The Currency of Gratitude: Paying What You Owe Text: Psalm 66:13-15
Introduction: Foxhole Religion and Fair-Weather Promises
We live in an age of cheap grace, which is to say, no grace at all. Modern man treats God like a cosmic vending machine or an emergency helpline. When the diagnosis is grim, when the business is failing, when the marriage is shattering, when the shells start falling, he is suddenly full of frantic promises. "God, if you get me out of this, I'll do anything. I'll go to church. I'll read my Bible. I'll be a better man." This is what we might call foxhole religion. The problem is that when the shooting stops and the danger passes, the memory of the vow fades with the smoke. The promises made in the dark are forgotten in the daylight. The debt is left unpaid.
This is a profound spiritual treason. It is treating God as a means to an end, a convenience to be used and then discarded. It reveals a heart that is not truly repentant, but merely desperate. It is the religion of raw utility. But the God of Scripture is not a God to be trifled with. He is not a celestial genie who grants wishes in exchange for empty words. He is a covenant-keeping God who takes our words with dreadful seriousness. And He expects us to do the same.
The Psalmist here in Psalm 66 gives us the polar opposite of this modern flakiness. He has been in deep distress. He has cried out to God, and God has answered. And now, having been delivered, he does not just breathe a sigh of relief and go on his way. No, he walks straight to the Temple with his arms full. He understands that deliverance creates an obligation. Grace is free, but it is not cheap. It costs us everything. The Psalmist knows that a vow made in the crucible of trouble is a sacred debt, and he has come to pay up, in full, with interest.
This passage confronts our casual, sentimental, and deeply unserious approach to God. It teaches us that true worship is costly. It teaches us that our words matter. And it teaches us that gratitude is not a fleeting emotion but a concrete, tangible, and expensive action. It is a transaction where we, having received everything, joyfully give back a token of the staggering debt we can never truly repay.
The Text
I shall come into Your house with burnt offerings;
I shall pay You my vows,
Which my lips uttered
And my mouth spoke when I was in distress.
I shall offer to You burnt offerings of fat beasts,
With the smoke of rams;
I shall make an offering of bulls with male goats. Selah.
(Psalm 66:13-15 LSB)
The Integrity of a Vow (v. 13-14)
The Psalmist begins with a declaration of intent, a statement of holy purpose. He is on his way to worship.
"I shall come into Your house with burnt offerings; I shall pay You my vows, Which my lips uttered And my mouth spoke when I was in distress." (Psalm 66:13-14)
Notice the resolute certainty. "I shall come... I shall pay." This is not a vague sentiment. This is a settled course of action. He is going to God's house, the Temple, the designated place where Heaven and Earth met. Worship for him is not an internal, private feeling. It is a public, physical act. He is bringing with him "burnt offerings." The burnt offering, or the ascension offering, was one of complete consecration. The entire animal, except for the hide, was consumed on the altar, ascending to God in smoke. It was a picture of total surrender, a symbol of "all of me for all of You."
And why is he doing this? To "pay" his vows. The word is transactional. A vow is a solemn promise, a self-imposed obligation made before God. In the Bible, vows are not to be made lightly, but once made, they are to be kept rigorously. "When you make a vow to God, do not be late in paying it; for He takes no delight in fools. Pay what you vow! It is better that you should not vow than that you should vow and not pay" (Ecclesiastes 5:4-5). God holds us to our word because He holds Himself to His. Our entire salvation rests on the fact that God keeps His covenant promises. For us to be flippant with our own promises is to mock the very character of the God we worship.
The Psalmist emphasizes that these were not just any vows. They were vows made "in distress." When he was in trouble, when his back was against the wall, he called on God and bound himself with promises. This is where we learn to argue with God. Not to quarrel with Him, but to bring covenantal arguments. "Lord, you have promised to be a deliverer. Deliver me now, and I will publicly testify to Your faithfulness. I will bring the sacrifice." This is not bribery. This is faith leveraging the promises of God and committing to the appropriate response of gratitude.
The distress was real, and so the vow was real. Now the deliverance is real, and so the payment must be real. His integrity is on the line. He spoke the words with his lips and mouth, and now he will back them up with his hands and his wallet. This is the essence of covenant faithfulness. It is a religion of substance, not vapor.
The Lavishness of Gratitude (v. 15)
Having established the principle, the Psalmist now details the payment. And it is no small thing.
"I shall offer to You burnt offerings of fat beasts, With the smoke of rams; I shall make an offering of bulls with male goats. Selah." (Psalm 66:15 LSB)
This is not a token gesture. This is extravagant, costly, almost reckless worship. He is not looking for the cheapest option. He brings "fat beasts." In the sacrificial system, the fat was considered the best part, the richest portion, and it belonged exclusively to the Lord. To offer fat beasts was to offer the prime, the most valuable animals from the herd. This is a picture of offering God our best, not our leftovers.
He piles on the offerings: rams, bulls, and male goats. This is a kingly sacrifice. It represents enormous wealth. Each of these animals had its own symbolic weight. Bulls represented strength and service. Rams represented leadership and substitution. Goats were often associated with sin offerings, a recognition of the unworthiness of the worshiper even as he gives thanks. He is bringing the best of his flocks and herds, a whole host of them, to be offered up.
The mention of "the smoke of rams" is significant. The smoke of the burnt offering was described as a "soothing aroma" to the Lord. It was a pleasing scent. This is liturgical language. True, heartfelt, costly worship is pleasing to God. It delights Him. When we keep our word, when we offer our best to Him in gratitude, God takes pleasure in it. This is a staggering thought. We, in our worship, can bring joy to the heart of God.
And then we have that word, "Selah." We are not entirely certain what it means, but it seems to be a musical or liturgical instruction, something like "pause and reflect on this." It is a divine full stop. Stop and consider the magnitude of this worship. Stop and think about the distress, the vow, the deliverance, and now this glorious, smoky, extravagant payment. Let the weight of it sink in. This is what serious gratitude looks like.
Paying the Unpayable Debt
Now, we read this as New Covenant believers, and we have to ask the right questions. We no longer bring bulls and goats to a stone altar. The Temple is gone. The Levitical system has been fulfilled and rendered obsolete. So what are we to do with a text like this? Do we just spiritualize it away into pious thoughts about being thankful?
By no means. The principle here is permanent, even if the practice has been transformed. We too were in distress. We were not just in financial trouble or a bad marriage. We were dead in our trespasses and sins, under the wrath of God, without hope and without God in the world. Our distress was ultimate. And from that distress, the Holy Spirit caused us to cry out for mercy.
And God answered, not by sending a temporary reprieve, but by sending His Son. Jesus Christ is the fulfillment of every sacrifice mentioned here. He is the ultimate "fat beast," the choicest offering, the beloved Son in whom the Father is well pleased. He is the Ram of God, the substitute caught in the thicket of our sin. He is the Bull of heaven, whose strength accomplished what we never could. He is the Goat of our atonement, who bore our sins away.
His death on the cross was the ultimate burnt offering, the complete consecration, where He offered Himself up entirely to the Father. The smoke of that sacrifice was a truly soothing aroma to God, satisfying His justice completely and forever. Christ has paid the vow that we could never pay. He has settled our sin debt in full.
Our Living Sacrifice
So where does that leave our vows? Does Christ's perfect sacrifice mean we do nothing? No, it means our sacrifices are now offered on the foundation of His. Because He has paid the ultimate price, we are now free to make our own offerings of gratitude. And the Apostle Paul tells us exactly what those are.
"Therefore I urge you, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship." (Romans 12:1 LSB)
Our burnt offering is our entire life. We are to come into His house, the church, and place our very selves on the altar. Our time, our money, our talents, our ambitions, our families, our bodies, all of it is to be a living sacrifice, continually offered up to God in gratitude for the great deliverance He has accomplished for us. When we were in distress, we were saved by grace. And now we pay our vows. How? By a life of radical, joyful, costly obedience.
This means our words still matter. The vows we make at baptism, the vows a husband and wife make at a wedding, the vows a new member makes to a church, these are all sacred promises spoken in the presence of God. They are to be paid. Our gratitude must be tangible. It must show up in our bank statements, in our calendars, in how we treat our spouse and children, in our service to the saints.
The Psalmist brought the best of his flock. We are called to bring the best of our lives. Not the leftover time, not the spare change, but the firstfruits. We are to bring our fat beasts, the prime cuts of our existence, and offer them to God with the glad smoke of praise. Let us pause, then. Selah. Let us consider the great distress from which we were saved, and the great price that was paid for our souls. And having considered it, let us go to His house, with joy and resolve, and pay what we owe.