FOR THE DIRECTOR of music. To the tune of “A Dove on Distant Oaks.” Of David. A miktam. When the Philistines had seized him in Gath.
1Be merciful to me, O God, for men hotly pursue me;
all day long they press their attack.
2My slanderers pursue me all day long;
many are attacking me in their pride.
3When I am afraid,
I will trust in you.
4In God, whose word I praise,
in God I trust; I will not be afraid.
What can mortal man do to me?
5All day long they twist my words;
they are always plotting to harm me.
6They conspire, they lurk,
they watch my steps,
eager to take my life.
7On no account let them escape;
in your anger, O God, bring down the nations.
8Record my lament;
list my tears on your scroll—
are they not in your record?
9Then my enemies will turn back
when I call for help.
By this I will know that God is for me.
10In God, whose word I praise,
in the LORD, whose word I praise—
11in God I trust; I will not be afraid.
What can man do to me?
12I am under vows to you, O God;
I will present my thank offerings to you.
13For you have delivered me from death
and my feet from stumbling,
that I may walk before God
in the light of life.
Original Meaning
LIKE PSALM 55, Psalm 56 is a plea for deliverance from the attack of personal enemies, and it is likewise marked by a strong sense of confidence (cf. 56:4, 10–11). It continues the so-called Elohistic Psalter (Pss. 42–83); that is, except for the unusual intrusion of Yahweh in 56:10b, the operative designation for God is ʾelohim (56:1, 4a, 4b, 7, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13). The one occurrence of Yahweh in verse 10b has the appearance of an insertion since it repeats the preceding phrase and expands the refrain that is stated in its simple form in 56:4.
The psalm is composed of two unequal sections, each ending with an almost identical refrain (56:4, 10–11), and is concluded by a third section vowing to present thank offerings. Here is the overall structure of the psalm: opening plea for divine mercy (56:1–4), description of the enemy and desire for their defeat (56:5–11), and vow of thanksgiving (56:12–13).
The Heading (56:0)
PSALM 56 IS the first of five consecutive psalms (Pss. 56–60) described in their headings as a miktam.1 The headings of these psalms share other common elements as well. All are referred to “the director of music” and are attributed to David;2 four of the five (Pss. 56; 57; 59; 60) have historical notices connecting them with events in the life of David.3 In addition, the heading of Psalm 56 contains a reference to what appears to be a tune for singing: (lit.) “according to A Dove on Distant Oaks.”4 The historical notice relates the psalm to events “when the Philistines had seized [David] in Gath” (a probable reference to 1 Sam. 21:1–10), although nothing in the text of the psalm makes that connection explicit or necessary.
Opening Plea for Mercy (56:1–4)
THE ENEMY IS depicted like a hound in full pursuit, snapping at the fleeing psalmist’s heels.5 The attack is continual, as indicated by the repetition of the phrase “all day long”6 no less than three times in the first five verses (56:1b, 2a, 5a). The opponents are “slanderers,” who attack the psalmist from a position of advantage (marom [“elevation of ground; high social position”] rather than the NIV’s “in their pride”). The language is that of close military confrontation and struggle: “They press their attack . . . pursue me.”
Yet, in the face of such hot pursuit, the psalmist expresses confidence in God that removes fear: “When I am afraid . . . I will not be afraid” (56:3a, 4b). The reason for his lack of fear is trust in God (56:3b, 4b) and the realization of the consequent impotence of the enemy: “What can mortal man [flesh] do to me?” These confident sentiments are expressed in the refrain that makes its first appearance in 56:4 and concludes this first section of the psalm.
Desired Defeat of the Enemy (56:5–11)
THE PSALMIST DESCRIBES the enemy’s attack in terms consistent with the “slanderers” of 56:2a. They “twist [his] words,” plot harm, and wait for the opportunity to snuff out his life (56:6). The description here reminds me of a boxing match in which one boxer stalks the other, hitting, falling back, dodging, and waiting for the right opening to strike the knockout blow.
The psalmist appeals to God for redress (56:7), pleading that his enemies not escape their just punishment and that God will “bring [them] down.” Here, however, an unanticipated twist takes place. To this point, all indicators point to an identification of the enemy as corrupt persons within his society—perhaps those who are using their high social position to make life difficult for him. One would expect the poet to plead that these proud enemies be taken down a peg or two, or even that those who seek his life will themselves be “brought down” to Sheol.
But he makes an unexpected turn here by requesting that God bring down not such social detractors and opponents, but “the peoples” (ʿammim),7 a reference to the many ethnic and tribal communities that make up the nations and the world population. This broadened reference probably reflects a postexilic viewpoint of the Jewish Diaspora, suffering in the midst of a largely non-Jewish pagan population and seeking to live their lives faithfully in a hostile environment. Although here the psalmist seeks redress for wrongs experienced at the hands of “the peoples,” by contrast in 57:9 he vows to praise God among the tribal groups (ʿammim) and among the ethnic communities (leʾummim).
Record my lament. The psalmist desires a permanent record of his complaint. We know that kings often kept a record of significant events that occurred during their reign so that they could refer back to them at a later date. In Esther, a written record of assistance provided to Xerxes by Mordecai, who uncovered a plot to assassinate the king, played an important dramatic role in the narrative. King Xerxes, having reread the portion of the record where Mordecai’s service was described, determined to do great honor to him just as Haman entered the throne room to seek permission to kill Mordecai. The psalmist wants God to record his lament so that it will not be forgotten and will lead ultimately to action.
By this I will know that God is for me. The psalmist seems to imply that if God remembers the plea, he will act so that his enemies will be defeated and “turn back” (56:9). That defeat will be sure evidence that God is acting in his behalf. This kind of visible assurance is not always available to the suffering righteous, as the opening verses of this psalm suggest. For even in the midst of continued suffering, the psalmist remains committed to trust in God (56:3).
What can man do to me? The call for redress against the enemy concludes with the second appearance of the refrain, with two significant modifications from the first. (1) A line is added immediately following the first one and almost exactly repeating it, but replacing the general reference to ʾelohim with specific reference to yhwh (Yahweh; 56:10b).
In God [ʾelohim], whose word I praise.
In the LORD [yhwh], whose word I praise.
This makes it clear, even in the confines of the Elohistic Psalter, that Yahweh is the source of the psalmist’s confidence.
(2) This second refrain also sounds the primary theme of trust in the midst of suffering: “In God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?” But note the significant alteration from the first refrain in that “man” (ʾadam [“human being”]) replaces “mortal man” (baśar [“flesh”]). Both terms emphasize the transitory or mortal nature of humanity (as well as animals).8
Vow of Thanksgiving (56:12–13)
IN ANTICIPATION OF deliverance by God, the psalmist commits to “present” (šlm) the vows made to God in the midst of trouble. Usually such vows (which are not specifically recounted here) are promises to give something to God. Fulfillment of a vow normally took place in the context of public worship and was accompanied with a sacrifice of thanksgiving.
You have delivered me. The promise to fulfill the vow and to offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving are in response to divine deliverance, either actualized or anticipated. The final verse offers a chiastic arrangement of statements, in which the two outer lines are related as are the two inner ones. In the outer lines, the psalmist—by the deliverance of God—passes from death (56:13a) to the “light of life” (56:13d). In the inner lines, God keeps the psalmist’s “feet from stumbling” (56:13b) so that they may “walk before God” (56:13c).
Bridging Contexts
LIST MY TEARS on your scroll. The NIV translation of this phrase in 56:8b flies in the face of tradition and interpretively renders a Hebrew word that means “wineskin/waterbag” in all its other occurrences.9 The reason for the NIV rendering seems to be the dominant emphasis in the context of 56:8 on “recording” (spr [“you have written”]) and “documentation” (“in your notebook/scroll”). However, the direct meaning of the original Hebrew is “put my tears in your waterskin.” The image seems to reflect the practice in the arid climate of ancient Israel to preserve precious liquids—like water, wine, milk, etc.—in a leak-proof leather bag. Its small opening allowed the liquid to be dispersed efficiently into cup or mouth in a thin stream but inhibited evaporation. Although there is no clear evidence of a practice of saving tears in ancient Israel, the image is a potent one: The psalmist’s tears of lament are so precious to God that he collects and preserves them as he would water or wine.10
Regardless of this particular idiom, 56:8 does stress the recording of the psalmist’s lament and tears in God’s record book. The invention and introduction of writing in the ancient Near East began ca. 3300 B.C. and is most often associated with the Sumerians.11 The earliest forms of writing were concerned with records of economic transactions and accounts governing the distribution of goods in an increasingly urban society. From these simple beginnings extensive archives of political, historical, and religious documents gradually developed. The medium of communication in Mesopotamia was cuneiform script impressed on clay tablets. In Egypt early pictographic hieroglyphics and later hieratic script came to be written on sheets and scrolls of papyrus paper. For the Israelites and related peoples using the Phoenician Semitic alphabets, the primary means of writing were pen and ink on leather scrolls.
The biblical narratives are full of accounts of items recorded in writing for later reference. The Books of the Annals of the Kings of Israel and Judah were important resources for the writers of Samuel, Kings, and Chronicles. In the narrative of Esther, the record of Mordecai’s uncovering of a plot against the king in the Annals of Xerxes played a crucial and dramatic role in the humiliation of the enemy Haman (Est. 5:9–6:12). Jeremiah’s prophecies were recorded on a scroll to ensure they would remain available to the reading public even after the prophet was silenced by the king (cf. Jer. 36; 45; 51). Similarly, prophecies could be sealed and preserved for later reading (Isa. 29; 30; cf. also Dan. 12:4, 9).12
In Malachi, a list of those who “feared the LORD” is recorded on a scroll in the presence of God (Mal. 3:16). The idea of producing a record in the presence of Yahweh expands to include Yahweh’s keeping his own scroll of remembrance (Isa. 34:16). He keeps a record of names and can “blot out” or remove them from the collection (Ex. 32:32–33; Dan. 12:1).13 In Psalm 69, this idea of a divine account book in which the names of the righteous are recorded and from which the names of the wicked can be expunged is called the “book of life” (69:28).
This idea and phraseology is picked up in the New Testament, especially in Revelation.14 There the presence of one’s name in the “book of life” makes the difference between salvation and damnation: “If anyone’s name was not found written in the book of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire” (Rev. 20:15). What in Psalm 56 is an item of particular comfort and encouragement to the psalmist becomes, by the time of Revelation, a sort of defining characteristic by which individuals are evaluated and judged.
Contemporary Significance
I WILL TRUST IN YOU. Near the beginning of Psalm 56, we find an interesting juxtaposition of verses cast in a sort of chiastic construction (56:3–4):
When I am afraid,
I will trust in you.
In God, whose word I praise,
In God I trust;
I will not be afraid.
What can mortal man do to me?
If you follow the thought process through from beginning to end, you move from being afraid (56:3a) to not being afraid (56:4c), and the change is set into motion and brought to completion by trust: trust in God (56:3b, 4b). At the center of this chiasm is the phrase that carries most weight in this kind of structure. What is the foundation of the psalmist’s trust? What is it that enables the psalmist to move from fear to no fear? “In God, whose word I praise” (56:4a). Because of God’s praiseworthy word, the psalmist is able to trust, and the real fear that encroaches at the beginning recedes to nonexistence by the end. Buoyed up by this certainty, the psalmist is assured that there is nothing that human beings can do to undermine his trust in God. “What can mortal man do to me?
Now, obviously, mortal men had been able to make the psalmist’s life miserable. They twisted his words, plotted, conspired, and lurked, waiting eagerly to pounce and destroy (56:5–6). He had every reason to be afraid. Yet trust in God’s word rendered those fears obsolete.
This is a lesson I would like to learn. How does trusting in God remove fear? Let me mention just three possibilities from the text of this psalm.
(1) First, the obvious. God’s Word is a source of confidence to those who are beset by enemies. When we are attacked, we need to be able to draw on the stable assurance of God’s Word rather than the wavering perspective of public opinion. In the midst of trouble, even our own words can be twisted and be made to condemn us. Attack by the enemy, fickle public opinion, our own wavering sense of self, guilt, and weakness—all these represent an inadequate measure of reality. Only God sees the true state of our affairs. Only he is able to pronounce a true judgment of righteousness and failure.
That is why a ready familiarity with Scripture is one of the most serious lacks in many contemporary Christians’ lives. Too much of our faith is based on emotion and feeling. When the emotions fall—destroyed by the attacks of enemies, the misunderstanding of those around us, or our own failure of self-confidence—our sense of relationship with God can be undermined. At those moments we need to hold our emotions up to the clear testimony of God in Scripture.
(2) The psalmist gains confidence in God when the enemies turn back. I don’t mean to suggest that the enemies will just close up shop and go home. Often their attacks continue as before. But in the midst of the attack, the psalmist perceives some divinely given “room” or “breathing space” that was not there before. Perhaps it is something like experiencing his spiritual armor that makes it possible to withstand the attacks of evil (cf. Eph. 6:10–18). This is a kind of armor we put on through study of Scripture, by cultivating a vital relationship with God through prayer and service, and by developing support relationships with fellow Christians. Just when it seems the enemy will overwhelm us, God brings us out into a broad space. “He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me” (18:19). “You have not handed me over to the enemy but have set my feet in a spacious place” (31:8).
(3) Finally, we can be confident in the protective care of God when we “walk before God in the light of life” (56:13). The verb “walk” is the Hithpael infinitive construct of the common verb hlk. The Hithpael stem has the force of reiterative action—that is, action that is done over and over and over. This is a kind of practice that becomes an almost unconscious habit. When we walk consistently and faithfully in the light of life, we learn to trust God in the times of difficulty and challenge. God’s light illumines the way that we go. That is because in that regular contact with God, we experience life-giving light that keeps our feet from stumbling and gives us that “abundant life” God wants us to have in Christ (John 10:10). Again, suffering does not disappear, but the experience of God causes the pain of living to recede as we begin to fit within the broader perspective of God’s gracious love for us and his purposes for us and his world.
What can mortal man do to me? According to the psalmist and our own experience, mortal humans can do quite a lot to me. They can ruin my reputation with slander. They can fire me from the job I need to support myself and family. They can commit adultery and then abandon me in divorce. Human fathers can even abuse their defenseless daughters. Just the other day two mothers, separated by two thousand miles, were reported on the evening news as having taken the lives of their children when faced with desperate personal circumstances.
The mass graves in the former Yugoslavia (and multiplied many times around the world) are graphic testimony that humans can do much to me. They can exalt me or bring me low. They can love or hate me. We can build up or tear down, value or despise each other. We have the power of life and death in many circumstances. So, what can this psalmist mean by saying twice: “What can mortal man do to me?” Is this just false bravado? Or misguided naiveté?
We have had occasion to ask this question before in considering the psalms, and we will likely face the same question again. In their confident reliance on God’s care and deliverance, the psalmists often paint a picture of practical invulnerability, in which they seem to be untouchable by the woes and evils of this life. Yet their psalms continue to give abundant testimony to the vicious realities of life in a fallen world. They are aware in their pleas to God for deliverance and redress that “mortal humans” can do a lot to make their lives miserable, or even very short!
Yet the psalmist’s words here bear a truth that returns again and again. If God is for us, who can be against us? When God is on our side, it is possible to find a refuge in the midst of the storm. There is something more precious in a relationship with God than a life free of suffering here and now.
Jesus testifies to this same idea when he sent out his twelve disciples to experience the character of Christian ministry in the world. He warned them they would experience rejection and floggings and be arrested by the authorities. They would be betrayed by siblings and parents; they would be hated and considered in league with Satan. But in spite of all these dangerous and painful realities, Jesus says, “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell” (Matt. 10:28).15 Jesus’ statement calls us to count the costs of the Christian life as well as its ultimate benefits. As Christians, we are called to experience suffering in this life, even as Jesus did.16
Yet, in spite of the suffering caused by human evil, there is a benefit that accrues to those who trust in God or name the name of Christ. That benefit is described as escaping the powers of hell. In Psalm 56, the one who trusts God will walk before God now in the light of life.17