The Comfort of God

Sermon Discussion Questions

1. Read through Psalm 139:1-12 on your own together. What attribute of God sticks out to you the most? Why?

2. When you hear that "God searches you and knows you," (verse 1) what is the first thing you feel? Why?

3. Why should God's knowledge of us (verses 1-5) be a source of great comfort for us, not fear?

4. David says that God "hems us in, behind and before" (verse 5). What does he mean by this? How have you experienced God's "hemming in" in your own life?

5. Verses 7-12 tell us that there is nowhere we can flee where God is not present. What are some reasons we might try to flee from God's presence? Have you had this experience yourself? Describe.

6. How does understanding the incarnation (Jesus--Immanuel, taking on human form) help us understand the nature of God's presence and what that means for us?

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How we interpret a message has everything to do with what we believe about the messenger, and what the messenger believes about us. I’ve been reading through the Count of Monte Cristo (which is a wonderful book, by the way, and only about 1500-pages long), and there’s this scene early on in the book which captures this idea so vividly. I’ll save you the major spoilers, but the story revolves around Edmond Dantes, a young, ambitious sailor of 19 years old who, when but months away from becoming captain of his own ship, and hours away from marrying the love of his life, is viciously framed by three evil men, jealous of his success in business and love. Edmond spends six years alone in his cell before he encounters the Abbé Faria, a priest who himself was thrown in prison under false allegations of political conspiracy. The priest spends the next 8 years taking Edmond under his wing, shaping his mind in all arenas of knowledge—religion, history, politics, language, and mathematics. But, most intriguingly, the Abbe also tells the young sailor of a hidden family treasure on the island of Monte Cristo valued at more than 13,000,000 francs, or more like $500m in today’s dollars. A few chapters later, Edmond escapes from prison in one of the most dramatic scenes I’ve ever read in a book, and travels to the island of Monte Cristo where he uncovers the very treasure the Abbe had spent so many years telling him of.

Transformed now, both by his newfound wealth and the profound education he received from the fatherly priest, Edmond transforms himself into the mysterious Count of Monte Cristo, and dedicates the rest of his life to seeking vengeance against the men who framed him. But, to credit of Alexandre Dumas’s beautifully nuanced writing, the Count is much more than a simple “anti-hero” seeking revenge against his foes. Throughout the rest of the book, Edmond utilizes his vast resources of mind and money not only to punish the wicked, but to bless the poor and deserving. He longs not only for vengeance, but justice.

There is one scene in particular—the scene I alluded to at the beginning of the sermon—that beautifully captures this idea of “the message and the messenger.” Edmond Dantes, now the Count of Monte Cristo, sails back to his home of Marseille. Fourteen years have passed since he was wrongfully imprisoned, and he comes home to find his father dead, his fiancee married to another, and his former employer, Monsieur Sorrel, the ship owner who showed him nothing but kindness, now on the verge of bankruptcy and ruin. Disguising himself as a wealthy English banker, the Count secretly travels around Marseille, collecting all the debts owed by Sorrel, and then goes to to Sorrel’s home, under the pretense of calling in the debt. Sorrel, ever the man of honor who has never once neglected a debt, is forced to confess to the mysterious English banker that he is truly ruined unless the last ship he owns makes it back to Marseille with it’s imported goods from Italy.

Just seconds later, Sorrel’s daughter bursts into the room where the Sorrel and the Count are standing, with urgent news. Sorrel’s ship—the same ship upon which his family’s livelihood hangs in the balance—has been sunk off the coast of Italy, and everything has been lost. At this news, Sorrel nearly faints and falls back into his seat, utterly despondent. The Count, still in disguise, expresses sympathy for Sorrel and agrees to extend the loan an additional three months. But as he leaves, he explains that when he returns in exactly three months, at exactly 11 o’clock, he expects to find the debt fully paid.

What Sorrel didn’t know, was that when the English Banker had uttered the words, “I expect to find the debt fully paid,” he intended to pay the debt himself. Three months pass, and the poor ship owner is only able to accumulate a paltry 14,000 Francs against the 300,000 he owed. As the clock ticked past 10:57, and then 10:58, Sorrel, in a final desperate attempt to protect the honor of his family, collects his pistol from the front drawer of his office desk and places it against his temple, squeezing his eyes shut, summoning up the courage for this final act. But, at exactly 10:59, with his finger firm against the trigger, Sorrel is once again interrupted by his daughter bursting forth into his office. She’s crying, again, but this time with tears of joy! A secret benefactor has just moments before placed a bag of priceless jewels into the young girl’s hands, with more than enough money to pay off the family’s debts! Sorrel’s honor and his life are saved by the kindness of the Count of Monte Cristo.

The Count’s message three months before came true—the debt was indeed paid at exactly 11 o’clock on the 5th of September. But there were two very different ways that the Count’s message could have been interpreted. The ship owner could have heard these words—”the debt surely will be paid”—as a thinly veiled threat to his life, which is in truth how he heard the message. Or, if he had known the identity of the one who delivered the message, a once-lost friend who overflowed for him in benevolence and love, he would have heard a very different message—”the debt will surely be paid, because I myself will pay it.”

As we come to our text this morning, we are going to be confronted with a section of scripture that we could understand in one of two ways—either as a message of incalculable dread, or one of indescribable comfort. How we interpret this message has everything to do with what we believe about the Messenger, and what the Messenger believes about us.

This morning we are going to consider two aspects of God’s nature, and how they pertain to us: 1) God’s Knowledge of Us; and 2) God’s Presence With Us. And the question we will attempt to answer is this: What feelings should these two things produce in us—dread or comfort?

(1) God’s Knowledge of Us (1-6)

O LORD, you have searched me and known me! You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar. You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O LORD, you know it altogether. You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it.

Consider the intimacy of God’s knowledge. He searches and knows the hearts of his people. He knows “when you sit down and when you rise up—”he sees what you do in secret. He knows “your thoughts from afar—”not just your hidden actions, but every detail of your inner life. He “searches out your path and your lying down and is acquainted with all your ways—” every one of your days is before him: how you spend your time, your attention, and your money; what excites you and demoralizes you; what it is that most captures your heart. And “even before a word is on my tongue,” the Psalmist declares, “behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.” He doesn’t just see what you do in secret, he doesn’t just know your thoughts—he knows you better than you know yourself! Before you even have a thought in your mind, or a word on your tongue, he knows it altogether.

I wonder what kind of feelings these opening words of Psalm 139 stir up in you. Does this intimate, invasive knowledge of God that penetrates every facet of who you are—mind, body, and soul—fill you with a sense of comfort? Or dread? I think if we’re honest, most of us are terrified at the thought that God can truly see us down to the depth of our bones. The writer of Hebrews says that “No creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account (Hebrews 4:13). We spend so much of our lives carefully cultivating an attractive external image—handsome, beautiful, intelligent, sophisticated, witty, humorous, dependable, confident, successful. And in some respects, this can work. You can speak, and act, and dress in a way that cultivates a flattering image of yourself in the minds of others. But not God. Not the one who searches the heart, and knows your thoughts, and is acquainted with all of your ways. You can’t fool him.

So we must ask again, is dread the right response? Did God inspire the Psalmist to write verses 1-4 to bring about a holy fear in us lest any of our thoughts, actions, or words would be displeasing to God? We know he warns us of this danger elsewhere. But this isn’t the message or the tone of Psalm 139. Look with me at verses 5 and 6:

You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it.

What does God’s intimate, invasive knowledge of your mind and heart lead him to? Not abandonment, or disappointment, but protection and love.

Protection

He “hems me in,” David says in verse 5, “behind and before.” The word for “hem” here comes from the Hebrew root word, צוּר (tsoor) which can also be translated (and is translated elsewhere) as a binding, cramping, or besieging. Again, we might be struck by this language! Doesn’t this sound more oppressive than comforting? As if God means to cut off our means of escape from his withering eye?

But consider again the word choice the translators have chosen here—this is critical. “Hem” is a sewing term. You hem in a piece of fabric by sewing a boundary of other fabric around every side, creating a protective outer layer. We see this in our clothing today. Consider how the cuffs of a sweater’s sleeves are often woven with thicker fabric and double-stitched. These harder, stiffer cuffs protect the soft inner fabric of the sweater from the abrasive outer world.

To be “hemmed in, behind and before” by God is not to be under his withering eye, but under his divine protection. So, what is it that God is protecting us from? First, from accusations without, and second, from accusations within.

Accusations Without

David spent nearly a decade and a half of his life on the run from his enemies: first from King Saul, then from Ish-bosheth, Saul’s son, and then from Absalom, his own son. And even when he wasn’t fleeing from his enemies, David faced constant accusations, insults, threats from those who hated him and hated God. When we read the whole Psalm earlier, did you notice the dramatic, strange shift in tone in verse 19? You probably won’t see this section cross-stitched and hung in a child’s bedroom:

Oh that you would slay the wicked, O God! O men of blood, depart from me! They speak against you with malicious intent; your enemies take your name in vain. Do I not hate those who hate you, O LORD? And do I not loathe those who rise up against you? I hate them with complete hatred; I count them my enemies.

You may not have the kind of enemies and accusers that David suffered, but if you are a Christian here today, you do have enemies. Jesus told us in John 15 that we should not be surprised when the world hates us, because it hated him first. In 1 John, the apostle reminds us of the story of Cain and Abel. Why did Cain murder his brother? “Because his own deeds were evil and his brother’s righteous” (1 John 3:12). There will be people in this world who hate you, not because you’ve done anything wrong, but for exactly the opposite reason—because your righteousness shines a condemning light on their wickedness. Like your Savior, you should expect to be maligned, mistreated, and misunderstood by the world. And we’d be remiss to forget your even greater enemy—Satan, the great accuser, and the principalities and powers of darkness.

In light of this, how is God’s knowledge a source of vindication and protection? David knew that no matter what his enemies said about him, it was God alone that searches him and knows him. God alone who sees his path, knows his heart, and is acquainted with all his ways. This isn’t a declaration of innocence, as if David was perfectly sinless and without guilt! We know better than that. No, it’s as if he is saying, “Lord, they may hate me, and accuse me, and utter lies about me, but you know me. You see my intentions. You know that in my heart of hearts, I love you, and want to please you. Therefore, vindicate me before my accusers, O God!”

Accusations Within

Yet we need not only to be “hemmed in” from enemies and accusations outside of us, but also from within. If we know ourselves—truly know ourselves—we don’t need someone outside of us to make us feel ashamed; we can supply plenty of that ourselves! Are you ashamed by things that you have thought? Words you have said? Things you have done? “What does it matter if I say I love God in my ‘heart of hearts’ when I so incessantly disappoint him with my life?” I’ve talked with so many Christians who walk around feeling as if they are constantly living under the dark raincloud of God’s disappointment. Is that you this morning?

If that is you, can I give you a gentle but firm pastoral reminder? You are believing that you know better than God. 1 John 3:19-20 tells us, “By this we shall know that we are of the truth and reassure our heart before him; for whenever our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart, and he knows everything.” How do you put to silence the self-despair of self-accusations? You remember that God is greater than your heart—he gets to decide how he feels about you! And you remember that he knows everything, not you. “Who can bring any charge against God’s elect,” Paul asks? No one—not the world, not Satan, and not you! Why? Because “it is God who justifies” (Romans 8:33).

Love

So, God’s knowledge of us leads him to protect us. But it also leads him to love us. Look again at the second half of verse 5: the Psalmist says, “you lay your hand upon me.”

Again, do you notice how we have here a point that could be taken in two very different ways? Someone can “lay their hand upon you” as a way of hurting you, punishing you, and putting you in your place. And how tragic it is that for many of us in this broken world, we arrive at this interpretation because of our lived experience. There are some of you who have experienced real physical abuse by the hands of the very ones who should have used their God-given strength and authority to nurture you and love you, not hurt you. Or perhaps your lived experience has not been one of something bad being given, but something good being withheld. Perhaps you’ve had relationships where love has been conditional—never something guaranteed, but always something earned.

Is this what God is like? Does he lay his hand upon us to hurt us? Or does he withhold his love until his conditions are met? In other words, does he treat us like we so often treat each other? No! Look at verse 6, where David summarizes everything that came before in verses 1-5. He says, “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it.” This is the gracious, loving hand of the Father.

How can a God like this—a God who knows me to deepest core of my being; a God who knows my thoughts, my words, and my ways, love me like that? It doesn’t make sense, does it? Oh but friends, this is the beauty of the gospel! Can I ask you a question, if you are a Christian? Why did God choose to save you? Was it not simply because he loves you? When did Jesus die for you? Was it not while you were at your worst? How does he even right this moment keep you? Is it not because of his faithfulness and not your own?

Oh, but you might say, “Yes, I know he loves me; the Bible says that he has to, but surely he’s not happy with me! Not pleased with me! Not after the things that I’ve thought, the words that I’ve said, and the things that I’ve done.” And again, I have to ask, Do you believe that you know better than God?

Parents, when you look at your little child, and you see them truly—their personality, their quirks and little obsessions, their tender hearts, their strivings and failings—what do you feel toward them? Or what should you feel toward them? Is there not warmth and joy in your heart simply because this child, out of every other child in the world, is yours? Yours to enjoy, and celebrate, and nurture and love? Is there also, at times, sadness, pity, even disappointment when they disobey? Yes. But are not even these feelings themselves simply other expressions of love? We are, at times, motivated to sadness, and pity, and disappointment in our children when they, by their sin, hurt us and disobey us, but only because we desire for them to return to the path of life. Love is what defines and governs all else.

I wonder sometimes if we might believe that we are better at loving our children than God is at loving his? Do you want to know what God really thinks about you, Christian? Listen to what the Psalmist says elsewhere in Psalm 103:13-14:

“As a father shows compassion to his children, so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust.”

These two verses are so precious to me—”he knows my frame; he remembers that I am dust.” My weakness doesn’t drive God away from me, it drives him to me, with compassion and understanding. He sees us and knows us. He sees all of the sin still inside of you—your pride, your laziness, your lust, your selfishness. And he sees, at the same time, Christian, your earnest desire (even though tainted by sin) to love him and please him. And because you are his; because you are covered by the blood of Christ; he is more pleased with your love for him than he is disappointed by your failings.

All of this should lead us, as it leads the Psalmist to say,

“Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot contain it.”

(2) God’s Presence with Us (7-12)

We’ve considered the nature of God’s knowledge of us, and how this should be for us a fountain of great comfort. Let’s move now, to our second and final point—The Comfort of God’s Presence.

Look with me again at verses 7-12:

"Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there! If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me. If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night,” even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you."

How we interpret this section of Psalm 139 has everything to do with how we interpreted the first. Are these words of dread? Or words of comfort? Let’s start by considering the former.

God’s Presence as a Source of Dread

Why might you interpret God’s presence as a source of dread? I can think of at least three reasons: two good reasons, and one faulty reason.

Good Reason #1: You dread God’s presence because you don’t fear God.

Does that sound like a bit of an oxymoron to you, like saying, “You don’t fear God because you don’t fear God?” We have to understand that there are two kinds of fear of God.

We could describe the first kind of fear as a sinful fear that drives us away from God, and the second as a right fear that drives us to God.

Let’s consider first sinful fear. In his book, Rejoice and Tremble (which I think every Christian should read), Michael Reeves describes this as the kind of fear of God that “flows from sin” (31). The fear that James tells us the demons have when they “believe and shudder.” The fear Adam and Eve had when they first sinned and hid from God—the kind of fear that drives us away from God. If you love your sin more than you love God, his presence will not be a comfort to you. Why? Because the blazing light of his righteousness threatens to reveal the dark depths of your sin. “This is the judgment,” Jesus says in John 3:19, “the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil.”

In a sense, then, we could say that this kind of fear borne out of sin is actually quite appropriate. If you love your sin more than you love God, you should fear him! It would be foolish not to. The Apostle Paul gives a startling warning in Romans 2:4-5 to those who have no fear of God:

“Or do you presume on the riches of his kindness and forbearance and patience, not knowing that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance? But because of your hard and impenitent heart you are storing up wrath for yourself on the day of wrath when God’s righteous judgment will be revealed.” You cannot hide from God—he knows your heart, he sees every action, even those done in secret, and he is storing up wrath for every sin you have ever committed for the final day of judgment.

Oh friend, do not presume that the kindness God is showing you right now (your health, your success, worldly pleasure) is an endorsement of your sin! His kindness is meant to lead you to run to him in repentance and faith—to him who is the source of true light and life.

So, we’ve considered the nature of sinful fear. But the answer to sinful fear is not no fear, but right fear. You must let your sinful fear of God lead you to a right fear of God—the kind of fear that draws you to him, and not away from him. What is the right fear of God? It is the experience of a holy awe and a thankful reverence flowing from who God is for you in Christ. How he did not leave you to pay for your sins, but himself paid off the infinite debt you owed him through the life and death and resurrection of his own son. If we rightly understand the gospel, and receive it as a free gift of unimaginable grace, what else should we feel toward him? Reeves again says it so beautifully:

“The living God is infinitely perfect and quintessentially, overwhelmingly beautiful in every way: his righteousness, his graciousness, his majesty, his mercy, his all. And so we do not love him aright if our love is not a trembling, overwhelmed, and fearful love” (52).

A sinful fear leads us to run away from God’s presence, but a right fear causes us to run to him.

Good Reason #2: You dread God’s presence because you are a Christian who is living in hidden, unrepentant sin.

The story that comes to mind for me immediately is the story of Jonah. The Old Testament prophet who God called to travel to Nineveh and preach a message of repentance. But Jonah hated the people of Nineveh and was angry that God wanted to show them mercy. And so what did he do? He got on a boat for Tarshish instead of Nineveh and sought to flee from the presence of God. And, as we all know, that didn’t work out too well for him. The Lord cast a storm upon his boat, the sailors threw him overboard, and then the Lord caused a great fish to swallow Jonah. Only after all of this, when he was both figuratively and literally at his lowest point, Jonah repented of his sin and sought the Lord’s forgiveness, and God has mercy on him.

It’s not too hard to imagine Jonah himself reciting verses 9-10 of Psalm 139:

“If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.”

In your heart of hearts, it might be true that you love God more than you love your sin—you might truly be a Christian. And yet, if you, like Jonah, are actively walking in disobedience or harboring secret, unconfessed sin, your experience of God’s presence will feel very different.

Listen to how David describes his own experience of God’s weighty presence when he was living in secret sin in Psalm 32:

“For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer. Selah I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not cover my iniquity; I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the LORD,” and you forgave the iniquity of my sin. (then, verse 7)… you surround me with shouts of deliverance.”

Christian, maybe this is you. Maybe you are seeking to flee from God’s presence because of the shame and your guilt of your sin. But take heart, God will not let you flee from him!

Augustine: “Where will you go? Where will you flee? Do you wish to listen to advice? If you wish to flee from him, flee to him! Flee to him by confessing, not by hiding from him. For you cannot hide, but you can confess. Say to him, “You are my refuge,” and let [his] love be nurtured in you, which alone leads to life.”

So, we’ve considered two good reasons why you might feel dread towards God’s presence, but now let’s close by considering one faulty reason which actually leads us to see God’s presence not as a reason for dread, but a reason for incalculable comfort.

God’s Presence as a Source of Comfort

A Faulty Reason: You dread God’s presence, not because you are a Christian who is harboring secret sin, but because you are a Christian who has forgotten who God is for you in Christ.

We have just entered the Christmas season, and what else is Christmas other than the message that God's presence has come down to us?

“Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel” (which means God with us)” (Matt 1:23).

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14)

“No one has ever seen God; [but Jesus] the only God, who is at the Father’s side, he has made him known” (John 1:18).

“For in him all the fulness of God was pleased to dwell” (Col 1:19)

“He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature” (Heb 1:3).

What is it like to be in the presence of God? To be in the presence of God is to be in the presence of Jesus. Oh and friend, where can you go where Jesus has not already gone himself?

He has ascended to heaven and will return to bring you to himself.

He descended to Sheol—he died so that you will never have to taste death.

He was brought to the uttermost parts of the sea—he experienced every form of trial and temptation yet without sin so that you, through him, could walk in obedience.

He was covered with darkness—the Father turned away the face of his loving countenance from his son and poured his wrath upon him, so that the light of grace could shine on us.

There is nowhere you can go where Jesus has not gone. And there is nowhere you will go where his hand won’t lead you, and his right hand won’t hold you.

He knows you, he loves you, and he is with you. So take comfort.