The Geography of Joy Text: Psalm 43:3-4
Introduction: Lost and Looking for a Map
We live in a disoriented age. Modern man is lost, but he is proud of it. He has thrown away the map, smashed the compass, and is now trying to navigate by the flickering light of his own glorious feelings. The result is a profound and pervasive spiritual homelessness. We see it everywhere, from the halls of government to the chaos in our own neighborhoods. Men are cast down, disquieted, and oppressed, just like the psalmist in this psalm. They are surrounded by an "ungodly nation" and beset by the "deceitful and unjust man" because they themselves have abandoned the standard of godliness and justice.
The great lie of our time is that truth is something you invent inside yourself. But the psalmist knows better. He is in exile, he is in the dark, and he knows he cannot generate his own light. He cannot think his way back to God's presence. He doesn't need a self-help seminar; he needs a divine rescue. He needs guides sent from outside himself. He needs a true north that does not shift with his moods. This psalm is a prayer for divine guidance, a plea for God to provide the map and the light to read it by. And it is a prayer that shows us the only true destination for every human soul: the altar of God, who is our exceeding joy.
This is not just a prayer for a lost individual; it is a prayer for a lost culture. When a people forgets where the altar of God is, they will begin to build altars to everything else, to the state, to the self, to sexual anarchy, to mammon. And all those altars demand sacrifice, but they offer no joy. They lead not to God's holy mountain, but to the slag heap of history. This prayer, then, is a radical act of rebellion against the spirit of the age. It is a request for the two things our world most despises and most desperately needs: objective truth and transcendent light.
The Text
Oh send out Your light and Your truth, let them lead me;
Let them bring me to Your holy mountain
And to Your dwelling places.
Then I will go to the altar of God,
To God my exceeding joy;
And upon the lyre I shall praise You, O God, my God.
(Psalm 43:3-4 LSB)
Divine Emissaries (v. 3)
The psalmist begins his plea by asking God to send out two guides.
"Oh send out Your light and Your truth, let them lead me; Let them bring me to Your holy mountain And to Your dwelling places." (Psalm 43:3)
Notice the desperation and the humility. He does not say, "I will find my way." He says, "Send them out." He recognizes his complete dependence on God's initiative. This is the starting point of all true spiritual life. We are blind and wandering until God condescends to send us help. And what does He send? Not a feeling, not an experience, but His light and His truth. These are personified, sent forth like emissaries or angelic guides on a mission.
What is this "light?" This is not simply intellectual enlightenment. In Scripture, light is God's revealing presence, His glory that banishes darkness and exposes reality for what it is. It is the light of God's countenance. The psalmist is in darkness, oppressed by enemies and his own disquieted soul. He needs the kind of light that only God can provide, a light that is also a guide. It shows the path. John tells us that "God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all" (1 John 1:5). This is a prayer for God to be God, to act in accordance with His own nature and shine into the psalmist's personal darkness.
And what is this "truth?" The Hebrew is emeth, which means firmness, faithfulness, reliability. This is not abstract propositional truth alone, though it includes that. It is covenantal truth. It is God's unwavering faithfulness to His promises. The psalmist is asking God to send His covenant reliability as a guide. He is praying, "God, You promised to be my God. You are faithful. Let that faithfulness be the road I walk on." In a world of lies, deceit, and injustice, the only reliable guide is the truth of God's character and His Word.
And where do these guides lead? They have a specific destination: "Your holy mountain and Your dwelling places." This is Zion, Jerusalem, the place of the tabernacle, and later the temple. This was the geographic center of Israel's worship, the place where God had condescended to place His name. For the psalmist, this was a literal, physical place. To be brought there was to be brought back into the formal, corporate worship of God's people. It was to come home. For us, under the new covenant, this holy mountain is the heavenly Jerusalem, the Church of the firstborn (Heb. 12:22-23). We are led by God's light and truth into the gathered body of Christ, into the communion of the saints. The Christian life is not a solo journey. God's light and truth always lead us to His people, to His dwelling place.
The Destination and the Joy (v. 4)
Verse 4 describes what happens when the journey is complete. The destination is not just a place, but a person, and the result is not mere relief, but explosive joy.
"Then I will go to the altar of God, To God my exceeding joy; And upon the lyre I shall praise You, O God, my God." (Psalm 43:4 LSB)
The first stop on the holy mountain is the altar. This is crucial. Before you can get to the joy, you must go to the place of sacrifice. The altar was the place of atonement, where sin was dealt with through blood. It was the place of consecration, where the worshipper was set apart for God. There is no path to God's presence that bypasses the altar. For us, this means we come to God only through the finished work of Jesus Christ, our great sacrifice. Our altar is the cross. Any attempt to approach God on the basis of our own merit, our own righteousness, or our own spiritual fervor is to try and sneak around the altar. It cannot be done. True worship begins where our striving ends, at the foot of the cross.
But notice the progression. He goes "to the altar of God," and then "to God." The altar is the means, but God Himself is the end. And what is God to him? He is "my exceeding joy." The Hebrew is literally "the gladness of my joy." This is a superlative. It is joy piled on top of gladness. This is not a tame, respectable, stained-glass sort of happiness. This is exuberant, overflowing, robust delight. This is the central secret of the Christian faith, the thing that our grim-faced secularism cannot begin to comprehend. God is not a cosmic killjoy. He is the very fountainhead of all joy. As C.S. Lewis noted, God is not the one who forbids pleasures; He is the one who offers pleasure, forevermore. The Westminster Catechism was right: our chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever. And these are not two separate activities; they are one. We glorify Him most when we enjoy Him most.
And what is the natural, reflexive response to this exceeding joy? It is praise. "And upon the lyre I shall praise You, O God, my God." Joy that does not erupt in praise is a leaky vessel. The lyre, the instrument of music and poetry, is brought into the service of worship. This is not quiet, internal appreciation. This is loud, skillful, articulated praise. This is embodied worship. Our hands, our voices, our instruments, our art, all of it is to be consecrated at the altar and then used to declare the excellencies of Him who called us out of darkness into His marvelous light.
He concludes by addressing God with the most intimate of titles: "O God, my God." This is covenant language. This is personal appropriation. He is not just the God of Israel, the God of the cosmos. He is my God. The entire journey, from the darkness of exile to the light of the holy mountain, from the oppression of enemies to the presence of the altar, culminates in this personal, possessive, passionate declaration of faith. This is the goal of our redemption.
The Christocentric Compass
As with all the Psalms, we must read this with Christian eyes. We must see how this prayer is ultimately answered and fulfilled in the Lord Jesus Christ.
Jesus Christ is the light of God sent into the world. "I am the light of the world," He said. "Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life" (John 8:12). He is the divine emissary who leads us out of our exile.
Jesus Christ is the truth of God made flesh. "I am the way, and the truth, and the life," He declared. "No one comes to the Father except through me" (John 14:6). He is the faithful guide, the embodiment of God's covenant reliability.
These two guides, light and truth, are not abstract principles; they are a person. And this person, Jesus, leads us to God's holy mountain. He Himself is the temple, the dwelling place of God (John 2:19-21). He is the altar, the priest, and the sacrifice. When we come to Him, we come to the altar of God.
And in Him, we find God as our exceeding joy. The author of Hebrews tells us that it was "for the joy that was set before him" that Jesus endured the cross (Heb. 12:2). What was that joy? It was the joy of bringing many sons to glory. It was the joy of purchasing a people for God, a people who would find in Him their own exceeding joy.
Therefore, this prayer is answered every time a sinner is drawn by the Father to the Son. The light of the gospel shines, the truth of the gospel is proclaimed, and a lost soul is led out of the darkness of sin and into the marvelous light of the church, the holy mountain of God. There we come to the cross, our altar. And there we discover that the triune God Himself is our deepest and most lasting delight. And so we take up our own lyres, our own voices, our own lives, and we praise Him. O God, our God.