The Treason of a Friend: Psalm 55:12-14
Introduction: The Unique Agony of Betrayal
There are many kinds of suffering in this fallen world. There is the suffering that comes from the declared hostility of an open enemy. There is the pain that comes from natural disaster, from sickness, from the slow decay of our mortal frames. These are heavy burdens, to be sure. But the Scriptures teach us, and our own bitter experience confirms, that there is a particular kind of agony, a unique and searing pain, that can only be inflicted by the hand of a trusted friend. It is the difference between being shot at by an enemy soldier across a battlefield and being stabbed in the back by a brother in your own home. The first is expected; the second is a violation of the created order. It is a treason against a covenant.
David, a man after God's own heart, was no stranger to affliction. He was hunted by Saul, slandered by his enemies, and warred against by foreign armies. He knew the weight of open opposition. But in this psalm, he is not reeling from the blows of a Philistine. He is staggered by the treachery of someone who was on the inside, someone who had shared his life, his counsel, and his worship. This is the peculiar torment that unstrings the soul, that makes a man wish for the wings of a dove to fly away and be at rest.
We live in a therapeutic age that wants to medicate every wound and explain away every sin. But the Bible is ruthlessly realistic about the nature of sin and the pain it causes. This passage confronts us with the profound horror of covenant-breaking. It forces us to look at the anatomy of betrayal, not so we can wallow in self-pity, but so we can understand the gravity of our own sins of falsehood, and so that we can ultimately look to the one who endured the ultimate betrayal on our behalf. David's cry here is a raw, human cry, but it is also a prophetic foreshadowing of the greater Son of David, who would look across a table at His own familiar friend, and know that the treason was at hand.
The Text
For it is not an enemy who reproaches me,
Then I could bear it;
Nor is it one who hates me who has magnified himself against me,
Then I could hide myself from him.
But it is you, a man my equal,
My close companion and my familiar friend;
We who had sweet counsel together
Walked in the house of God in the throng.
(Psalm 55:12-14 LSB)
The Logic of Pain (v. 12)
David begins by explaining why this particular wound is so devastating. He uses a clear, logical contrast.
"For it is not an enemy who reproaches me, Then I could bear it; Nor is it one who hates me who has magnified himself against me, Then I could hide myself from him." (Psalm 55:12)
Notice the structure of David's thought. He is not just emoting; he is reasoning through his grief. He says that the reproach of a known enemy is, in a strange way, manageable. It is predictable. When an enemy attacks, you are not surprised. You have your armor on, your shield up. You expect insults from the opposition. It is part of the normal course of spiritual warfare. David says, "Then I could bear it." The blow would land, but it would land on prepared defenses. You can brace for an expected impact.
Likewise, if it were an open hater, one who had publicly "magnified himself against me," the course of action would be clear: "Then I could hide myself from him." You avoid known threats. You do not give your trust to those who have declared their animosity. You keep your distance. You do not invite them into your home for dinner. There is a painful clarity in open hostility. You know where you stand, and you know what you must do.
But the pain David is experiencing has bypassed all these defenses. The attack did not come from the outside, over the castle walls. It came from within the council chamber. The poison was not thrown from a distance; it was slipped into his cup by someone who had a seat at his table. This is why the pain is unbearable. It is the shock of it, the violation of trust. All the normal categories for dealing with opposition are rendered useless. You cannot bear what you did not expect, and you cannot hide from someone who already knows all your secrets.
The Anatomy of a Friend (v. 13)
In verse 13, David defines the relationship that was betrayed. This is not a casual acquaintance.
"But it is you, a man my equal, My close companion and my familiar friend;" (Psalm 55:13 LSB)
The blow is personal. "But it is you." David identifies him directly. This is not an abstract complaint about the fallenness of man; it is the pointed agony of a specific treason. The betrayer was "a man my equal." This likely refers not to social station, as David was king, but to the nature of the friendship. This was a peer, someone he treated as an equal, someone whose thoughts and counsel he valued as he would his own. This was not a subordinate, but a confidant.
He goes on to call him his "close companion" and "familiar friend." These terms speak of deep intimacy and shared life. A companion is someone you walk with, someone who shares your path. A familiar friend is one who knows you, who has seen you in unguarded moments, who understands your ways. In the Old Testament, friendship was not a sentimental Hallmark card. It was a covenantal bond, a relationship of loyalty, trust, and mutual obligation. To betray a friend was not just to be unkind; it was to be a liar, a covenant-breaker. It was to tear the fabric of the social order that God had ordained.
This is why all sin is ultimately theological. This betrayal was not just a horizontal offense, man against man. It was a vertical offense, a sin against the God who establishes the bonds of fellowship. To break faith with a brother is to show contempt for the God who calls us to be faithful.
The Shared Sweetness (v. 14)
David then specifies the two arenas where this intimate friendship was lived out, making the betrayal all the more bitter.
"We who had sweet counsel together Walked in the house of God in the throng." (Psalm 55:14 LSB)
First, they shared "sweet counsel together." This speaks of the private intimacy of trusted conversation. They shared secrets, plans, fears, and hopes. The counsel was "sweet," meaning it was pleasant, delightful, and refreshing. This was not a mere business partnership. This was a deep, personal connection where hearts were opened to one another. To have that sweet counsel turned to bitter gall, to know that all your private vulnerabilities are now in the hands of an enemy, is a torment of a high order.
Second, and perhaps most grievously, they "walked in the house of God in the throng." Their friendship was not just private; it was publicly religious. They were brothers in worship. They stood together before the Lord, singing the same psalms, offering the same sacrifices. Their bond was forged not just in the council room but in the congregation of the righteous. This adds a layer of hypocrisy and sacrilege to the betrayal that is truly staggering. To stand with a man before the holy God of Israel, to affirm your covenant bond in the very presence of the Covenant-Keeper, and then to turn and betray him, this is a sin of profound darkness.
This is not just a social betrayal; it is spiritual treason. The friend used the cloak of shared piety to conceal a heart of malice. This is a reminder to us that the most dangerous enemies are often not the pagans outside the camp, but the false brothers within it. The devil is perfectly happy to have his agents sing in the choir.
The Shadow of Judas
As we read this psalm, we cannot help but see a greater betrayal casting its shadow over the text. David's experience, as painful as it was, serves as a type, a foreshadowing of the ultimate treason committed against the Son of God. Jesus knew these verses intimately. He knew what it was to have a familiar friend turn against Him.
Jesus had a man who was his equal, in the sense that He humbled Himself to become a man among men. He had a "close companion" in Judas, one of the twelve, who for three years walked with Him, ate with Him, and ministered alongside Him. They certainly had "sweet counsel together," as Jesus taught the disciples the mysteries of the kingdom. And they "walked in the house of God," going to the synagogue and the Temple together.
And yet, this was the man who betrayed Him. Jesus quotes the psalms when speaking of it: "'He who eats My bread has lifted up his heel against Me'" (John 13:18). The betrayal of Jesus by Judas was not an unfortunate accident; it was the culmination of all the covenant-breaking treachery in human history, focused on one diabolical act. And Jesus endured it for us.
When we are betrayed, our temptation is to despair, to become bitter, or to seek revenge. But the gospel gives us another path. We look to Christ, who endured the ultimate act of friendly treason, and we see that God turned the greatest sin into the greatest salvation. The kiss of Judas led directly to the cross, and the cross is where our salvation was secured. God takes the foulest deeds of sinful men and weaves them into His glorious tapestry of redemption.
This does not make the sin any less heinous or the pain any less real. But it does mean that our pain is not ultimate. Christ has entered into this specific kind of suffering. He knows it from the inside. Therefore, when you are wounded by a friend, you have a High Priest who can sympathize with your weakness. You can go to Him, not as one who is ignorant of your pain, but as one who has plumbed its very depths.
And this knowledge must also make us tremble. We must examine our own hearts. How often have we offered sweet words to a brother while harboring bitterness? How often have we walked into the house of God with a heart full of envy or malice? We are all capable of this kind of treason. Let us confess our own faithlessness, our own moments of petty betrayal, and flee to the one who was faithful even when surrounded by the faithless. He bore the ultimate reproach so that we, the ultimate traitors, could be called friends of God.