The Geography of Joy: A Homesickness for God Text: Psalm 84:1-4
Introduction: The Ache of Exile
Every man is born with a compass in his soul. This is not a compass that points north, but rather one that points home. The problem for the natural man is that he is born in exile, a long way from home, and the compass needle spins wildly. He thinks home is a bigger salary, a different spouse, a political victory, or a bottle of whiskey. He spends his entire life trying to satisfy an infinite ache with finite pleasures, which is like trying to fill the Grand Canyon with a teaspoon. The result is a constant, gnawing homesickness that he cannot name.
But the Christian is a man whose compass has been recalibrated by the Holy Spirit. He knows where home is. Home is not a place, but a person. Home is fellowship with the living God. And so, the Christian life is a pilgrimage, a journey home. This psalm, one of the psalms of the sons of Korah, is a pilgrim's song. It is the cry of a man who is not where he belongs, and he knows it. He is away from the appointed place of corporate worship, the tabernacle or temple, and this distance creates a physical, emotional, and spiritual longing that is almost unbearable.
We live in an age that despises geography, especially a spiritual geography. Our therapeutic culture teaches that God is an internal feeling, a private experience, a deity conveniently located in the glove compartment of your heart. Worship is whatever you want it to be, wherever you want it to be. But the Bible will have none of this. God is everywhere, it is true, but He has established that He will meet with His people in a special way in the place where He has put His name. For the Old Testament saint, this was the tabernacle. For us, it is the gathered church, the assembly of the saints. To neglect this gathering is to tell God that you prefer to meet with Him on your terms, not His. It is to say that you know a better place than the one He has appointed. This psalm is a sharp rebuke to our casual, consumeristic, and individualistic approach to worship. It teaches us that the center of the Christian life is not our private "quiet time," but the loud, joyful, corporate worship of the people of God in the house of God.
This deep, visceral longing for God's house is not a sign of weakness, but of spiritual health. It is the sign that you know you are an exile. The man who is perfectly content in this world is a man who has forgotten where he is from. He has made a peace treaty with a foreign land. But the psalmist here is heartsick for home, and in these first four verses, he unpacks the nature of this holy homesickness.
The Text
How lovely are Your dwelling places, O Yahweh of hosts!
My soul has longed and even fainted for the courts of Yahweh; My heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God.
Even the bird has found a home, And the swallow a nest for herself, where she sets her young, At Your altars, O Yahweh of hosts, My King and my God.
How blessed are those who dwell in Your house! They are ever praising You. Selah.
(Psalm 84:1-4 LSB)
The Beauty of God's Address (v. 1)
The psalm opens with an exclamation of aesthetic and spiritual delight.
"How lovely are Your dwelling places, O Yahweh of hosts!" (Psalm 84:1)
The psalmist does not begin with a theological proposition, but with a cry of the heart. The dwelling places of God are "lovely." The word means amiable, dear, cherished. This is not the cold appreciation of a museum curator for an artifact. This is the warm affection of a son for his father's house. The house is lovely because of the One who lives there. The beauty of the sanctuary is a reflection of the beauty of the God of the sanctuary.
But notice the title he uses for God: "Yahweh of hosts." This is the Lord of Armies. This is a military title. It reminds us that the God of overwhelming power and might, the commander of angelic armies, is the same God who establishes a lovely, desirable home for His people. This is a glorious paradox. The warrior King is also the gracious host. His house is both a fortress and a home. We must hold these two truths together. If we forget He is the Lord of hosts, our worship becomes sentimental and effeminate. If we forget His dwelling places are lovely, our worship becomes stark and severe. True worship happens when we come with reverent awe before the commander of the universe, and find to our astonishment that He has set a place for us at His table.
The use of the plural, "dwelling places," is also significant. While there was one tabernacle, it was a complex of courts and rooms. It points to the multifaceted nature of God's presence. But for us, under the New Covenant, it points to the reality that God's house is now every faithful, gathered church around the world. Every place where two or three are gathered in His name is one of His lovely dwelling places, an embassy of the heavenly Jerusalem.
A Full-Bodied Longing (v. 2)
This appreciation for God's house is not a mere intellectual ascent; it is a deep, physical craving.
"My soul has longed and even fainted for the courts of Yahweh; My heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God." (Psalm 84:2 LSB)
This is the language of intense, passionate desire. The soul "longs" and "faints." This is not the mild preference of a man deciding which restaurant to go to. This is the desperation of a man dying of thirst in the desert who dreams of water. The absence from God's courts is physically debilitating. This is what we must recover. For many modern Christians, missing a Sunday service is a matter of convenience. For the psalmist, it was a matter of survival. His soul was withering.
And the response to God is holistic. It involves the entire person. "My heart and my flesh sing for joy." Biblical faith is not a disembodied spiritual experience. Our bodies are not disposable meat-suits that we drag around until we can finally shed them and float off to a cloudy eternity. No, our bodies are part of the equation. Creation is good. Our flesh will be resurrected. And our worship now should involve our bodies. We stand to sing, we lift our hands, we kneel to pray, we taste the bread and wine. The psalmist's very flesh cries out for the living God. Why? Because he is the "living God." He is not an abstract principle or a dead idol. He is the source of all life, and our entire being, body and soul, was made to be in fellowship with Him.
This is a direct assault on all forms of Gnosticism, ancient and modern, that would separate the spiritual from the physical. Your body matters to God. What you do with it matters. And your body was designed to participate in the corporate worship of the living God. The man who says "my heart is worshiping" while his body is on the golf course is kidding himself. He is a practical Gnostic.
The Envy of the Birds (v. 3)
The psalmist's longing is so intense that he finds himself envying the small creatures who have unrestricted access to the place he cannot go.
"Even the bird has found a home, And the swallow a nest for herself, where she sets her young, At Your altars, O Yahweh of hosts, My King and my God." (Psalm 84:3 LSB)
This is a beautiful and poignant image. The sparrows and swallows, creatures of little account, have made their homes in the very heart of Israel's worship. They build their nests and raise their young right there at the altars of God. Think of the significance. The altar was the place of sacrifice, the place of atonement, the place where sin was dealt with. And here, these birds find their home, their place of security and peace. They are safe at the very place of blood and fire.
This is a picture of the gospel. We, like the sparrows, are creatures of little account. We are sinners who deserve judgment. But in Christ, we find our home, our nest, our security, at the very altar where the final sacrifice was made. The cross of Christ, the ultimate altar, is not a place of terror for the believer, but a place of refuge. It is where we build our lives and raise our children, safe under the shadow of His wings, protected by the blood of the covenant.
The psalmist sees these birds and feels a pang of holy jealousy. A tiny, insignificant bird has what he most desires: proximity to the presence of God. He calls God "My King and my God." This is personal. This is covenantal. The Lord of Armies is his King, and the God of the universe is his God. And because this relationship is so personal, the absence is all the more painful. It is the ache of a loyal subject separated from his beloved king.
The Definition of Blessedness (v. 4)
The psalmist concludes this section by summarizing the state of those who have what he lacks.
"How blessed are those who dwell in Your house! They are ever praising You. Selah." (Psalm 84:4 LSB)
Here is the Bible's definition of the good life. The world says blessed are the rich, the powerful, the famous, the self-actualized. The Bible says, "Blessed are those who dwell in Your house." The highest state of human flourishing is to be a permanent resident in the presence of God. To "dwell" is not to visit. It is to live, to abide, to make your home there.
And what is the natural, reflexive, inevitable activity of those who dwell in God's house? "They are ever praising You." Praise is the native language of Zion. It is the atmosphere of God's house. It is not a chore; it is the spontaneous overflow of a heart captivated by the glory of God. Where God is truly present, praise will erupt. A church that is listless and bored in its worship is a church that has lost its sense of God's presence. They may be in a building they call a church, but they are not truly dwelling in His house.
The word "Selah" invites us to pause and consider this. Stop. Think about what has just been said. Meditate on it. Let the weight of this truth settle into your bones. The greatest blessing a human being can experience is to be a joyful, praise-filled resident of the house of God. Is this your highest ambition? Is this what your soul faints for? Or have you made your nest somewhere else?
Conclusion: The True Dwelling Place
This psalm is a diagnosis of our spiritual condition. The intensity of our desire for corporate worship is a direct measure of our spiritual health. Apathy toward the gathering of the saints is a symptom of a deeper heart problem, a spiritual anemia.
The Old Testament temple and its courts were a shadow, a type, of the reality to come. The ultimate dwelling place of God is the Lord Jesus Christ Himself. In Him, "all the fullness of the Deity dwells bodily" (Colossians 2:9). He is the true temple. And by faith, we are united to Him. We are made living stones in a spiritual house (1 Peter 2:5). The church is the house of God, the pillar and support of the truth (1 Timothy 3:15).
Therefore, this longing of the psalmist is not obsolete. It is fulfilled and intensified in the Christian. We long to be in the courts of the Lord because that is where Christ has promised to meet with us in a unique way. It is where we are built up together into a holy temple. It is where we, like the swallows, find a nest for our children, teaching them to sing the praises of our King at the foot of the cross.
If you find that this psalm describes a desire you do not have, then you must ask why. Have you settled down in exile? Have you made a home in Babylon? The call of the gospel is the call to come home. It is a call to leave the far country and return to the Father's house. And when you arrive, you will find that the Father has been waiting, and the celebration is ready to begin. And you will find yourself, perhaps for the first time, joining with all the residents of that house, ever praising Him.