Psalm 19: A World Full of the Goodness of God

Two summers ago, our uncle and his wife—Dr. & Mrs. Carl and Arlene Ermshar—took me and my family to Armstrong Redwoods State Natural Reserve. We drove there from their home in Angwin, in two separate cars—northwest to Calistoga then turning southwest, skirting the northern edge of Santa Rosa and the southern edge of Healdsburg in turn, as we sped down the length of Porter Creek Rd.

It was my first time seeing a redwood forest. I got to see the majestic redwood trees, huddled in circles like homesteaders’ wagons, for mutual support and strength. We walked up and down the trails. We took pictures. We had lunch. We soaked it all up.

As we entered the forest, my intuition immediately kicked in. I felt myself in the very presence of God. I don’t know exactly how. It is a mystery to me, and I am perfectly content not to dissect in order to understand it. It is the same feeling I get whenever I am out in the great outdoors. I do not plunge myself headlong in nature in order to enter it. I step out my front door, and it enters me. And it always manages to assert itself silently on me in its undefined, mysterious way.

I was following Carl along one path, when he stopped to observe a redwood sapling. He strokes the leaves and points to the new growth. “You see this tender shoot here? You notice the color? This growth happened only this year.”

Carl kept going, completely absorbed in studying this sapling, pointing out its various scientific details and its habitat—details about which I cared very little. To me, it is enough to be out in nature soaking up the sun, the redwoods, and God. To Carl perhaps, though he didn’t say it out loud, he prefers to see God in the scientific logic of the budding tree. I prefer to intuitively feel my way through creation without minding the science beneath it all, to taste God’s savory goodness and sweet presence. Carl prefers to think his way through with his senses to analyze God’s creation and let God speak to him in this way.

And the beauty of it all is that God’s creation is primed for our enjoyment and the various ways we prefer to do so.

There are those who prefer to soak up God’s power by plunging themselves head first into the physical world, relishing every physical contact. Then there are those who prefer to pull back from the physical world preferring to draw their energy from God in the inner world of solitude, reflection, and ideas.

There are those who prefer to discover and enjoy God by engaging their physical senses with the physical world. Then there are those who prefer to use their sixth sense of intuition—preferring the route of inferences, hunches, and insights in discovering and enjoying God.

There are those who prefer to be moved by God through the logical exercise of their minds. Then there are those who prefer to be moved by God through the emotive subjectivity of the human heart.

There are those who prefer to act on God’s voice by careful analysis of principles and truths. Then there are those who prefer to be moved by God to immediate, spontaneous, in-the-moment action.

Whatever your personality preference is, it is a gift of God to enable you to reach out to Him who is unseen through His physical and visible creation.

C. S. Lewis wrote of :

“I take this to be the greatest poem in the Psalter and one of the greatest lyrics in the world” (Reflections on the Psalms, p-.56).

We find it hard to disagree. combines the most beautiful poetry with the most comprehensive worldview. It isn’t only a beautiful poem recited privately. It is music sung at the center of congregational worship with musical instruments. We may imagine the ancient Hebrews singing this psalm with their percussion, brass, and string instruments. It must have been majestic!

It still is today—even without the singers the instrumentalists. is definitely still worthy of our meditations and prayers.

But how do we pray this psalm? How do we learn from it? We learn from it by observing how it moves and mirroring its movement, its energy, its passion, and its realism in our prayers and meditations.

We find that moves in three stages like a funnel.

It begins with the large universe and the sun that makes earthly life

It moves to the Torah-the revealed word of God—that makes human life possible

It ends with the one human response necessary to enjoy this life

begins by painting a glowing picture of God’s heavenly creation—silent though not mute; speechless though not dumb; mustering no human voice, yet sustaining an unbroken line of speech that comes from God and touches our human world of speech.

“The heavens are making God’s glory known; the vault of the skies are proclaiming the work of his hands. Day after day they are saying something; night after night they are declaring intimate knowledge. They do not speak; they have no words; their voice is not heard. Yet their unbroken line of expression has spread across the world; yes, their silent words into the world of talking human beings.” (, my extended translation)

The vault of the skies include not just what we see on a starry night or on a cloudless day in the skies above. It also includes all that the skies touch—the earth and all the non-human creatures and inanimate objects in it big and small. The psalmist says that they have one common thread of expression—a single sentiment; a single voice.

And it isn’t human voice. This voice can be observed on reflection when we behold the mighty stars; when we take in nature’s beauty; when we reflect on even the tiniest of all creatures. Even the most quirky ones—like my dog Smokey Bear.

In 2015, almost a year before we left Orange County for Auburn, we put our Smokey Bear to sleep. He was the craziest dog we ever had the misfortune of loving. It was very hard to love him. He had boundless energy which he didn’t mind using in mischievous ways. He spied on us opening the front door all the time and made a dash to who knows what. Twice, those mad dash should have ended his life. He ran into the street and got run over by a car, yet survived.

One of those episodes was on a Sabbath before we left for church. I was in my study, heard a car sped by, a big thud, and a yelp. I looked out the window and saw Smokey Bear in the middle of the street completely still. I rushed outside and carried him into the house in my preaching suit. I saw a dark burnt line clear down his back where the car had buzzed him. He stunk like crazy. But there was no blood. I was sure he was dead from massive internal bleeding. Five minutes later, he started to move. Another five minutes, and he was back to being himself. I couldn’t believe it! There must be a God in heaven! Julie gave him two baths that morning. We were late to church, but our crazy dog had survived.

One day I saw him tearing up the backyard running from one corner to the other and back again. I started counting midway through his crazy sprints and counted over thirty laps. When he was done, he got himself so sick that went into the house and vomited on the carpet.

One late summer night, he was in and out of the doggie door so much that he attracted a rabid coyote, that jumped our backyard fence to eat him alive. The coyote bit him above his hind legs. But Smokey Bear escaped, ran into the house, stunk like crazy, and survived. Julie scared the coyote away, and snarled at her before jumping out. Julie gave Smokey another after-a-death-defying-encounter bath.

But there were two things we loved about Smokey Bear: His loyalty to my children—especially to Havilah who he guarded religiously as a baby; and his friendship with Pink Nose our feral cat, to whom he loved to give wet willies. On the day we took him to the vet, while visibly in pain, Smokey Bear gave Pink Nose her last wet willie and they played together like the good old days. We said goodbye to Smokey Bear that day, but we love him to this day.

He did not speak; he had no human words; his voice was not heard (although his barking was). But his silent expression invaded our human world and caused us to look for glimpses of God even in our crazy dog—that perhaps Smokey’s sense of loyalty and friendship came from a God who is loyal, and a God likes to give wet willies.

But goes beyond simply reminding us to pay attention to silent voice of God’s big creation. He points to the sun in particular, which dominates the heavens from an earthly perspective, and which regulates life on earth. “Look at the sun,” he says. “See how majestic and comprehensive it is. See how indispensable it is to life on earth. Reflect on the sun, for if God hadn’t hung it in the sky, there can be no life on earth. Rejoice in the sun, for it can teach you much about the goodness and the presence of God.”

He has pitched a tent in the heavens for the sun. It is like a bridegroom coming out of its wedding chamber, confidently running its path. It appears from one end of the sky and travels to the other end. Nothing is hidden from its warmth. (, my translation)

Now the psalmist makes his second move. Glimpses of God can be heard—if we stop long enough to listen—though his silent creation, which carries no human speech. The sun in particular speaks the loudest for though it does not speak, its indispensability to earthly life is so obvious, this in and of itself is a voice.

He has pitched a tent in the heavens for the sun. It is like a bridegroom coming out of its wedding chamber, confidently running its path. It appears from one end of the sky and travels to the other end. Nothing is hidden from its warmth. (, my translation)

The sun serves only as an poor illustration of the most perfect speech of God—the Torah. In a beautiful six-fold description of the Torah, which today includes not only the first five books of Scripture, but all sixty-six books combined, David illustrates the prefect role of Scripture in regulating life on earth.

We are reminded of Paul’s Mars Hill sermon in where he refers to how God lets the sun shine on the wicked and righteous alike. This is one big way God manifests his goodness and presence to human creation.

But the sun serves only as an poor illustration of the most perfect speech of God—the Torah. In a beautiful six-fold description of the Torah, which today includes not only the first five books of Scripture, but all sixty-six books combined, David illustrates the prefect role of Scripture in regulating life on earth.

But once again the psalmist moves. And we must follow him where he goes. We can meditate and soak up all of creation all we want. It will still give us a glimpse of the goodness and presence of God. For he says that just as the sun is indispensable to earthly life, so there is a similar revelation of God that is completely comprehensive and indispensable to human life. If we want to really live beyond being cared for by the warmth of the sun this, we must follow the psalmist where he moves next—and take our prayers and meditations with us. He takes us to the world of Scripture next.

In a series of six parallel lines, the psalmist tells us just how indispensable Scripture is. The sun warms us. Our pets make us swoon. But if this is all there is to life, then you have not started to live. He says that the Torah, or Scripture,

He says that the Torah is so perfect it restores life. It is so trustworthy that it makes the simplest person wise. It is so straight or level or smooth that it makes the heart glad. It is so radiantly pure that it gives its own light not just to warm the heart but to guide one’s eyes. It is so morally clean or and true to life that it is the permanent foundation of human life.

Psalm 19:8–9 NIV

The precepts of the Lord are right, giving joy to the heart. The commands of the Lord are radiant, giving light to the eyes. The fear of the Lord is pure, enduring forever. The decrees of the Lord are firm, and all of them are righteous.

It is the exact antithesis of the knowledge derived from the tree of good and evil—knowledge to do it your way. This knowledge that does it God’s way.

This, too, and perhaps more importantly, ought to be the focus of our prayers and meditations. It isn’t enough to enjoy nature. To bask in the warmth and the joy of its company. We must also learn to be in good company with the Word of God.

In the heavens he speaks a silent voice. In the Torah he speaks a perfect voice.

But the psalmist moves yet again. And we follow him where he goes and reorient our prayers and meditations accordingly.

There is a third voice. It is the human voice responding to what he has heard though God’s silent voice in creation. It is the human voice responding to God’s perfect voice through Scripture. It is a voice of wonder and awe. It is a voice of humility as we realize how good God really is.

What does this voice sound like?

Our voice comes as a prayer of recognition acknowledging the sweetness of God’s words in Scripture as in the heavens in warning and rewarding us.

Psalm 19:10–13 NIV

They are more precious than gold, than much pure gold; they are sweeter than honey, than honey from the honeycomb. By them your servant is warned; in keeping them there is great reward. But who can discern their own errors? Forgive my hidden faults. Keep your servant also from willful sins; may they not rule over me. Then I will be blameless, innocent of great transgression.

Psalm 19:10-13

v. 10

Our voice comes as a prayer asking for forgiveness for our sins, and a

Two summers ago, our uncle and his wife—Dr. & Mrs. Carl and Arlene Ermshar—took me and my family to Armstrong Redwoods State Natural Reserve. We drove there from their home in Angwin, in two separate cars—northwest to Calistoga then turning southwest, skirting the northern edge of Santa Rosa and the southern edge of Healdsburg in turn, as we sped down the length of Porter Creek Rd.

It was my first time seeing a redwood forest. I got to see the majestic redwood trees, huddled in circles like homesteaders’ wagons, for mutual support and strength. We walked up and down the trails. We took pictures. We had lunch. We soaked it all up.

As we entered the forest, my intuition immediately kicked in. I felt myself in the very presence of God. I don’t know exactly how. It is a mystery to me, and I am perfectly content not to dissect in order to understand it. It is the same feeling I get whenever I am out in the great outdoors. I do not plunge myself headlong in nature in order to enter it. I step out my front door, and it enters me. And it always manages to assert itself silently on me in its undefined, mysterious way.

I was following Carl along one path, when he stopped to observe a redwood sapling. He strokes the leaves and points to the new growth. “You see this tender shoot here? You notice the color? This growth happened only this year.”

Carl kept going, completely absorbed in studying this sapling, pointing out its various scientific details and its habitat—details about which I cared very little. To me, it is enough to be out in nature soaking up the sun, the redwoods, and God. To Carl perhaps, though he didn’t say it out loud, he prefers to see God in the scientific logic of the budding tree. I prefer to intuitively feel my way through creation without minding the science beneath it all, to taste God’s savory goodness and sweet presence. Carl prefers to think his way through with his senses to analyze God’s creation and let God speak to him in this way.

And the beauty of it all is not only that God’s universe and God’s Word speak. The beauty of it all is that we, too, are primed to take it all in and listen. To internalize the physical universe and create meaning, purpose, and satisfaction in it.

This is precisely so because God has put in us the ability to derive power form God; to discover and enjoy God; to be moved by God; and to act on the voice of God in the depths of our spirits. This is the beauty of God’s human creation. We truly are primed for God. In the words of Blaise Paschal, “There is a God-shaped vacuum in the hearts of men.”

Paul says in

Romans 8:16 NIV

The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.

Romans 8:15 ESV

For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!”

We never do it on our own. Spiritual things are spiritually discerned. And God’s universe is be discerned in this way. So is the world of his Scripture. We are never to be content to read its letter. We must always interface with its spirit by interfacing with the Holy Spirit.

And God has wired each of us differently to do it slightly differently from each other.

There are those who prefer to soak up God’s power by plunging themselves head first into the physical world, relishing every physical contact. Then there are those who prefer to pull back from the physical world preferring to draw their energy from God in the inner world of solitude, reflection, and ideas.

There are those who prefer to discover and enjoy God by engaging their physical senses with the physical world. Then there are those who prefer to use their sixth sense of intuition—preferring the route of inferences, hunches, and insights in discovering and enjoying God.

There are those who prefer to be moved by God through the logical exercise of their minds. Then there are those who prefer to be moved by God through the emotive subjectivity of the human heart.

There are those who prefer to act on God’s voice by careful analysis of principles and truths. Then there are those who prefer to be moved by God to immediate, spontaneous, in-the-moment action.

Whatever your personality preference is, it is a gift of God to enable you to reach out to Him who is unseen through His physical and visible creation. Whatever your personality is, you are wired to respond to his silent voice, his perfect voice, and his inner voice.

And the end result is always the same: Our discovery of the goodness and the presence of God in our lives. From macrocosm to microcosm we declare the goodness of God.

Psalm 19: A World Full of the Goodness of God

I. Introduction

1) Preferences

1) Heavens’ Glorious Speech

II. God’s Silent Voice: The Chorus of Creation-at-Large

III. God’s Perfect Voice: The Chorus of Scripture’s World

IV. God’s Inner Voice: The Response of the Human Heart

V. A Trip to the Redwoods

VI. Preferences and Spirituality