard to fathom—not only are the Psalms the word of God, they are, paradoxically, the word of men. And as the word of men, they articulate man’s deepest penitence, sorrows, victories, defeats, fears, and hopes. The Psalms are to the soul what Grey’s Anatomy is to the body—the entire outline of man’s spiritual makeup is revealed for viewing. And this is important, for in reading the Psalms, we realize that we are not some one-of-a-kind creature whose besetting sins and moral failures are unique to ourselves.

The Psalms weren’t written by people who were better people than we. They weren’t penned by men whose moral problems were minor compared to ours. For the most part, they were penned by men who hated more, lusted more, worried more, failed as parents more, complained more, were baffled more, etc. than we. But these same men were deeply conscious of their fallen nature. Despite their defeats, they persisted in struggling upward to all that was best and highest in their nature, without ever losing sight of how short of the target they fell in the attempt. The writers of the Psalms were deeply conscious of their sin and sought, through the accents of shame and penitence, to renew their fellowship with God, heart to heart, thought to thought, face to face.

The Psalms are loved because they express in words the kinship that every spiritually sensitive soul craves to find with the eternal God, from whom they seek protection, blessing, and friendship. The Psalms translate into language that translates the deepest yearnings of our soul. And conversely—even astonishingly—the Psalms express the deepest yearnings of God. I don’t think I’m off-base in making that claim. The temple of Solomon was the costliest building ever built, and, centuries later, when Herod spent forty-six years rebuilding the temple, it was considered a wonder of the ancient world. Yet not a single fragment of either building has survived. What has survived are the hymns of Jewish worship that were sung at the temple that formed a bridge between the heart of man and the heart of God. And isn’t this what God desires above all else—to be truly, absolutely, and completely heart-related to His children? This truth is implicit in Paul’s sermon in Athens (Acts 17), a city filled with temples and shrines. God, declared the apostle, didn’t want buildings (17.25), He wants hearts that long for Him enough to seek Him and find Him (17.27). So long as men continue to find in the Psalms their inspiration for life, their strength in danger, and their comfort in death, they will be read and loved.

Kenny Chumbley