FOR THE DIRECTOR of music. For Jeduthun. A psalm of David.
1I said, “I will watch my ways
and keep my tongue from sin;
I will put a muzzle on my mouth
as long as the wicked are in my presence.”
2But when I was silent and still,
not even saying anything good,
my anguish increased.
3My heart grew hot within me,
and as I meditated, the fire burned;
then I spoke with my tongue:
4“Show me, O LORD, my life’s end
and the number of my days;
let me know how fleeting is my life.
5You have made my days a mere handbreadth;
the span of my years is as nothing before you.
Each man’s life is but a breath.
Selah
6Man is a mere phantom as he goes to and fro:
He bustles about, but only in vain;
he heaps up wealth, not knowing who will get it.
7“But now, Lord, what do I look for?
My hope is in you.
8Save me from all my transgressions;
do not make me the scorn of fools.
9I was silent; I would not open my mouth,
for you are the one who has done this.
10Remove your scourge from me;
I am overcome by the blow of your hand.
11You rebuke and discipline men for their sin;
you consume their wealth like a moth—
each man is but a breath
Selah
12“Hear my prayer, O LORD,
listen to my cry for help;
be not deaf to my weeping.
For I dwell with you as an alien,
a stranger, as all my fathers were.
13Look away from me, that I may rejoice again
before I depart and am no more.”
Original Meaning
AS A PLEA for deliverance from divine rebuke for sin, Psalm 39 shares many connections with Psalm 38. Both psalms speak of divine “rebuke” and “discipline” (cf. 38:1; 39:11) for sin as “blows,” “wounds,” or “bruises” (cf. 38:11; 39:10) from the “hand” of God (cf. 38:2; 39:10). In both psalms the narrator acknowledges personal sin as the cause of divine judgment (cf. 38:4–5, 18; 39:8, 11) and adopts an attitude of silent waiting in the presence of detractors (cf. 38:13–16; 39:1–3, 8–9). Both stress—although in different ways—the tenuous nature of human life (cf. 38:10, 17; 39:4–6, 11).
This silent waiting for God is also mirrored in the opening verses of Psalm 40, and confession of personal sin figures prominently in both Psalms 40 and 41 (cf. 40:12; 41:4). These connections, along with the reappearance of the theme of sickness in Psalm 41, suggest that these four psalms have been stitched together to form the conclusion to book 1 of the Psalter.1
Psalm 39 falls into four sections: a personal meditation on the agony of silent waiting (39:1–3), a direct address to Yahweh regarding the frailty of human life (39:4–6), an acknowledgment of sin (39:7–11), and a final plea for deliverance (39:12–13). The term selah appears twice (39:5, 11) but does not coincide with the obvious literary structure of the poem.
The Heading (39:0)
MOST OF THE terms in the heading are familiar from earlier psalm headings (“For the director of music . . . psalm of David”).2 The one new term, “for Jeduthun,” appears also in the headings of Psalms 62 and 77. Jeduthun is one of three choir leaders appointed by David to lead temple worship (cf. 1 Chron. 16:41–42; 25:1, 6; 2 Chron. 35:15). If this reference suggests authorship, it raises questions regarding the meaning of the frequent reference to David in the psalm headings. We cannot be certain whether the intent is to acknowledge Jeduthun as author of the psalm and David as the one authorizing it or perhaps giving it a “Davidic” style, or whether David is the author and Jeduthun the “style” or the one responsible for its performance. It is difficult to making any absolute claims about these types of statements in the psalm headings.
The Agony of Silent Waiting (39:1–3)
IN WORDS REMINISCENT of Jeremiah (Jer. 20:9) and Job (Job 2:11–13), the psalmist speaks of a period of silent waiting during suffering, followed by impassioned speech. In Psalm 38:13–14 the psalmist played deaf and mute in the face of the attacks of the enemy. Here, although the wicked are present, his silence seems directed more toward God’s disciplinary punishment. On the one hand, his silence is an attempt to harden himself against relentless attacks by ignoring them; on the other hand, the psalmist remains silent to avoid having to admit sin or to acknowledge the justice of God’s treatment (39:1–2) in the presence of the wicked (39:1).3
It is difficult to know just what words the psalmist kept from speech that might be considered “sin” (39:1).4 If we are to suppose these words are recorded in the body of the psalm, there is nothing there that exceeds the bounds of numerous similar complaints throughout the psalms. The psalmist merely acknowledges the frailty of humans and requests divine deliverance. What is so “sinful” about that? Perhaps, then, the sinful words remain unspoken, so that what eventually escapes his lips are not those originally intended words but new insights gained during the self-imposed period of silent meditation.
The key may be found in 39:2, where the psalmist says that silence—“not even saying anything good”—only increased his anguish. In this event the speech he “muzzles” (i.e., keeps in check) would be a caustic diatribe against the “wicked” who are “present.” The struggle is, then, between striking out verbally at the wicked or alternatively speaking something “good” (39:2).
The psalmist’s silent meditation leads to a sense of divine compulsion to speak that cannot be denied. This is a familiar experience among the prophets, who often feel compelled to proclaim the “word of the LORD.”5 The “fire” that makes the psalmist’s heart “hot” (39:3) is a graphic way of depicting an internal anguish as a result of keeping silent (cf. Jer. 20:9). The inner turmoil ultimately forces him to break his self-imposed silence (39:3c) with the “good” word of the body of the psalm. The prophetic parallels, however, make it clear that the heat behind the psalmist’s words is a sort of divine compulsion rather than his own human anger and irritation.
The Frailty of Human Life (39:4–6)
THE RELEASE OF the anguish of meditative silence comes with an expression of the frailty of human existence. Rather than a diatribe against evil or even an anguished complaint to God, the psalmist offers an informed meditation on the fragility of human life that parallels similar insights found in Psalms 8; 90; 104, and others.
The psalmist wishes to know the “end” of his life and the “number” of his days (39:4), not in order to have mastery over life but to gain an appropriate appreciation for the tenuous and fragile nature of human existence. Elsewhere the fragility and brevity of human life is contrasted with the enduring power and eternality that is God.6 Here, however, no such contrast is exploited. Yahweh does supply the hope of the psalmist, but he makes no attempt to stress God’s superior strength and endurance. In a sense he has already gained the perspective requested in 39:4 and knows that human life is “fleeting”7 (39:4), a “mere handbreadth” (39:5),8 its span of years “as nothing” (39:5).9
This new perspective leads to a pessimistic evaluation of human life and its lasting accomplishments that is reminiscent of Ecclesiastes; it even uses the central, defining concept of that book. In the summing phrase of verses 4–5, the psalmist concludes that “each man’s life is but a breath” (39:5c)—a conclusion that provides the foundation of the evaluation in verse 6. The NIV’s translation of the word “breath” (ḥebel) obscures the clear connection with the teaching of Ecclesiastes, where that same word is translated “meaningless,” as in Ecclesiastes 1:2 (cf. 12:8):
It seems that the psalmist’s evaluation of brief human existence is not so much that it is insubstantial in length—that point has already been made—but that it is ultimately just as insubstantial in accomplishment and consequence.11
The continued thought in verse 6 focuses—as does Ecclesiastes—on the empty accomplishment of human endeavor. Humans walk back and forth as “phantoms” (ṣelem [“image”]),12 a term employed for statues of gods and kings in the ancient Near East and particularly used in Genesis 1:26–27 to describe the creation of humans in the “image” (ṣelem) and “likeness” (demut) of God. The implication is that humans are not “the real thing” but only an empty copy of themselves. As the images of the false gods in Isaiah cannot move, take care of themselves, or save those who worship them, so these empty human “images” can accomplish nothing consequential on their own.13 Their “bustling” is as vain as their compulsion to accumulate wealth is futile (39:6).14
Acknowledgment of Sin (39:7–11)
HAVING ESTABLISHED THE frailty of human life and the futility of human endeavor, where can the psalmist turn for effective help? He finds hope for deliverance from sin and the “scorn of fools” in Yahweh (39:7–8). Deliverance comes at the price of confession of sin (39:8, 11), and the psalmist acknowledges that the suffering endured is from God (39:9–11) and is intended as “rebuke and discipline” (39:11). It is this knowledge that has prevented him from voicing a complaint before the wicked (39:9; cf. 39:1–2); the punishment was deserved and just.
In verse 11 the psalmist ties divine “rebuke and discipline” together with the earlier theme of human frailty. The futility of human endeavor—the inability of humans to secure even their own wealth—is understood here as consequence of divine discipline.
Final Plea for Deliverance (39:12–13)
THE PSALMIST CONCLUDES with a final plea to Yahweh for deliverance. God is called to listen attentively (39:12) to his cry and weeping. In an interesting development, he assumes the humble role of a resident “alien” (ger) and “stranger” (tošab), both terms indicating a class of non-Israelites permitted to reside rather tenuously in the land. Because of divine discipline, the psalmist, like the “alien” and “stranger,” understands the tenuous, vulnerable hold on life a sinner experiences and longs for restoration of the secure relationship God promises the faithful. His desperate state is encapsulated in verse 12: Unless Yahweh relents and ends the punishment, he has no hope but to depart and be no more.
Bridging Contexts
LIVING AS AN ALIEN AND A STRANGER. The psalmist’s reference to the “alien” and “stranger” necessitates further comment. Both terms indicate a class of non-Israelites who were traditionally permitted to reside among God’s people within the Promised Land, but they had no “inheritance” (tribal allotment of land) like the children of Israel. These alien residents could experience a degree of harmony with the native inhabitants but enjoyed few rights of land ownership or the normal civil protections of Israelite society.15 The Old Testament uses various terms to refer to non-Israelites living within the covenant community.
(1) Alien (ger). In the most limited sense a ger was a person attached to an Israelite household but not a member of the actual family. He or she could be an employee or a servant. Elsewhere the word describes a nonnative resident of a town or region. In this sense it describes the Israelite patriarchs themselves as they traveled in foreign lands (1 Chron. 16:19; Ps. 105:12). As a consequence, Canaan is sometimes called the “land of sojourning” (ʾereṣ magur), because the ancestors of Israel lived there for an extended time as “aliens.”
Such “sojourners”—whether the patriarchs or later non-Israelites—could settle down only with permission of local rulers and enjoyed few rights. As a result, they were vulnerable in society and catalogued along with exploited elements of society (including servants, hirelings, the needy, poor, orphans, and widows). Nevertheless, Israel is cautioned not to treat aliens as they had themselves been treated. Mosaic legislation accorded aliens a modicum of security and certain rights within Israelite society (fair trial, participation in temple worship, the Day of Atonement, the right to glean along with other poor elements of society). Aliens could even be envisioned as achieving sufficient wealth and position that native Israelites might serve them (Lev. 25:47–55). But this was only possible when such aliens completely identified with the covenant community. This meant a close association with Israel in which aliens demonstrated a commitment to Yahweh and the spiritual values of Israel.
(2) The second term is the Hebrew tošab, a noun derived from the verb yšb (“sit, dwell, take up residence”). This word occurs in only thirteen places in the Old Testament and is always paired with a second term (such as “hireling” or ger), so that its individual meaning and distinction remains unclear.
(3) In addition to these two terms found in 39:12, two other Hebrew words describe non-Israelites whose place within the covenant society was even more negatively evaluated and thus tenuous. A “foreigner” (nokri; derived from nkr, “to be unknown, unrecognizable”) describes a person living within Israel who was nevertheless ethnically distinct from the Israelites (cf. the reference to the Jebusites as nokrim in Judg. 19:12). Theologically, a nokri is the spiritual opposite of the faithful member of the covenant community and is thus viewed as a serious threat to Israelite life and worship (Zeph. 1:8; Mal. 2:11). Such “foreigners” were not allowed to eat the Passover, and animals from their flocks were considered unsuitable for Israelite sacrifices. Because nokrim were not part of the covenant community, prohibitions against charging interest did not apply to them; it was also acceptable to sell animals to them that were inappropriate for Israelite consumption.
(4) The zar, like the nokri, was considered an outsider to the Israelite household and was viewed with suspicion. The noun derives from zwr, meaning “to turn aside, depart, deviate”; thus, a zar is someone adamantly opposed to Israelite covenant faith. In the plural, zarim can refer to enemies of the whole nation (cf. Isa. 1:7; 29:5; Jer. 5:19; 30:8; Ezek. 7:21; Hos. 7:9). Both the zar and nokri resided within Israel but refused closer association with Israelite faith or religious practices. Their more resistant and even hostile attitude toward Yahweh and the covenant faith made association with them dangerous and thus socially proscribed.
The psalmist draws on the experience of non-Israelite “aliens” and “strangers” as an analogy of the kind of painful barriers sin has erected between himself and God. While all around the covenant people were enjoying close association with one another and with God, the sinner felt immense distance blocking all hope of contact. He also imaginatively connects the sense of isolation and societal suspicion experienced by the patriarchs in their wanderings to the sense of rejection—by self, others, and God—that the person enmeshed in transgression often feels.
Contemporary Significance
MUZZLING THE TONGUE. Often pain (regardless of its source), whether externally or internally motivated, can cause us to lash out. I remember smashing my thumb with a badly aimed blow of a hammer, and my pain, wanting a cause other than myself to blame, overflowed with loud and caustic exclamations as I threw the hammer violently to the ground unaware and unconcerned whether anyone was in my line of fire. In some television and movie presentations, a stock dramatic scene presents a woman in the midst of labor contractions lashing out fiercely at her husband, who wants only to help. Similarly, in moments of psychic or emotional pain many of us tend to strike out at others as a way of diverting ourselves from our own discomfort and passing the blame and pain on to others.
In the midst of the pain brought on by personal sin, “muzzling the tongue” (as our psalmist describes) can be either a good or a bad thing. (1) On the good side, the one who stifles the knee-jerk response to lash out at others can enter into a state of “meditative silence,” where the interfering “noise” generated by oneself and others is lessened. When we actually “listen” to what our pain is telling us, we can often hear what God wants us to hear and learn in and through the pain. Silence in the face of pain can be a way of culling out the “bad” from the “good”—avoiding self-justification or attacks unleashed on others.
When I truly listen to my pain and the anger it generates, I often discover that it is greater than the circumstances justify or is misdirected. I have begun to evaluate my anger against a scale of 1 to 10. If the circumstance seems to merit an anger level of 4, yet I am responding at level 9 or 10, then I know there is something at work other than the circumstance I am acknowledging. Too often the difference is the result of old wounds submerged and never dealt with, a sense of personal sin or guilt I am unwilling to admit, or fear of rejection or vulnerability. These hidden factors elevate my anger as a way of masking myself and pushing others (including God!) away from intimate relationships in which resolution can occur.
Meditative silence can allow us time to reflect on the real reasons behind our anger and pain before our lashing out jeopardizes relationships by distorting and confusing the real issues involved. Time taken in truly listening can help us understand what God wants us to hear and declare from this painful circumstance. This is not to say that all painful circumstances are brought on us by God to teach us a lesson. In Psalm 39, the psalmist’s pain is the result of personal sin. But within each circumstance, regardless of its origin, there is an understanding that leads to the “way of God” from that place.
(2) On the bad side, muzzling the tongue can be a way of not acknowledging the truth—God’s truth—about our situation. Not to acknowledge our own sin can lead others to the wrong conclusion about our suffering rather than accepting the just nature of God’s discipline.
In this psalm, the psalmist was tempted to remain silent, “not even saying anything good” (39:2). But the pressure to speak out built up until it was an unstoppable force that broke free of his restraints. If the interior of the psalm is any indication, the irresistible message that ultimately escaped from his lips was a declaration of the frailty of humans in contrast to the complete adequacy of God. His suffering was not the result of divine weakness but of human sin. Indeed, the psalmist’s only hope is in Yahweh, who is both discipliner and Savior.
This true word flows out of the meditative silence that precedes, and it rightly situates the psalmist’s pain in the context of sin and divine discipline. It communicates to those who surround the poet—friend and foe alike—that God is a God of both justice and salvation, who hears the prayers of those who acknowledge their sin and call on him. When we experience pain—of our own or other’s making—we need to reflect, as does the psalmist, in order to make our spoken response a true one that acknowledges our frailty and our need for God’s salvation.
Living as resident aliens. Sin separates from God. At the end of Psalm 39, the psalmist, having acknowledged his sin, admits how great a distance this transgression has created between himself and the holy God. He feels like an “alien” and a “stranger” in God’s presence, and this sense of distance is the cause of weeping (39:12) and a desire for change.
While I cannot speak for you, I can acknowledge that my own bouts of sinning have resulted at times in a sense of deep alienation from God—a self-imposed distance that appears at times almost insurmountable. I am too unworthy for divine care, too deeply enmeshed to honestly admit my condition, or too weak to return to the path of holy living on my own. In this state I can understand what the psalmist means by “dwelling with [God] as an alien, a stranger.” I have traveled on occasion in other countries in which the language and culture was far removed from my own. I have felt the distance that crops up when everyone else knows how to act, speak, and respond to every circumstance, but I feel like an uncultured and ineffective boob, an object of amusement and scorn, who cannot hope to move acceptably in that society.
Sin, says the psalmist, creates this kind of distance with God. God is the one who scourges the psalmist with blows from his hand (39:10)—who rebukes, disciplines, and consumes the wealth of humans. Yet God is also the one to whom he cries for deliverance. This humble recognition that God is at once judge and deliverer is what the Old Testament means by the “fear of the LORD”—the admission that one has no hope in self or others but only as God offers it. This kind of fearful vulnerability is what the psalmist means by dwelling as an “alien [and] stranger” before God. And it is this kind of awareness and vulnerability that places you and me in the position of acceptance at which God can act as salvation and deliverance.