Bible Commentaries

Psalm 18:4-6 :—

"The sorrows of death compassed me, and the floods of ungodly men made me afraid. The sorrows of hell compassed me about: the snares of death prevented me. In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried unto my God: he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him, even into his ears."

No attempt is here made to diminish the severity of the crisis. Often when a great agony is overpast the sufferer himself forgets its intensity, and is inclined to suppose that it might have been cured by less ostentatious means than had been adopted for its pacification. We are seldom critically correct in the recollection of our sorrows. We either unduly magnify them, or we so far modify their intensity as to make any remedial measures look as simple and superficial as possible. David vividly remembered all his afflictive experience. He does not hesitate to speak of that experience in words which are metaphorical, if not romantic, without at all affecting the reality of the trouble through which he had passed. He says "the sorrows of death compassed" him. Some have interpreted this expression as birth-pangs; others again have used the word cords. It has been thought that the figure of the hunter in the next verse, in which we read of the snares of death, fixes the meaning there to be cords. In Samuel, David represents himself as submerged or overwhelmed by the progress or waves of the trouble which had been made to pass over him. Sometimes indeed we do not know what real trouble we have been in until we have been removed from it for some distance and thus enabled to contemplate it in its totality. Again and again the mind exclaims concerning the impossibility that such and such trouble can really have been survived. We are familiar with the experience which declares that certain afflictions could not possibly be borne a second time. It is well to bear in memory our greatest sorrows that we may also recollect our greatest deliverances. There is no true piety in undervaluing the darkness and the horror through which the soul has passed. Instead of making light of the most tragical experiences of life, we should rather accumulate them, that we may see how wondrous has been the interposition of the divine hand and how adequate are the resources of Heaven to all the necessities of this mortal condition. Even admitting the words to be metaphorical, they present a vivid picture of what human sorrow may be,—whatever may be rationally imagined may be actually undergone; as to David's own consciousness, what is here stated was a matter of the sternest reality. It should be borne in mind, too, that trouble is a different thing to different men, even when it comes in the same guise and quantity. Much must depend upon temperament. Things animate suffer; things inanimate do not respond to the blow with which they are struck. The poetic temperament is the most suffering of all. According to the sensitiveness of the nature is the terribleness of the stroke which falls upon it. David had the gift of expression even in this matter of trouble; he remembered every pang; he saw every spectral image; he could give a name to every passing emotion; he grew eloquent in the redundance of his language in setting forth the blackness and terribleness of the night through which his soul had been supernaturally conducted. Other men have no gift of telling the extent of affliction which they have undergone. They know they have been in trouble, but they have no words wherewith to set forth before the minds of others adequate images of their actual distress. We must form our estimate of human experience either from the one class or the other,—that Psalm 18:15).

These words represent the idea that when mind is fully roused, and is in its noblest action, all matter trembles in its presence as a thing servile and helpless. Matter appears to be strong and noble under some circumstances, but under other conditions it trembles and fades and dies out of sight as that which is contemptible and unworthy to be seen when the Lord's power is fully abroad. What is this but saying in plain language that there are times when the universe appears to be a thing of mind rather than a thing of matter—when the whole plan of creation seems to be an infinite thought rather than a complicated mechanism? Once let the mind seize the idea that the spiritual is greater than the material, and then only poetry can express the prose fact that the throne of the universe is filled by a Spirit, infinite, glorious, and loving, and that all Psalm 18:29).

"He maketh my feet like hinds" feet, and setteth me upon my high places. He teacheth my hands to war, so that a bow of steel is broken by mine arms" ( Psalm 18:33-34).

This also is a poetical way of representing the fact that impossibilities have often been made possible in our own experience. Looking back upon certain combinations of circumstances, we cannot but feel that we were surrounded by great and high walls, and that troops of dangers thickened around us in deadly array. Now that we see ourselves in a "large place," we are tempted to believe that we are still in a dream, and that our liberty is a thing which we hold only in the uncertain daylight of a momentary vision. We say it is not possible that we can have escaped all our foes and entirely left behind us the "great and terrible wilderness." We still feel as if the enemy might seize us, and as if a moment's boasting would mean lifelong subjugation to the tyranny which we have supposedly escaped. In this view of our own circumstances, our song is not permitted to reach its full compass of delight, lest the enemy should overhear our triumphing and again seize us as his prey. We are pursued by our enemies; when our imagination is vexed by the cross-colours which make up the panorama of life, it is easy to persuade us that to-morrow we shall be back again in chains, for we have enjoyed but an imaginary liberty. Then, under happier circumstances, we see how the miracle is a simple reality—that we have in very deed escaped perils which at one time seemed to be insurmountable, and that our escape is due entirely to the exercise of the almightiness of God. It is remarkable how under such circumstances we unconsciously magnify our own importance in the universe. We do not mean to be ostentatious and proud when we declare that God has exerted himself specially on our behalf, and has indeed himself been disquieted until our comfort was restored and established. The Psalmist speaks here as if he were the sole object of the Lord's care, and as if the Infinite took delight only in his well-being and prosperity. It is unfortunately possible also to imagine on the part of the Lord a special contempt for the enemies of whom we are ourselves afraid. It is impossible for us to think that God can be friendly to men who are unfriendly to us. We thus, without intention and certainly without words, accuse God of invidiousness and partiality. There is great need for care in this direction, lest we grow in spiritual self-sufficiency and in the uncertain security of irrational and presumptuous pride. Rather let us think that if men have been our enemies they may have had some reason for their hostility, and let us diligently cross-examine ourselves to find out how far their opposition has been justified by something wrong within our own nature. It is lawful to learn from an enemy, and it is lawful for us to occupy the enemy's standpoint in endeavouring to form a true estimate of ourselves.

In this psalm we have an outline of David's conception of God. Some of the expressions are marvellously penetrating and marvellously beautiful. What can be sweeter than such words as these?—

"With the merciful thou wilt shew thyself merciful; with an upright man thou wilt shew thyself upright; with the pure thou wilt shew thyself pure; and with the froward thou wilt shew thyself froward" ( Psalm 18:25-26).

In the thirty-fifth verse the Psalmist uses an expression which has comforted many a spirit and explained satisfactorily many a sacred experience,—"thy gentleness hath made me great." This word gentleness has been translated "meekness," and has been taken as pointing to him who said, "I am meek and lowly." The meaning would seem to be that we owe our stability and enlargement to the forbearance of God. If he had been only all-mighty and all-righteous he would have crushed us and carried us away in a storm of derision because of our falsehood and vanity and selfishness. But he has carefully surrounded us so that we might have an opportunity to grow, become strong, and to mature our life in all acceptable fruitfulness. We owe all that is best and truest in ourselves, not to a culture we have either originated or conducted, but to the gentleness or forbearance of God, who has spared us and enabled us to turn to advantage all the blessings of his providence. In such verses as these we come upon a distinct and unchangeable philosophy. God is to us what we are to God. Wherein we are pure, we see the holiness of the Father; and wherein we are merciful, we share the divine compassion. We thus become as it were interpreters and reflectors of the divine nature. It would seem as if we could only know God according to the limit and quality of our own spirit. We must find the unknown through the known, the divine through the human, and make time itself into a symbol of eternity. Terrible is the thought, yet full also of joy, that man is the best interpreter of God. Whatever we may see of him in the works of Psalm 18:26

God is to us what we are to God. This is the explanation of all difficulty, and it is also the secret of all spiritual growth. It is in harmony with what Christ says, "Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God." The pure mind finds purity everywhere. The corrupt mind everywhere finds corruption. Man is mirrored by all nature. If we go into the Bible with the heart of a little child, we shall come out of it rich with flowers and fruits. If we go into the Bible in a merely critical spirit, for the express purpose of finding fault, we shall return from our studies loaded with discrepancies, difficulties, mysteries, and objections of every kind. Let the pure mind review the way of Providence in history, and everywhere it will find indications of purpose, discipline, and ultimate harmony and sanctification. Let the mere faultfinder read any history, and he will grow indignantly eloquent upon the inequalities of life, and upon the consequent favouritism of God. The word "froward" may be regarded as meaning twisted or perverse. The froward mind is twisted round, is crooked, is directly opposed to the whole idea of being straight or upright. What can such a mind see in nature, in history, or in revelation, but something that reflects itself? The lesson to us is to keep our minds in a right condition. To bring the mind into a right condition the heart must be first put into right relation to God. The heart governs the mind. We not only lose the blessings of divine revelation by having a froward mind, we lose all the teachings of life, all the benefits of trustful communion, and all the repose of perfect confidence in each other's sincerity. A perverted mind is a suspicious mind. Suspicion never enriched the soul with a single thought. Suspicion inflicts deadly injustice on all upon whom it falls. Not only, therefore, is there a religious bearing to this text, there is a personal and social bearing, a family and commercial bearing, a natural and artistic bearing. As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he. When the mind is pure, all nature will become of kindred quality.