"How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord Almighty. I
long, yes, I faint with longing to enter the courts of the Lord. With my
whole being, body and soul, I will shout joyfully to the living God. Even
the sparrow finds a home there, and the swallow builds her nest and raises
her young—at a place near your altar, O Lord Almighty, my King and my God!
How happy are those who can live in your house, always singing your praises.
Happy are those who are strong in the Lord, who set their minds on a
pilgrimage to Jerusalem. When they walk through the Valley of Weeping,
it will become a place of refreshing springs, where pools of blessing
collect after the rains! They will continue to grow stronger, and each of
them will appear before God in Jerusalem."—Psalm 84:1-7
This is emphatically a Communicant's Psalm; and occurs
appropriately today in our ordinary course of exposition.
Conjectures have been numerous and varied on its
authorship and historical bearings. This would not be the time or place to
enter at length on the vindication of any favorite theory. Enough to remark,
that, while by very general consent it is regarded as a Psalm of the
Jewish Pilgrims on their way to one of the annual Feasts, there is, to
say the least—following not a few eminent authorities—a strong probability
that it is not of David's but of Hezekiah's times; and refers to the
gathering of festal worshipers during his occupancy of the throne. That
pious monarch inaugurated his reign by a season of national humiliation, and
by a subsequent purification of the Temple; ridding the latter of idolatrous
objects which had clustered around it during the life of his apostate
predecessor—cleansing its courts, regilding and restoring cedar-gates and
porticoes—altar, and table, and candlestick—also reviving the ceremonial of
music, in accordance with the Divine model appointed by David and Asaph.
Hezekiah, however, did not rest satisfied with this outer
reformation and revival, noble as it was. On the completion of the task, he
calls together all his subjects to make a consecration of a nobler temple
still—that of their own souls. Moreover, the same deep-seated religious zeal
prompts him to decree a great sacramental season. A Passover is to be
celebrated; and not for Judah only—but, with his patriotic heart sighing
over the disruption and alienation of the ten tribes, he would once more
endeavor to re-unite the dual kingdom in sacred fellowship and service—that,
too, even though the period of the year was unusual, and the dark cloud of
the Assyrian invasion was gathering in the north-eastern sky. He would have
them forget for a time their differences, and meet together under the old
roof-tree of Jerusalem's Sanctuary—around her hallowed altars; and under her
anointed Priest and King, be one again. It was a beautiful conception; and
one, surely, in all respects worthy and desirable; for indeed the Passover
had not been duly kept since the age of Joshua. Oh! would not this be the
answered prayer of another magnificent Psalm, most probably also of his—the
sigh of the true-hearted over the crumbling of church and state—"Return; we
beseech You, O God Almighty; look down from Heaven, and behold, and visit
this vine!"
He allows no time to elapse in carrying the project into
effect. No sooner is the Temple purged and re-decorated, and the old
ceremonial revived, than messengers are despatched through the land "from
Dan to Beersheba," and especially to the Kingdom of Israel, to proclaim the
approaching Paschal solemnity. They speed from town to town, from village to
village; blowing up the trumpet in the new moon; announcing the time
appointed—the solemn feast-day. As was quite to be expected (what alas! is
found too often the accompaniment or result of ecclesiastical divisions)—the
royal couriers in many instances met only with insult. The sacred enthusiasm
of the king was traduced and misunderstood. Not a few forfeited the intended
blessing—the dew that was to descend on the mountains of Zion; when "the
good and pleasant thing" might have been revived, of "brethren" (brethren
once, and who should have been brethren still) "dwelling together again in
unity."
Nevertheless, rejected by some, a considerable number
from the more northern tribes responded to the call. The blare of the silver
trumpets awoke the dormant religious patriotism; and before many days had
elapsed, the great pilgrim road—the Jewish "Via Sacra," untraversed with the
same intent for ages—was again studded with travelers singing, though with
what has been well called "pathetic joy," the Songs of Zion.
We know not what these other songs may have been—but we
have at all events presumptive reason to surmise, that the present Psalm was
written, or in the case of too strong assertion—may have been written by the
Korhites, for this resuscitated Passover of the King of Judah, to give
embodiment and expression to the inward aspirations of the worshiping
throngs. As such, let us now ponder it—as such, let us keep before our
mental eye these scattered travelers; as from the distant Naphtali—the
border-land of Lebanon—they emerge on their pilgrimage, until they stand
within the gates of the elect metropolis.
May the sentiments of the Psalm be echoed by many lowly
festive worshipers here. May we, too, as children of Zion, be joyful in our
King.
Let us confine ourselves at present, to this one aspect
of the Psalm, as containing a description of the Pilgrim's (or in our
case the Communicant's) journey to the Feast.
This is contained in the opening portion selected—what
may be more correctly called the first and second strophes. As the
wayfarer commences his journey, or starts in company with a few
fellow-Israelites, his heart kindles into emotion at the thought of once
more worshiping the God of his fathers in the oldest of their sacred rites,
and that too within the ancestral Shrine—"How amiable (how lovable, how
beautiful) are Your tabernacles, O Lord Almighty! My soul longs, yes, even
faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh cries out for the
living God!" In our authorised version, these worshipers are represented as
envying the sparrow or swallow who have built their nests in the eaves of
the Temple, or under its altars. The figure, however, is very simple and
expressive in its application, without having recourse to a somewhat strange
and unnatural rendering.
The writer would seem rather to take the image of these
two birds sinking into their woodland nest for repose, merely as an emblem
of the blessed rest and peaceful enjoyment anticipated in entering within
the Gates of the Sanctuary. "Yes, as the sparrow finds out a house, and the
swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young; so," (with a
significant ellipsis) "so—Your altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God."
The traveler pursues his way until we may suppose him to have reached a
resting-place. As he pauses, leaning on his staff under some shady oak or
terebinth, still they are anticipations of the festal day—the hallowed
courts—which occupy his mental vision; and he breaks forth into the
soliloquy, "Blessed are those who dwell in Your house, they will be still
praising You!"
But onwards he proceeds; or, it may be, we have already
suggested, as one of a caravan. They have now come to a gloomier part of the
road. The scenery around them wears a more desolate aspect, and tinges for
the moment their own thoughts with sadness. They have reached "the Valley
of Baca"—"the Valley of weeping" or "the Valley of the weeping
trees"—a valley still pointed out on the way to Jerusalem—supposed by
some to have been full of a peculiar moisture-distilling tree—"nature's
tear-drops" falling from its pendent branches. At all events it was, to use
a modern oriental word, a dry and somber desert—the sun above poured
on their heads his burning arrows, and their lips were parched with thirst.
But even here, their spirits rise and their songs ascend. The God of the
pilgrims has made "the wilderness pools of water, and the dry land springs
of water." He has changed that scorched "Valley of the weeping tree" into a
Well. The clouds which had gathered gloomily on the hill-tops
around—screening the sunshine—burst in blessing—and down the slopes the
streams with their glad music descend. The welcome boon has already filled
its waterless troughs and ridges. In the place they least expected, weeping
has been changed into joy. Baca has become as Elim. God has sent a plentiful
rain, whereby He has refreshed His heritage when they were weary. They can
sing with joyful lips—"Happy are those who are strong in the Lord, who set
their minds on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. When they walk through the Valley
of Weeping, it will become a place of refreshing springs, where pools of
blessing collect after the rains!" Psalm 84:5-6
The Valley is at last traversed; and in due time there
are indications that the journey is drawing to a close. The groups are
increasing (v. 7). "They go from strength to strength," possibly, as that
may be rendered, 'from company to company;' or 'from halting-place to
halting-place.' Group is added to group; larger and yet larger grows the
caravan; louder and yet louder swells the song. And now, Temple and tower
and Holy Mount rise conspicuous to view. Their glowing anticipations are on
the point of fulfillment. The City of Solemnities is reached—its Gates open
to the weary travelers—"Every one of them in Zion appears before God" (v.
7.) And, beautiful for situation (then as now), on the sides of the north,
is "the City of the Great King!"
My friends, is there here, in any feeble measure, a
picture of ourselves this day? As the Israel of God, can we enter into the
ecstatic language of these pilgrims of old as they came up to Hezekiah's
restored courts? Specially observe the keynote of their song—what it was
that formed the burden of their intensest aspirations. It was to meet
Jehovah—to "see God in His Sanctuary." Many a heart among these
thousands doubtless beat high at the prospect of gazing for the first time
on the Holy City, so full of lofty and sacred associations. But while there
was much in the external glory of its Temple-Courts to thrill and solemnize;
while they might well gaze with profound and reverential devotion on "the
altar of God," it was "God, their exceeding joy," who formed the burning
center of their desires and yearnings. The recorded promise uppermost in
their thoughts was this—"There I will meet with you, and will commune
with you from off the mercy seat."
See, how in our Psalm, the same longing is expressed and
repeated!—"How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord Almighty. I long, yes,
I faint with longing to enter the courts of the Lord. With my whole being,
body and soul, I will shout joyfully to the living God." "Blessed are
those who dwell in Your house—they will be still praising You."
"Their strength is in You." They appear in Zion, but it is
"before God!" Is this the chief and most ardent aspiration in the heart
of each worshiper and each communicant now before me? It is not attractive
service, nor gorgeous ceremonial, nor external symbolism; no, nor formulated
doctrine and dogma, the soul desires; but a living Being.
"I know," says Paul in words often misquoted, and in the
misquotation their sense and beauty mutilated, "I know" (not in
whom), but "I know Whom I have believed." It was not sects, nor
creeds, nor churches, nor ecclesiastical organizations that this dying hero
clung to in the hour of departure as he had done in life; but the glorious
Person of the divine Emmanuel; the living Presence of the ever-living
Savior—the Brother, the Friend on the Throne, whom he had learned to love
more dearly than all the world beside. Is it so with us? Is our prayer and
longing, today, that of him who first celebrated the Hebrew passover, "I
beseech You, show me Your glory"? Do the glowing words of another
Psalm form the exponent of our feelings and desires—"O God, You are my God,
early will I seek You; my soul thirsts for You; my flesh longs
for You in a dry and thirsty land where no water is; to see Your
power and Your glory, so as I have seen You in the Sanctuary"?
A second reflection occurs. Diverse and manifold,
we may feel sure, were the feelings of individual worshipers among the
Hebrew throngs of old, as they pursued their journey along the Palestine
highways. These only too truly and faithfully reflect our own varied and
chequered experiences. Some there are among us on the hill-tops of gladness,
the "Delectable mountains," Nature's spring-time clothing every valley, and
making its pastures sing for joy. The early or latter rain coming down on
flower and tree and meadow, and causing them to sparkle like gems in the
radiant sunlight. With others, it is some Valley of Baca. Clouds have
gathered. The moral landscape is not spring blossoms, but autumn leaves;
bared stems; branches scattered with hail and storm. Some have to tell of
blighted affections, narrowed family circles, the pride and prop of the
homestead fallen—fellow travelers of bygone Paschal seasons no longer at
their side—voices missed in the caravan. They could almost sit down under
the gloom of these weeping trees, and hang their harps on the cypress
branches.
But whatever be your experience, even though the sad and
weeping one may predominate, you will have rich consolation in this
appointed means of grace. May you have "the early rain" in coming to the
Table, and "the latter rain" in returning from it—communion with Christ, who
is Himself, in the manifold phases and revelation of His grace and mercy, as
"Rivers of water in a dry place." O Happy pilgrims and Christian
communicants, spoken of in this Pilgrim-psalm—how all-sufficient is your
"strength!" Every pilgrim needs a staff, yours is a Savior-God. Your
strength is in Him. As the sparrow and the swallow here spoken of, flee from
the windy storm and tempest, and sink in peace in their nests; so may you
find increasing repose—it is ratified to you today, in the completed work of
your glorious and glorified Redeemer—the true "Cleft" for God's hidden-ones.
A communion-table is one of His own appointed resting places for His
spiritual Israel, where He recruits their souls and opens to them wells of
refreshment.
It was the custom of the Jewish paschal worshipers, in
going to the City of Solemnities, to be arrayed in new attire—new garments
adorned their bodies, new sandals bound their feet. Be it yours to have on,
not for the transient sacramental season only, but as your habitual attire,
the garment of holiness and love and new obedience—to have your feet shod
with the preparation of the gospel of peace; having a more single undivided
trust in Jesus; a greater willingness to bear His cross—greater joy at the
prospect of sharing His crown.
"The swallow a nest." The swallow—Is not that a bird of
passage—here today, away tomorrow to sunnier climates? Be this your
constantly realized feeling, that you are swallow-like; migratory; the
present a state of transition. Soon you will be away from earth's wintry
skies to your Heavenly home, to build your nest in the golden eaves of the
Eternal Sanctuary!
Brother Pilgrims and Fellow-Communicants, how happy your
prospects, alike present and future—for time and for eternity! Present—You
have here the assurance and guarantee, in every stage of your appointed
journey, that the Lord God will prove "a sun and shield"—a sun to gladden, a
shield to protect; withholding from you nothing that is truly "good" (verse
11). Thus with His own blessing resting upon you; and under the guidance of
the double name, "God Almighty, and God of Jacob" (verse 8)—whether "Bacas"
of sorrow or "Elims" of delight be yours; whether you have to pass through
valleys of weeping trees, or ways clustering with amaranthine flowers; you
will, you must be blessed.
The Future!—Oh, if a day—one
day—thus spent in God's courts is better than a thousand, what will be the
Eternal day? No Valley or Valleys of tears; no vacant seats, no absent
guests; a long forever! To take up the sweet refrain of this psalm
which has trembled on our lips during the services of an earthly Sabbath,
and to sing it everlastingly—"O Lord Almighty, blessed is the man who
trusts in You!"