Commentary - Psalm 74:1-11

Bird's-eye view

Psalm 74 is a raw, corporate lament from the rubble. The people of God are reeling from a catastrophic national disaster, almost certainly the destruction of Jerusalem and the first temple by the Babylonians. The psalm is a desperate, but not faithless, cry to God from the midst of the ruins. The psalmist, Asaph, begins with the agonizing question of divine abandonment, "Why?" He then moves to the central argument of the psalm, which is an appeal to God's covenant memory. He calls on God to remember His past acts of redemption, His purchase of His people, and His choice of Zion as His dwelling place. The middle section graphically details the brutal and blasphemous actions of the enemy, who have not just conquered but have sought to utterly erase the worship of Yahweh from the land. The psalm then returns to the present crisis, a crisis defined by the terrifying silence of God. There are no signs, no prophets, and no end in sight. The lament climaxes in a bold challenge to God, asking why His hand of power remains idle while His name is being mocked. This is not the prayer of unbelief, but rather the prayer of a robust faith arguing its case before the covenant Lord on the grounds of His own reputation and promises.

This is faith in the crucible. It is a model for how the people of God should pray when all visible supports have been kicked out from under them. The argument is not, "We have been faithful, so you owe us," but rather, "You have been faithful, so act consistently with Your own character." It is a prayer that takes God's name and glory more seriously than it takes its own pain, and for that reason, it is a profound expression of true piety.

Outline

Context In Psalms

Psalm 74 is one of the twelve psalms attributed to Asaph (Psalms 50, 73-83). These psalms often grapple with the problem of God's justice in the face of national disaster or the prosperity of the wicked. This psalm is a national or corporate lament, meaning it is a prayer voiced on behalf of the entire community, not just an individual. It shares this characteristic with other psalms like 44, 79, and 80. Its historical backdrop is almost certainly the Babylonian conquest of 586 B.C., an event that represented the most profound theological crisis in Israel's Old Testament history. The covenant promises seemed to have failed, the Davidic king was deposed, the land was lost, and the temple, God's own house, was a smoldering ruin. This psalm, along with others like it, provided the faithful remnant with the vocabulary to process this disaster before God, to hold on to His covenant promises even when they appeared to be void, and to plead for His intervention on the basis of His own honor.

Key Issues

An Argument in the Ruins

A man of faith standing in the smoking ruins of God's temple has a limited number of options. He can abandon his faith, concluding that his God is either too weak to defend His own house or too fickle to be trusted. Or, he can take his confusion, his pain, and his questions directly to that God. This is the path of biblical lament. It is not the abandonment of faith, but the exercise of it under the most severe pressure. The psalmist here models for us how to argue with God. He does not bring a case based on his own merits, for he knows Israel's sin is the ultimate cause of the calamity. Instead, he builds his entire case on God's character, God's promises, and God's reputation. He essentially says, "Look at what they are doing to Your house, Your people, Your name. Are you going to let this stand?" This is a holy boldness, born of a deep conviction that God is who He says He is.

Verse by Verse Commentary

1 Why, O God? Have You rejected us forever? Why does Your anger smoke against the sheep of Your pasture?

The psalm opens with the rawest of questions, a question that has echoed through the hearts of God's people in every generation of suffering: "Why?" This is not the "why" of academic curiosity, but the "why" of agony. The psalmist feels utterly cast off, and not just for a season, but forever. This is what catastrophe feels like from the inside. He then uses a striking image: God's anger smokes. This is not a flash of hot rage that quickly dies down. It is a slow, persistent, smoldering fire. And the objects of this anger are the sheep of Your pasture, the very ones He has pledged to care for and protect. The shepherd seems to have turned on His flock. The psalmist is not denying God's anger, but he is questioning its apparent permanence and its target. This is faith wrestling in the dark.

2 Remember Your congregation, which You have purchased of old, Which You have redeemed to be the tribe of Your inheritance; And this Mount Zion, where You have dwelt.

Here the psalmist pivots from the agonizing present to the unchangeable past. This is the foundation of his entire appeal. He cries out, "Remember." This is not to suggest that God is forgetful. In Hebrew thought, to "remember" is to act on the basis of a prior commitment. The psalmist is calling God to act in accordance with His own established covenant. He brings three exhibits into the courtroom. First, the congregation was purchased of old, a clear reference to the Exodus. Second, they were redeemed to be His inheritance. They belong to Him by right of purchase. Third, He chose to place His personal presence on Mount Zion. The psalmist is stacking up God's own sovereign choices and actions and presenting them back to Him as the basis for his plea. The argument is not "remember how good we've been," but rather, "remember how gracious You have been."

3 Lift up Your steps toward the perpetual ruins; The enemy has damaged everything within the sanctuary.

This is a call for God to come and see. "Lift up Your steps" is a vivid anthropomorphism urging the transcendent God to walk over and survey the scene of the crime. Come and inspect the damage done to Your own property. From the human vantage point, the ruins look perpetual, permanent. The destruction feels final. The enemy has been thorough; he has damaged everything. Nothing was spared. The psalmist wants God to see the totality of the desecration, because the desecration of the sanctuary is an attack on the honor of the God of the sanctuary.

4 Your adversaries have roared in the midst of Your meeting place; They have set up their own signs for signs.

The enemy's arrogance is staggering. They are not quiet or respectful in their conquest. They roared like savage animals in the very place where the praises of God were once sung. The temple was God's meeting place with His people, and the enemy has crashed the meeting. And worse, they have replaced God's authority with their own. They have set up their "signs," likely their military standards or pagan emblems, as the new symbols of power in that place. The sign of the covenant God has been replaced by the sign of the pagan conqueror. This is a direct, blasphemous challenge.

5-6 Each seems like one who lifts up An axe against the undergrowth of trees. And now its carved work altogether They smash with hatchet and hammers.

The psalmist now describes the brutal, mindless nature of the destruction. The invaders are portrayed as rough lumberjacks, swinging axes in a thicket of trees. This is what they did to the magnificent, intricate, and beautiful carved work of the temple. With crude instruments, hatchets and hammers, they smashed what skilled artisans had spent years creating for the glory of God. This was not tactical destruction; it was an act of pure, hateful vandalism. It was an expression of contempt for the beauty and holiness of God's house.

7 They have set Your sanctuary on fire; By bringing it to the ground, they have defiled the dwelling place of Your name.

This is the pinnacle of the desecration. They put the torch to the house of God itself. And in razing it to the ground, they have defiled the place where God had chosen to set His name. In the ancient world, the defeat of a nation was seen as the defeat of its gods. By burning Yahweh's temple, the Babylonians were making a theological statement: our gods are stronger than yours. The psalmist feels the sting of this reproach against the name of his God.

8 They said in their heart, “Let us completely subdue them.” They have burned all the meeting places of God in the land.

The psalmist understands the enemy's motive. Their goal was total cultural and religious annihilation. "Let us completely subdue them." This was a jihad. And it was not limited to the temple in Jerusalem. They systematically went through the country and burned all the meeting places of God, likely referring to local synagogues or centers of worship and instruction. The enemy's intent was to erase the worship of Yahweh from the face of the earth.

9 We do not see our signs; There is no longer any prophet, Nor is there any among us who knows how long.

The physical devastation is now matched by an equally terrifying spiritual devastation. The "signs" are gone. The visible tokens of God's covenant presence, perhaps the Urim and Thummim, or the Ark itself, have vanished. But far worse is the prophetic silence. "There is no longer any prophet." The line of communication with heaven has been cut. God is not speaking. Consequently, no one knows how long this state of affairs will last. This is the dark night of the soul for the entire nation. They are in the dark, and they have no idea when, or if, the dawn will come.

10 How long, O God, will the adversary reproach? Will the enemy spurn Your name forever?

The question "how long?" returns, but it is now sharpened and focused. The issue is no longer primarily Israel's suffering, but God's honor. How long will you allow the enemy to mock and reproach You? How long will they be allowed to spurn Your name? The psalmist skillfully aligns his cause with God's cause. A prayer for his own deliverance has become a prayer for the vindication of God's glory.

11 Why do You turn back Your hand, even Your right hand? From within Your bosom, destroy them!

The lament concludes this section with a bold, almost shocking, challenge. The psalmist pictures God's hand, His "right hand" which symbolizes His power to save and to judge, as being withdrawn and inactive, tucked away inside His cloak. It is a picture of utter divine passivity in the face of blasphemous evil. And so the psalmist cries out for God to act. Pull Your hand out and use it. The final phrase is a raw imprecation: destroy them! This is not a petty desire for personal revenge. It is a righteous cry for the Judge of all the earth to do right, to punish wickedness, and to vindicate His own holy name before a watching world.

Application

This psalm is a gift to the church for dark times. It teaches us, first, that it is not sinful to cry out to God with hard questions. Faith is not the absence of questions, but the addressing of all our questions to God. When our world is in ruins, our first move must be toward God, not away from Him.

Second, it teaches us the grammar of effective prayer. Our appeals must be grounded not in our own performance, but in God's character and promises. We come to God reminding Him of the fact that He has "purchased" a people for Himself, not with the blood of lambs, but with the precious blood of His own Son. Our security rests entirely in His past, completed work of redemption. We pray on the basis of the new covenant, sealed in Christ's blood.

Finally, this psalm teaches us to be zealous for the honor of God's name. Our ultimate concern in the face of evil and apostasy should not be our own comfort or safety, but the glory of God. When the world blasphemes the name of Christ, our hearts should burn with a holy indignation that drives us to our knees, pleading with God to pull His right hand from His bosom and act. The ultimate answer to the psalmist's cry is the resurrection of Jesus Christ. God did act. He raised the true Temple from the ruins of death, and in so doing, guaranteed the final destruction of all His enemies and the final salvation of all His people.