Psalm 147 was composed at a very bittersweet moment in ancient Israel’s history. The holy city, Jerusalem, had been destroyed. God’s people had been in exile for seventy years in Babylon—taken out of their ancestral homeland and more than a generation passes while living in that foreign land. Grandparents weep at the fact that their grandchildren think of Babylon as home more than Judah, because they’ve never seen Judah. It’s only ever been a place they’ve heard about in stories. But, as recorded in Ezra and Nehimiah, God finally brings His people back to their homeland. Jerusalem and its walls were rebuilt and the temple was now reestablished. What was broken was finally restored after all the years of waiting. God’s people were back home. But then as they looked around, things weren’t quite the same nor as glorious as it had been in the good old days—the time of David or Solomon some six hundred years before.
Six hundred years is a long time and a lot of history to look back on. Depending on your age, you and I, only look back on mere decades when we look back to our past. And each year, as Christmas rushes by and on into the New Year, it’s easy to feel a little nostalgic, wishing that our Christmas this year could be more like the idealized memories we have of Christmases past. It’s easy to feel in a funk this time of year, feeling sorry for ourselves, maybe because of some problem or pain we’re dealing with, or maybe because we wish some circumstances or situation could be different, or because we lament our busy schedules, and wish the family could get together more often. Or maybe it’s something else. You look back on the year and perhaps the new job or career choice didn’t pan out the way you thought it would. Or it’s the worry we have for a loved one who is sick, or it’s the bills and the debt that need paying and the rising costs of everything else—after all, we’ve got gifts to buy. And while we look back upon our past, we see all the broken relationships that need mending, the hateful words that have been said to us that fester inside us, the lack of closure because no apologies were made and no forgiveness given. Then there are all the general aches and pains of getting older, the lonely longing for more friends who understand us or community that supports us, all the awkwardness of navigating certain social situations, all the dreams that go unrealized, and the hopes we have for a better tomorrow. I could go on…
But Psalm 147 is meant to be a reminder that sometimes we just need to step back from it all and praise the Lord. We get so caught up in ourselves, our schedules and problems, complaints and frustrations, discomforts and disappointments, but sometimes the best medicine for our weary souls is to look past all this and give thanks to God and praise Him, if nothing else, than for giving us His Word and making us His people. That’s the whole point of Psalm 147. It begins with three key words: Praise the LORD!
In the ancient Hebrew, this phrase, “praise the Lord,” is just one word. It’s a word you are very familiar with—it’s halleluiah. In fact, the last five psalms of the psalter all begin and end with this word. They are called the Halleluiah Psalms. Psalm 147 is an Halleluiah psalm. It begins saying, “Halleluiah! It is good to sing praises to our God. A song of praise is fitting.”
How often does the word “halleluiah” show up in your vocabulary? How often do you say “praise the Lord” in a typical day? Or even just since Advent started? Are these just words you reserve for church?
I’ve heard that the Eskimos have 200 words for snow. This makes sense because you tend to have a lot of words for something you live with all the time. Living in Texas, we don’t have to deal with all the problems that snow and ice bring, but I bet we’ve got no problem at all detailing all the other problems and frustrations of life—and many, many different words to express our complaints about it. Sometimes that seems to be all we do.
But how many words do we have to praise the Lord? How many reasons do we have to acknowledge His goodness? How many excuses do we make to take time to sing halleluiah to Him?
I think this why we struggle sometimes reading the psalms. — [I have lots of people share with me that they struggle to get much out of the psalms. Perhaps the psalms seem too poetic or disjointed. Perhaps we just need to expand our horizons and try a little harder when it comes to reading God’s Word.] — I think we struggle because praising God is not our natural faith language. We are better at complaining. We are so much better at griping, moaning, and groaning to the Lord about all our problems and so “halleluiah” seems an unnatural thing to say.
But the Psalms were written by people just like us. Sure, they didn’t have all the luxuries of our modern lives and their contexts and situations were very different. But they were human beings who lived in a broken world just like us, and most significantly, they were sinners just like us. They fully understand the struggle of living by faith alone while being trapped in sinful flesh that seems to have a will of its own. They knew, as well as we do, the fear of death. Most importantly, just like us, they knew their need for a Redeemer and Savior. Yet, despite knowing all this terribleness of sin and death, the psalmists praised God, anyway! They put their hope in Him and His Word, and in their brokenness they were willing to sing. They sang beautiful halleluiah songs of praise.
You can see this all throughout the psalter. For example, David will at times cry out: “How long, O Lord? How long will you let me suffer? Have You forgotten me (Psalm 13:1-6)? My enemies are all around me (Psalm 22:16-19). My life stinks. I am crushed and bruised by life’s circumstances (Psalm 38:5-8). But each and every time David complains, in the very same psalm David will proclaim, “But I still trust You, Lord. I give You my life. I thank You for all that You have done for me. On You I will wait and I will give You praise.” In fact, this is a good way to summarize almost every psalm—the psalmist complains and then praises God, despite those complaints.
You see, if Advent is a time for preparing for the true meaning of Christmas, then surely this same perspective is at the heart of our preparation, namely, taking time to praise God and giving thanks for all that He is done just as the psalms do.
In Psalm 147, the people look past their longing for the “auld lang sine”—the “old long since”—and rejoice that their God is one who has restored His people Israel. He rebuilt the city of Jerusalem. He gathers the outcasts and binds up the broken hearted. He created the stars and knows each one by name. He lifts up the humble. He covers the hills with grass—we don’t grow the grass, God does. He doesn’t take pleasure in the mighty but the lowly, nor in the strength of the horse, but rather His favor and delight are on those who hope in His steadfast love. In fact, here again is that wonderful word khesed (see sermon from last week on Psalm 136). Right here, dead center, in the middle of this psalm, the people rejoice in the steadfast, khesed love of God that endures forever. For all the snow and hoarfrost, the ashes and crumbs that life in this sinful broken world offers, He’s the one who provides more than strength for our borders and finest wheat for our food, He gives us His Word. The Word made flesh.
And just like the rebuilt Jerusalem didn’t look like much when the people first sang Psalm 147, so also, on that first Christmas, neither did the stable in Bethlehem. It was nothing but a stinky animal stall. But, then again, our own lives don’t seem all that glorious or impressive most of the time, either. Rough in some spots, stinking in others. Not much glamour. Not always neat. But the moment those smelly shepherds saw that newborn in a manger, the moment Joseph and Mary touched that newborn, chubby face of God in the flesh, these were the moments God’s purpose in Christ became shockingly clear: that there is no place He will not go; that if He is willing to be born in a barnyard, then expect Him to be at work anywhere–in the most unlikely and less-than-ideal places—in your life and in mine. Martin Luther once said of this psalm: “Let it happen that others are rich and we poor, they powerful and we weak, they happy and we sad, they admired and we despised, they alive and we dead, they everything and we nothing—what of it? You and I have God’s Word. They don’t!”
Yes, whatever God puts in front of us, may He give us the strength to sing Halleluiah! in response. To utter the word “hallelujah” is to give Him praise. We are making a declaration of praise right in the middle of wherever we are. Whether it be in a church building, in your home, car or workplace, you can declare “Hallelujah!” over your heart and over your circumstances.
In Jesus’ name. Amen.
O Lord, open my lips... 