"O God, from my youth you have taught me," and he still proclaims God's wondrous deeds; even to old age he asks God not to forsake him until he proclaims His might to another generation, His power to all those to come (a paraphrase of Psalm 71:17–18).

In a world where everyone is out to protect their own honor, here the psalmist simply seeks the Lord's glory. From his youth he proclaimed God's praises, and he prays that he may continue to do so to his dying day. He seeks God's providence not so much to increase his own glory as to complete his mission of declaring God's praises to his generation and the one to come.

Friends, has someone offended you today? Disrespected you? Are you so offended that you want to do them harm? That is not the spirit of this psalm, nor the attitude of Christ, which believers are called to imitate. Paul writes that we should do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than ourselves, each looking not only to his own interests but also to the interests of others; we are to have the mind of Christ Jesus, who, though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in human likeness, and being found in human form, humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross (a paraphrase of Philippians 2:3–8).

The world teaches, "Do to others as they did to you." Jesus taught, "as you wish that others would do to you, do so to them" (Luke 6:31). The world teaches, "If they bring a knife, bring a gun," and something bigger still. The world encourages the attitude of Lamech, descendant of Cain, who boasted to his wives that he had killed a man for wounding him, a young man for striking him, and that if Cain's vengeance was sevenfold, then Lamech's would be seventy-sevenfold (cf. Genesis 4:23–24).

That is the complete opposite of Jesus' teaching. When Peter asked how often he must forgive his brother — as many as seven times? — Jesus answered, "I do not say to you seven times, but seventy-seven times" (Matthew 18:21–22).

Friends, Satan's deception in our culture is very subtle. It may even sound logical. But it is not the Lord's way. The saying "Do to others as they did to you" sounds enticing and logical, but it is the spirit of vengeance, a close cousin of "If someone hurts me, I will destroy them." Even when we as Christians rebuke a brother, it is not for retribution but for mercy — to help, heal, and restore. When Paul confronted gross sin in the Corinthian church, a sin not tolerated even among pagans, he commanded the church to discipline the offender by breaking fellowship with him; but it was not for his destruction but for his ultimate salvation: "deliver this man to Satan for the destruction of the flesh," so that his spirit may be saved (1 Corinthians 5:5). Later, when this brother came to recognize and confess his sin, Paul just as strongly urged the church to receive him back: the punishment by the majority was enough; they should turn to forgive and comfort him, lest he be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow, and reaffirm their love for him (cf. 2 Corinthians 2:6–8).

My dear friends, do not be conformed to this world (Romans 12:2). Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good (Romans 12:21). Just as you received mercy and not judgment from the Lord, God desires that we show mercy rather than judgment, for "mercy triumphs over judgment" (James 2:13).

Someone told me recently that a leader demands that his followers do his bidding. Truly, this is how the world sees leaders, and many leaders gladly exercise such authority over others. Jesus acknowledged that this is how rulers of the Gentiles act (Matthew 20:25). But that is not how Christian leaders are called to lead. We are called to serve and to be long-suffering (Matthew 20:26–28). Jesus served in this way. By God's grace, I want to lead and serve as Jesus led and served. May I not be concerned for my own honor, but may I honor the Lord, who made me and saved me and in whom is all my hope forever. I pray, dear friends, that you will have the same attitude.

AI-Expanded Reflection

Psalm 71 is often called the prayer of an old man. It has no heading, but its speaker looks back over a lifetime — "Upon you I have leaned from before my birth" (71:6) — and asks God not to abandon him "in the time of old age" (71:9). What is striking is the purpose of his request: not comfort for its own sake, but time to tell the next generation of God's might (71:18). The psalm models a faithful old age as one still turned outward, passing on the knowledge of God.

The comment's contrast between Lamech and Jesus is a powerful one, and many commentators have noted it. Lamech's boast of seventy-sevenfold vengeance (Genesis 4:24) is precisely echoed in Jesus' "seventy-seven times" forgiveness (Matthew 18:22 — the Greek matches the Septuagint of Genesis 4:24). Jesus deliberately reverses the song of vengeance that marked the line of Cain, replacing unlimited revenge with unlimited forgiveness. That reversal is the gospel in miniature: in Christ, the escalating cycle of retaliation that began outside Eden is answered by grace.

"But I am poor and needy; hasten to me, O God!" You are my help and deliverer; O Lord, do not delay (a paraphrase of Psalm 70:5).

David pleads with God to deliver him from his affliction and need. Then consider Solomon's words in Psalm 72: the king delivers the needy when he calls, the poor and the one who has no helper; he has pity on the weak and needy and saves their lives; he redeems them from oppression and violence, "and precious is their blood in his sight" (a paraphrase of Psalm 72:12–14).

Solomon declares that the needy and afflicted will indeed be delivered.

But as we read passages like this, have you considered that before there is deliverance, there is first affliction? Before there is provision, there is need. Does not God, who has the power to deliver, also have the power to keep people from affliction and need in the first place?

This is the same question some people asked when Jesus came to Lazarus's tomb: could not He who opened the blind man's eyes "also have kept this man from dying?" (John 11:37).

It is true that Jesus could have kept Lazarus from dying. When He heard Lazarus was ill, He deliberately stayed two more days where He was (cf. John 11:6). He waited until after Lazarus had died. Both Martha and Mary said to Him, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died" (John 11:21, 32).

Jesus waited so that those present, including Mary and Martha, might witness the power of God and believe (cf. John 11:14–15, 41–42). In fact, Jesus said this had been God's intent all along: the illness would not end in death but was for God's glory, so that the Son of God might be glorified through it (a paraphrase of John 11:4).

A few chapters before the raising of Lazarus, Jesus healed a man born blind. On that occasion His disciples assumed the man was blind because of sin, whether his own or his parents'. But Jesus told them that neither the man nor his parents had sinned, but that the works of God might be displayed in him (a paraphrase of John 9:3).

So on both occasions, the blindness from birth and the death, there was an opportunity to manifest God's power and bring glory to the Son, Jesus Christ. As I have argued before, it is not the deliverance or the healing that is most important but the power of God.

The man born blind lived his whole life with blindness. Lazarus suffered both sickness and death. Before this, an invalid had suffered from his condition for thirty-eight years before Jesus healed him (cf. John 5:5). These represent thousands and millions of others who were never healed. Could God have healed everyone? Yes. Did He? No.

Why not? It does not serve God's purposes to heal everyone, just as, I believe, it does not serve His purposes to save everyone. He is glorified in the suffering as well as in the healing; in His justice as well as in His mercy.

But let us understand: although God does not always heal, He is the only true Healer. Although not all are saved, He is the only Savior. Let us acknowledge that God is the only Deliverer, and there is no other. Yet He is not subject to the will of men, to heal when or whom we want, or to save when or whom we want. This is the nature of God's sovereignty. As the Lord said to Moses, "I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy" (Exodus 33:19).

Therefore it is right and good for us to cry out to Him, but let us not presume that He must do anything for us that He has not promised in His Word. Can God deliver? Yes, but He will not always do so. Can God prosper us? Yes, but He may not choose to.

Then, you may ask, how are we to live our own lives? The question is wrongly phrased. We ought not to seek our own lives, but to live our lives in line with His will. This is the testimony of every Christian: "For to me to live is Christ" (Philippians 1:21). Paul writes elsewhere that he has been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer he who lives, but Christ who lives in him; the life he now lives in the flesh he lives by faith in the Son of God, who loved him and gave Himself for him (a paraphrase of Galatians 2:20).

Friends, how are we to live our lives? Not as our own, but as those bought by God; not for our own purposes, but for the will of Him who saved us. And to the extent that we understand and live out God's will, to that extent we can know that He answers our prayers. Even Jesus declared that He came down from heaven not to do His own will but the will of Him who sent Him (cf. John 6:38). This is why Jesus could say, "Father, I thank you that you have heard me," and that He knew the Father always hears Him (John 11:41–42).

God was always with Him and granted Him what He asked, because Jesus always lived to please His Father: He has not left Him alone, "for I always do the things that are pleasing to him" (John 8:29).

Friends, let us walk in the footsteps of Christ, always seeking God's will in everything, so that we might have assurance of God's calling and election in our lives (cf. 2 Peter 1:10).

AI-Expanded Reflection

The Lazarus account contains one verse that belongs beside every other in this comment. When Jesus saw Mary weeping, and the mourners with her, He was deeply moved and troubled, and "Jesus wept" (John 11:33–35). He knew He was about to raise Lazarus. He knew the delay served God's glory. And still He wept at the grave. God's sovereign purposes in suffering do not make Him indifferent to it; the Son who knew the ending grieved with those who did not. Any account of God's purposes in affliction has to leave room for those tears.

The comment's reading of God's sovereignty in healing and salvation reflects the Reformed tradition, stated in the commenter's voice. Other Christians read passages like 1 Timothy 2:4 ("who desires all people to be saved") and 2 Peter 3:9 as expressing God's genuine desire for all, and understand His sovereignty as working through human response rather than apart from it. This is a long-standing, good-faith difference; both sides affirm that God is the only Savior and Healer and that He is under no obligation to us.

Psalm 72, which the comment quotes, is a prayer for the king — "Give the king your justice, O God" — and its picture of a ruler who delivers the needy was never fully realized by Solomon. The church has long read it as fulfilled in Christ, whose ministry was marked by exactly the care for the poor and afflicted the psalm describes (compare Luke 4:18).

Please, God, rescue me! Come quickly, Lord, and help me (Psalm 70:1).

But as for me, I am poor and needy; please hurry to my aid, O God (Psalm 70:5).

O God, don’t stay away. My God, please hurry to help me (Psalm 71:12).

Do you sense the desperation in David's tone? It appears that David's appeal does not receive an immediate response from God. In fact, David says that God has allowed him to suffer (Psalm 71:20). Even so, David is determined to continue to hope in God and to praise Him:

But I will keep on hoping for your help; I will praise you more and more (Psalm 71:14).

This is a good reminder for us as well. Sometimes our faith falters when God does not do as we ask. When things don't work out as we hope, when we don't prosper from doing good, when there is no tangible benefit from our devotion, we consider taking matters into our own hands over trusting God. Yet, it is faithfulness in spite of disappointment, loss, suffering, and apparent defeat where God is most glorified. By our persistent testimony of trust and praise to God, we declare that we put no hope in the transient benefits of this life. As Paul also wrote,

I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us (Romans 8:18).

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong (2 Corinthians 12:9–10).

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body (2 Corinthians 4:7–11).

Isn't this also what our Lord Jesus taught His disciples?

Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it. What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self? Whoever is ashamed of me and my words, the Son of Man will be ashamed of them when he comes in his glory and in the glory of the Father and of the holy angels (Luke 9:23–26).

It is very human to desire deliverance from disappointment, suffering, and loss. Even the Lord Jesus prayed that God might deliver Him from crucifixion. Paul prayed that God might remove his thorn in the flesh. Yet, both Jesus and Paul had a greater desire, namely, that God's will be done.

And so we can pray like David for God's help. We can pray like Jesus for deliverance. We can pray like Paul for relief. Nevertheless, let us have a deeper appreciation and desire for the praise of God's Name and the fulfillment of His good, holy and perfect will in our lives.

AI-Expanded Reflection

The repeated requests for God to hurry refuse the idea that reverence requires emotional detachment. Psalms 70–71 give worshipers words for a need that feels immediate while help appears delayed. Psalm 71 also looks back over a lifetime of dependence and forward toward the weakness of old age. The speaker's urgency arises within an established relationship. He asks not to be abandoned when strength fails, and he wants to continue declaring God's power to the next generation. Petition and testimony are woven together rather than competing for space.

The attribution should remain precise. Psalm 70 names David in its superscription, but the Hebrew superscription of Psalm 71 does not name an author. The adjacent psalms share themes and language, yet that does not establish every personal detail as David's biography. Their pastoral usefulness does not depend on resolving the authorship. The words can teach an aging or threatened believer how remembered faithfulness sustains prayer when the present offers no quick confirmation.

The original's connection with Paul emphasizes the same coexistence of distress and confidence. In 2 Corinthians 4, the fragile vessel remains fragile even while bearing the gospel's treasure. The paired descriptions distinguish suffering from final abandonment: perplexity is real, but it is not the last word. Paul's weakness points beyond himself to the power of God, whose raising of Jesus grounds the hope of those who serve him (2 Corinthians 4:14). That context keeps the imagery from becoming a demand that Christians appear invulnerable.

The cross-shaped life in Luke 9 likewise concerns allegiance to Jesus rather than the pursuit of suffering for its own sake. A disciple may face loss because faithfulness conflicts with self-protection, but unnecessary harm is not automatically a holier choice. Jesus' own prayer in Gethsemane shows that asking for relief can coexist with complete obedience. Paul's repeated request concerning the thorn shows that persistence is not necessarily unwillingness to submit.

The practical challenge is therefore to bring both desires honestly: “Please help soon” and “Keep me faithful while I wait.” We need not suppress the first in order to prove the second. A community can join these prayers with concrete assistance, so that waiting does not become abandonment by fellow believers. God's glory is displayed not only in an individual enduring deprivation but also in others sharing resources, offering protection, and sustaining hope. The psalmist's persistence invites that active trust without dictating when or how the requested deliverance must arrive.

How many times do we watch athletes, politicians, and people we consider heroes fall? Turn on the news and you'll find all kinds of people toppling from their lofty pedestals. Psalm 73 is about exactly this — the prosperity of the wicked and the suffering of the innocent. We tend to admire people who are wicked or arrogant; the world seems to be their footstool, and their pride practically drips from them — "pride is their necklace," as verse 6 puts it. But at the end of their lives, they'll die and face judgment, stripped of everything earthly. They built up treasures on earth where moths and rust destroy (a reference to Matthew 6:19–20), living for other people's admiration and applause, and one day they'll have to answer to God for that. As for the righteous, what do we really have here on earth? Are we so hungry for human validation that we forget we're only made righteous through the blood of Christ? The psalm answers: God is always with us, holding our right hand, guiding us with His counsel, and afterward taking us up into glory. Who do we have in heaven but Him? We should desire nothing on earth besides Him. Our flesh and heart may fail, but God is the strength of our heart, our portion forever. Those who stay far from Him will perish; He destroys all who are unfaithful to Him. But as for us, God's presence is our good — He's our refuge, and we can tell of all He's done (a paraphrase of Psalm 73:23–28). So who am I, really? Is God's presence my good? Is He my refuge, the strength of my heart? Do I desire only Him on this earth, or am I chasing after the wicked instead?

AI-Expanded Reflection

The contrast this comment draws between public admiration and God's presence is worth sharpening with the psalm's own turning point, since Asaph doesn't arrive at his conclusion through argument — he tells us plainly that watching the wicked prosper nearly destabilized his own faith, until he "entered the sanctuary of God" and understood their final destiny (Psalm 73:16–17). That detail matters: Asaph's resolution wasn't a private mental effort to think more positively, but came specifically through worship, in the presence of God's people. That's a useful corrective for anyone trying to reason their own way out of resentment or envy toward those who seem to have it easier — the psalm suggests worship, not just willpower, is what actually reoriented Asaph's perspective.

As for me, I will always have hope (Psalm 71:14). Whether Christian or not, we all face trials of many kinds — what makes our life different is the hope we have in Christ. When we feel hopeless, prayer and meditation on God's Word can help us find hope again. Paul tells the Romans that everything written in Scripture in the past was written to teach us, so that through the endurance and encouragement Scripture provides, we might have hope (a paraphrase of Romans 15:4). So: "Be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the LORD" (Psalm 31:24).

AI-Expanded Reflection

The chain this comment traces — from personal hope, to Scripture as the source that sustains it, to Paul's explanation of why Scripture was written in the first place — is worth noting as a genuinely circular kind of confidence: the hope described here isn't hope that Scripture happens to mention, but hope that Scripture is specifically designed to produce, through the combination of endurance and encouragement Paul names. That's a different claim than saying Scripture merely comforts; it's saying comfort was part of its intended purpose from the start, which is worth remembering on days when reading it feels more like discipline than relief.

Though you've let me see troubles, many and bitter, you'll restore my life again — even from the depths of the earth, you'll bring me back up, and increase my honor, comforting me once more (a paraphrase of Psalm 71:20–21). I sometimes wish I were immune to trouble, since I'm a child of God who loves His children dearly. But for that same reason, I know God allows trouble in our lives, always with the promise of restoration attached. The troubles the psalmist experienced weren't only severe, but frequent. My own life has never had a dull moment either, but I see myself growing in the knowledge of God and understanding Him more deeply through it. We go through hard times just like everyone else in the world, but we have the hope of restoration, because God loves us. If any of you feel alone today in the middle of hardship, don't think you're fighting alone — God says He neither slumbers nor sleeps in watching over you (a reference to Psalm 121:4).

AI-Expanded Reflection

The specific promise this comment highlights — that God allows trouble but promises restoration, rather than promising to prevent trouble altogether — is worth naming as the psalm's actual claim, since it's a noticeably different promise than the one people often wish for. The psalmist doesn't ask God to explain why the troubles were "many and bitter," and doesn't get an explanation; the confidence rests entirely on the pattern of "you will restore" following "you have made me see." That's a pattern built from lived experience rather than abstract theology — the psalmist trusts future restoration because he's apparently witnessed God's restoration before, which is part of why continuing to walk with God through hard seasons tends to make the next hard season, however different, feel less unprecedented.

Reflecting on Psalm 71:17–18, I think about the folly of youth and the weakness of age — both are quickly moved to sin or lose sight of God-centered priorities, youth because they don't know better, and the elderly because they're too worn down to resist. Proverbs repeatedly shows how youth are simple-minded and prone to foolishness without discipline, and the Old Testament gives plenty of examples of men who started strong but ended badly. The psalmist reflects here on how God has taught him from his youth and provided for him his whole life, and states his motivation clearly: he wants to declare God's strength to this generation and God's power to everyone yet to come (a paraphrase of Psalm 71:17–18). That reminds me of Agur's prayer in Proverbs 30:7–9, asking God for only two things before he dies: to keep falsehood far from him, and to give him neither poverty nor riches, but only his daily bread — since too much might lead him to deny God, and too little might lead him to steal and dishonor God's name (a paraphrase of Proverbs 30:7–9). If you read that and conclude Agur is simply asking for a moderate life, you'd be missing the point — his real interest isn't riches, poverty, or anything in between, but whatever will glorify God most, which is the same interest driving the psalmist in Psalm 71. As I sit with this today, I wonder: do I seek God only to meet my needs? Do I treat Him like a kind of insurance plan in case my worldly interests fall through? Which do I actually seek Him for — Himself, or His benefits? John Piper's well-known line captures it well: "God is most glorified when we are most satisfied in Him." I love that. May my only interest be God's highest glory (Psalm 71:16), and may I seek no other good than nearness to Him (Psalm 73:28).

AI-Expanded Reflection

The distinction this comment draws — seeking God for Himself versus seeking Him for His benefits — is worth extending with the practical test Agur's own prayer supplies: he doesn't ask God to remove the temptation to misuse wealth by simply giving him none, nor does he ask for the security of abundance; he asks for a specific, moderate provision precisely because he understands both extremes carry the same underlying danger — self-sufficiency that forgets God. That's a more demanding request than it first appears, since it requires trusting God's provision at exactly the level given, rather than assuming either poverty or wealth would make faithfulness easier. Agur, in effect, prays for the amount of "daily bread" that keeps him most honestly dependent on God, which is a different ambition than moderation for its own sake.

Psalm 73 is, for me, a highly relevant psalm. It speaks of envying the prosperity of those who don't seek God (verse 3). What's even more remarkable is that it was written by Asaph, Israel's own worship leader — this is his personal confession and testimony. He begins by praising God's goodness and the purity of the pure in heart (verses 1–2), but admits that his own feet had almost slipped (verse 2). He'd nearly slipped from faith itself. Why? His immediate experience contradicted his theological understanding. He watched the wicked prosper in every way (verses 4–10, 12), while God seemed disinterested in their affairs (verse 11) — which is exactly why God's own people seemed so tempted to follow the wicked instead (verse 10). Pursuing purity and self-discipline felt to him both painful and pointless (verses 13–14).

These were Asaph's private thoughts, not shared with others — otherwise, as he admits, he would have betrayed an entire generation of God's children (a paraphrase of verse 15). After all, he was the worship leader — imagine him publicly announcing that it was better to enjoy life with the wicked, and that pursuing righteousness was vain. Yet as he wrestled with these thoughts, he admits it was deeply troubling to him (verse 16) — genuinely disturbed by the conflict between what he knew about God and what he was actually experiencing.

Asaph's answer came when he entered the house of God — there, he finally understood "their end" (verse 17). He realized his envy had come from a very narrow, tunnel-vision view of things, one that never looked beyond the boundaries of birth and death. Once he gained an eternal perspective, clarity was suddenly restored. Verses 18–20 depict the swiftness, suddenness, and awful finality of judgment awaiting the unbelieving and wicked in death.

In the rest of the psalm, Asaph humbles himself, acknowledges his own guilt, and extols God's grace. In an expression of absolute devotion, he confesses that he has no one in heaven but God, and desires nothing on earth besides Him — that even if his flesh and heart fail completely, God remains the strength of his heart and his portion forever (a paraphrase of Psalm 73:25–26).

We might read this psalm and think, "Whew, that was close — what a terrible experience!" We might feel similarly about what Job went through when God tested him with the loss of everything, since Job eventually got it all back. But if that relief is our main takeaway, we'll have missed the point of both books. Asaph's understanding of God and worship grew through his wrestling, just as Job's grew through his loss. Asaph summarizes what he learned in the psalm's final verse: as for him, the nearness of God is his good (a paraphrase of verse 28).

Remember, Asaph began this psalm praising God for His goodness toward Israel (verse 1) — God was good because He blessed Israel, and Asaph, and everyone pure in heart. What Asaph came to understand is that even when God doesn't bless Israel, or Asaph, or the pure in heart, God remains good, because His goodness is rooted in His very nature, not in what He chooses to do for anyone at a given moment. With that understanding, Asaph's personal good becomes nearness to God Himself — the closer he draws to God, the greater his good, regardless of circumstance.

This is also what Job learned. In some ways, like his confused friends, he had imagined God was good because God did certain prescribed "good" things. But once God revealed Himself directly to Job, Job realized his ears had merely heard of God before, but now his eyes had actually seen Him (a paraphrase of Job 42:5). Job's awareness of God was enlarged. We have both of these testimonies, Asaph's and Job's, so that we too can gain an enlarged vision of God — one that silences our petty complaints and elevates our reverence and love for Him, so that no contrary experience of life can move us from worship. God is good not because He does good things — He is good because He is good. And so His nearness to us is, itself, our good.

AI-Expanded Reflection

Asaph's turning point — gaining perspective only once he "entered the house of God" — is worth noticing as a pattern, not a one-off event: it's proximity to worship, not a private resolution of the intellectual problem, that actually breaks the spell of his envy. He never gets a philosophical answer to why the wicked prosper; he gets a reoriented vantage point instead. That distinction matters for anyone stuck in Asaph's exact position today — the psalm doesn't model working out an airtight theodicy before finding peace, it models finding peace through worship first, with full understanding remaining, even for Asaph, permanently out of reach in this life.