Commentary - Psalm 68:7-10

Bird's-eye view

This section of Psalm 68 is a historical reflection, a poetic recounting of God's mighty acts during the Exodus and the wilderness wanderings. The psalmist is not just cataloging past events; he is grounding the present confidence of God's people in the demonstrated character of God. The God who is being praised now is the same God who acted then. The central theme here is the awesome, earth-shaking reality of God's presence with His people. When God moves, creation itself responds. This is not a sentimental, fuzzy presence, but a terrifying, glorious, and powerful presence that causes mountains to tremble and skies to pour down rain. This display of raw power is then immediately connected to His tender, providential care. The God of Sinai is the God who sends refreshing rain and establishes a home for His weary, impoverished people. Power and provision are two sides of the same coin of His covenant faithfulness. He is a mighty king who cares for the humblest of His subjects.

The movement of the passage is from the general to the specific, from the cosmic to the congregational. It begins with God on the march at the head of His people, a terrifying spectacle for the whole earth. It culminates with God preparing a place for His "creatures" or "flock," providing for the poor out of His goodness. This is a picture of the gospel. The same God whose wrath was poured out on His Son at Calvary is the one who, through that very act, prepares a place for the poor in spirit. His awesome power is always wielded on behalf of His chosen inheritance, His people.

Outline

Context In Psalm 68

Psalm 68 is a victory anthem, likely composed to celebrate the bringing of the Ark of the Covenant into Jerusalem. It is a collage of historical allusions, celebrating God's triumphs from the Exodus to the conquest of Canaan and looking forward to His ultimate reign over all nations. The psalm opens with the ancient war cry of Israel, "Let God arise, let his enemies be scattered" (v. 1), which was spoken whenever the Ark set out (Num 10:35). Verses 7-10 fit squarely within this retrospective celebration. After establishing God as the father of the fatherless and a setter of the lonely in families (vv. 5-6), the psalmist turns to the historical event that most profoundly defines Israel's identity: the Exodus. This section serves as the historical bedrock for the praise that follows. The God who is mighty to save now is the same God who was mighty to save then. The presence of God, once localized at Sinai, is now celebrated as dwelling in Zion, and this historical recounting of the Sinai event validates Zion as the new dwelling place of that same glorious God.

Key Issues

God on the March

We must not read this as though it were simply a weather report from the ancient Near East. This is theology, doxology, and history all rolled into one. The language is intentionally evocative of the events at Mount Sinai, which was the foundational moment in Israel's relationship with Yahweh. This was their national conversion, their marriage ceremony. When God appeared, the whole world was put on notice. The God of Israel is not a tame God, not a localized deity who can be managed. He is the Lord of heaven and earth, and when He decides to march, the foundations of the world are shaken.

The psalmist is reminding the people of his day, and us, that our God has a history of showing up. He is not an absentee landlord. He is a king who leads his armies from the front. The wilderness was not just a geographic location; it was a place of testing, dependence, and revelation. It was where Israel learned that they could not provide for themselves, and where God proved that He was more than able to provide for them. This march through the wasteland was therefore a foundational part of their identity. They were the people who were led by God Himself through the place of death into the land of promise. This is the story of every believer. God leads us through the wilderness of this world, and His presence with us is both our terror and our comfort.

Verse by Verse Commentary

7 O God, when You went forth before Your people, When You marched through the wasteland, Selah.

The psalmist addresses God directly, drawing the listener into an act of communal remembrance. The image is that of a commanding general leading his troops. God is not in the rear, pushing His people forward. He is "before" them, leading the way. This is a profound comfort. The path through the wilderness is unknown and dangerous, but the one who knows the way and who has all power is out in front. The word "marched" conveys a sense of deliberate, unstoppable progress. This was not a meandering stroll; it was a conquest. The "wasteland" or "wilderness" was a place of chaos, emptiness, and death. But for Israel, it became the theater of God's greatest works. God's presence transforms the nature of the place. The Selah invites a pause, a moment to reflect on the staggering reality of this scene: the God of the universe, on the march, at the head of his ragtag people.

8 The earth quaked; The heavens also dripped rain at the presence of God; Sinai itself quaked at the presence of God, the God of Israel.

When God shows up, things happen. His presence is not a passive concept; it has tangible effects on the created order. The psalmist piles up the phenomena: the earth quakes, the heavens drip. This is the language of theophany, a manifestation of God. This is what happened when God descended upon Mount Sinai (Ex. 19:16-18). The whole mountain trembled violently. The point is that creation knows its master. The "presence of God" is a weighty, substantial reality. It is not that God's arrival causes an earthquake, as though it were an incidental side effect. The earthquake is the created order's response to His presence. He is so real, so potent, that the ground cannot stay still beneath His feet. The psalmist explicitly names "Sinai itself," grounding this poetic description in a specific historical event. And he concludes with the glorious title, "the God of Israel," reminding us that this cosmic, terrifying power is pledged by covenant to this specific people.

9 You caused abundant rain to sprinkle down, O God; You established Your inheritance when it was parched.

Here the focus shifts from the terror of God's power to the tenderness of His provision. The same presence that makes mountains quake also makes the heavens drip with "abundant rain." The word suggests a generous, willing shower, not a violent storm. After the awesome display of power, we see the fatherly care. God uses His control over creation to refresh His people. "Your inheritance" is a covenantal term for Israel. They belong to God. And because they belong to Him, He takes care of them. When they were "parched" and "weary" (as the Hebrew implies), He "established" them. He confirmed them, strengthened them, made them firm. The rain was not just for their crops; it was a sign of His covenant faithfulness. He was watering His own garden, tending to His own people. The God of the earthquake is also the God of the gentle rain.

10 Your creatures inhabited it; You established it in Your goodness for the poor, O God.

The result of God's provision is that His people can dwell securely. The word for "creatures" can also be translated as "flock" or "company," referring to the congregation of Israel. They lived in the land that God had prepared for them. And why did God do all this? The psalmist gives the ultimate reason: "in Your goodness." It was not because Israel deserved it, but because God is good. And this goodness is directed specifically "for the poor." The word here means the afflicted, the humble, the needy. God's special concern is for the lowly. He marched from Sinai, shook the earth, and sent the rain in order to make a home for the poor. This is the character of our God. He does not align Himself with the proud and self-sufficient. He prepares a place for those who know they are spiritually bankrupt and utterly dependent on Him. This is the gospel in the wilderness.

Application

This passage is a potent reminder that the God we worship is not safe, but He is good. We modern Christians have a tendency to domesticate God, to make Him a manageable, predictable deity who exists to affirm our lifestyles. But the God of Sinai is a consuming fire. His presence should rightly terrify us, because it exposes all our sin and frailty. The first step in true worship is to recognize that the earth quakes before Him, and so should we. We should tremble at His word and have a holy fear of His majesty.

But the story does not end with terror. The same God who marches in power also stoops in mercy. The God who makes the mountains tremble is the God who provides for the poor. The cross of Jesus Christ is the ultimate Sinai. It is the place where the awesome, terrifying holiness of God confronted human sin, and the earth grew dark and quaked. But it is also the place where the heavens opened and the most abundant rain of grace was poured out. Through the terror of the cross, God established His inheritance. He secured a place for His people. And who are those people? They are the poor. They are those who come with empty hands, acknowledging their spiritual poverty, and confessing their utter dependence on His goodness. We are the parched land, and Christ is the abundant rain. We are His flock, and He has established us in His goodness. We must therefore live as a people who have been rescued by a mighty and merciful King, walking in holy fear and grateful confidence.