Commentary - Psalm 89:38-51

Bird's-eye view

Psalm 89 is a psalm of breathtaking contrasts. The first part (vv. 1-37) is a soaring celebration of God's covenant faithfulness, sworn in holiness to David. God's mercies are built up forever; His faithfulness is established in the very heavens. The promises are ironclad, unconditional, and eternal. God has sworn by His own holiness that He will not lie to David, that his seed will endure forever, and his throne as the sun before Him (vv. 35-36). And then, with a jarring screech, the music stops. The second part of the psalm, our text (vv. 38-51), is a raw, agonizing lament over the apparent complete and utter failure of those very promises. The psalmist, Ethan the Ezrahite, lays out the brutal facts of the matter. The anointed king has been cast off, his crown profaned, his strongholds ruined, and his throne cast to the ground. This is not just a minor setback; it looks for all the world like God has spurned His own covenant. The psalm thus presents us with a massive theological problem: how do we reconcile God's immutable promises with the catastrophic experiences of His people? This is a complaint brought to God, not a grumbling behind His back. It is a faithful wrestling with the apparent contradiction between God's Word and His providence. The psalm ends not with a neat resolution, but with a series of desperate questions flung toward heaven: "How long, O Yahweh?" and "Where are Your former lovingkindnesses?" This is a psalm for when God's actions seem to directly contradict His character and His promises, and it teaches us to bring our confusion and pain directly into His presence, arguing our case on the basis of His own sworn word.

Outline

Context In Psalms

Psalm 89 closes Book Three of the Psalter (Psalms 73-89). This section of the Psalms is marked by a darker, more corporate and national tone of lament, wrestling with the destruction of Jerusalem and the exile. Psalm 89 serves as a theological climax to this book, bringing the crisis of the Davidic covenant to its sharpest point. After the soaring promises recounted in the first half, the brutal reality of the monarchy's collapse creates a tension that is left unresolved. This cliff-hanger ending of Book Three is intentional. It forces the reader to look forward, to seek a resolution that is not yet apparent. The answer will begin to unfold in Book Four, which opens with Psalm 90, a prayer of Moses, shifting the focus from the failed Davidic king to the eternal kingship of Yahweh. The problem of Psalm 89 is only ultimately and fully resolved in the coming of the true Anointed One, Jesus Christ, the Son of David who now reigns on a throne that can never be cast down.

Clause-by-Clause Commentary

v. 38 But You have cast off and rejected, You have been full of wrath against Your anointed.

Here is the sharp turn. After thirty-seven verses celebrating God's unbreakable covenant, the psalmist pivots with a blunt "But You." This is not a subtle shift. This is the sound of a record scratching. All the glorious promises just recounted are now thrown into stark relief against the grim reality on the ground. The psalmist accuses God directly. He doesn't say, "It seems as though you have cast off," or "our enemies have prevailed." No, the responsibility is laid squarely at God's feet: "You have cast off." The word for "cast off" is the same used for rejecting a sacrifice or for a man divorcing his wife. It is a term of definitive repudiation. And who has been rejected? "Your anointed." This is the Messiah, the king from David's line, the very one to whom all the preceding promises were directed. The reason given is God's wrath. This is not a passive withdrawal of favor; it is an active, furious opposition from the very one who swore to be his eternal ally.

v. 39 You have spurned the covenant of Your slave; You have profaned his crown to the ground.

The charge becomes more specific and more shocking. "You have spurned the covenant." The covenant that God swore by His own holiness (v. 35) is now, it appears, being treated as a worthless thing. The psalmist is taking God's own words and promises and holding them up against God's own actions. This is the essence of faithful lament. He identifies the king as God's "slave" or servant, emphasizing his subordinate relationship to Yahweh, which should have guaranteed him protection, not abandonment. The tangible evidence of this spurned covenant is the profaned crown. A crown symbolizes royal authority and dignity. To have it "profaned to the ground" is an image of ultimate humiliation. The sacred symbol of God's chosen king has been defiled, thrown in the dirt, and it is God Himself who has done it.

v. 40 You have broken down all his walls; You have beset his strongholds with ruin.

The humiliation of the king extends to the entire kingdom. A king's primary duty was to provide security for his people, symbolized by the city walls and strongholds. But these defenses are not just breached; they are "broken down" and turned to "ruin." And again, the agent is God. "You have broken... You have beset." The psalmist sees the hand of God not in a distant, permissive sense, but as the direct and active cause of the nation's destruction. The enemies may be the secondary means, but the ultimate cause is Yahweh. This is a robustly sovereign worldview, even in lament. If God is God, He is responsible for the calamity as well as the blessing. There is no room for blaming fate or chance.

v. 41 All who pass along the way plunder him; He has become a reproach to his neighbors.

The consequence of having no walls is vulnerability. The kingdom is now easy prey for any opportunistic passerby. "All who pass along the way plunder him." The nation has become a free-for-all for looters. This physical plundering is accompanied by social disgrace. "He has become a reproach to his neighbors." To be a reproach means to be an object of scorn, contempt, and mockery. The surrounding nations, who once would have feared or respected Israel and her king, now point and laugh. The God who was supposed to make them a praise in the earth has made them a punchline.

v. 42 You have exalted the right hand of his adversaries; You have made all his enemies be glad.

This verse deepens the sting. Not only has God abandoned His anointed, He has actively taken the side of the enemy. The "right hand" is a symbol of strength and power. For God to "exalt the right hand of his adversaries" means He has given them the victory. He is strengthening the very people who oppose His anointed king. The result is that the enemies are "glad." Their joy is a direct consequence of God's action. This is a bitter pill to swallow. God is not just allowing defeat; He is orchestrating the victory party for the other side. This is what makes the lament so sharp; it is a complaint against God for what appears to be a betrayal of His own cause and people.

v. 43 You also turn back the edge of his sword And have not made him arise in battle.

The military failure is detailed further. The king's own martial prowess is rendered useless. God Himself "turn[s] back the edge of his sword." His weapons are made ineffective. The problem is not a lack of courage or a failure of strategy; the problem is divine opposition. The second clause, "have not made him arise in battle," can also be translated "you do not make him stand in battle." Despite his efforts, God ensures his defeat. He cannot get a foothold; he cannot achieve a victory because God is actively working against him on the battlefield.

v. 44 You have made his splendor to cease And cast his throne to the ground.

The royal glory is extinguished. "Splendor" refers to the visible majesty and radiance of the king. God has put out the light. And the ultimate symbol of the Davidic covenant, the throne, is "cast... to the ground." This is a direct and shocking contradiction of the promise in verse 36, that his throne would endure "as the sun before me." The psalmist is describing a situation that, from all outward appearances, proves God's promise to be null and void. He is not softening the blow. He is stating the brutal facts as he sees them and laying them before the God who made the promises in the first place.

v. 45 You have shortened the days of his youth; You have wrapped him up with shame. Selah.

The king's reign has been cut short prematurely. He has been brought to a swift and untimely end, like a young man dying before his time. The final description is that God has "wrapped him up with shame." Shame is more than just embarrassment; it is a public disgrace that covers a person like a garment. The king is utterly enveloped in dishonor. The "Selah" here marks a pause. The case for the prosecution has been laid out. The audience is meant to stop and feel the full weight of this catastrophic reversal before the psalmist moves to his direct appeal.

v. 46 How long, O Yahweh? Will You hide Yourself forever? Will Your wrath burn like fire?

After the pause, the lament turns into a series of desperate questions. "How long?" is the classic cry of the suffering saint. It acknowledges God's sovereignty over time while pleading for the suffering to end. The psalmist fears this situation is not temporary. "Will You hide Yourself forever?" God's hiddenness is a profound source of pain. It feels like abandonment. The psalmist then asks if God's wrath, the cause of all this misery (v. 38), will burn "like fire" without end. The questions are full of anguish, but they are also full of faith. To ask "how long?" is to believe that God can and will eventually act. He is still addressing God as "Yahweh," the covenant-keeping God, even while accusing Him of spurning that very covenant.

v. 47 Remember what my span of life is; For what vanity You have created all the sons of men!

The psalmist now brings another argument to bear: the brevity and fragility of human life. He asks God to "Remember." This is not a request to jog God's memory, but a plea for God to act in accordance with what He already knows. "Remember how short my time is" (as some translations put it). The argument is this: "Lord, you are eternal, but we are not. We don't have forever to wait for your promises to be fulfilled. If you don't act soon, we will die without ever seeing your faithfulness." He then makes a broader statement about the human condition: "For what vanity You have created all the sons of men!" If God's promises fail, if history is just a story of ruin and shame, then human existence itself seems utterly futile, a puff of smoke. This is a bold, almost audacious, argument to make before the Creator.

v. 48 What man can live and not see death? Can he provide his soul escape from the power of Sheol? Selah.

He drives the point about human mortality home. Death is the universal and inescapable fate of man. No one can escape "the power of Sheol," the realm of the dead. This is a rhetorical question expecting the answer, "No one." The implication for God is clear: "If you are going to show your faithfulness to your covenant people, you must do it within the confines of this short, death-bound life." Another "Selah" invites reflection on this stark reality of human existence in a world where God's promises seem to be failing.

v. 49 Where are Your former lovingkindnesses, O Lord, Which You swore to David in Your faithfulness?

This is the heart of the appeal. The psalmist calls on God's character. He asks about God's "former lovingkindnesses." The word is hesed, that great covenant term that means loyal love, steadfast mercy, covenant faithfulness. He is not appealing to some generic benevolence, but to the specific, sworn promises of God. "Where have they gone?" He reminds God that these were not casual remarks; they were promises that God "swore to David in Your faithfulness." He is holding God to His oath. He is, in effect, saying, "Lord, your reputation is on the line. Your faithfulness is the foundation of these promises. Where is that faithfulness now?"

v. 50 Remember, O Lord, the reproach of Your slaves; How I bear in my bosom the reproach of all the many peoples,

Again, he cries out for God to "Remember." He wants God to take note of the "reproach," the scorn and mockery, that His people are enduring. The psalmist identifies with this suffering personally and corporately. "How I bear in my bosom..." He feels the sting of these insults deep within himself. And it's not just the taunts of one or two enemies, but the "reproach of all the many peoples." The shame is global. God's people are a laughingstock among the nations, and the psalmist is asking the Lord to see it and care.

v. 51 With which Your enemies have reproached, O Yahweh, With which they have reproached the footsteps of Your anointed.

He concludes by clarifying the source and the target of the reproach. It comes from "Your enemies." This is key. The enemies of Israel are God's enemies. Their mockery of Israel is ultimately a mockery of Israel's God. And what are they reproaching? "The footsteps of Your anointed." This could mean they are mocking every step he takes, dogging his heels with insults. Or it could mean they are mocking his "lateness," taunting that the promised Messiah is never going to arrive to save them. Either way, the reproach is aimed at God's chosen king, and therefore at God Himself. The psalm ends here, without an answer, leaving the raw complaint hanging in the air before God. It is a powerful testament to the fact that faith is not the absence of questions, but the courage to bring our hardest questions to the only one who can answer them.

Application

This psalm is a divine permission slip to be honest with God. When providence seems to be frowning, when our circumstances seem to flatly contradict God's promises, we are not called to put on a plastic smile and pretend everything is fine. We are called to do what Ethan the Ezrahite did: to wrestle. We are to take the promises of God in one hand, the painful realities of our lives in the other, and bring them both before the throne of grace, asking God how the two can possibly fit together. This is not unbelief; it is the fight of faith.

We must also see that the unresolved tension of this psalm points us forward to Christ. The Davidic king was cast down. His crown was profaned. His throne was thrown to the ground. But God's oath did not fail. In the fullness of time, God raised up a Son of David whose kingdom is not of this world. Jesus, God's ultimate Anointed One, bore the ultimate reproach. He was cast off and rejected. He was wrapped in shame and His life was cut short. God turned back the sword in the garden, and He did not make Him stand against His enemies. But on the third day, God vindicated His promise and His Son, raising Him from the dead and seating Him on an eternal throne. Our hope is not in an earthly kingdom that can be shaken, but in the unshakable kingdom of Christ. When we suffer reproach for His name, we are walking in the footsteps of the Anointed, and we can cry "How long?" with the sure and certain hope that the God who raised Jesus from the dead will one day wipe every tear from our eyes.