How Long? (Psalm 13)
Ladies and Gentlemen, have you ever found yourself lost in the darkest night of the soul, a night so black and bewildering that you question not only where you are but who you are? It's in these suffocating moments of despair that time becomes both a torturer and a tease, stretching minutes into hours, hours into days. How long? This is the cry of a heart wrung dry, the plea of a spirit wearied by waiting.
Consider King David, a man after God's own heart, yet he found himself drowning in the very same sea of despair. He penned the words of Psalm 13 not as a poetic exercise but as an agonized cry from the abyss of human suffering. "How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?" he lamented.
This Psalm is more than a mere passage in an ancient text; it's a mirror reflecting our deepest fears and longings. We all have been, or one day will be, in the same dark room where David found himself. The question that haunts us all: "When you're mired in depression, anxieties, and prolonged suffering, where do you find the strength to wait for the dawn?"
Today, we will embark on a journey through the corridors of Psalm 13, a journey that may be unsettling, but one that promises the hope of light. Together, we will wrestle with David's pain and connect it with our own, reaching for the very heart of God. Don’t you want to know how David was able to wait decades to become king? How did he find the faith to sing again? Those are the questions we will answer. Let's start at the beginning, with David's desperate cry: "How Long?"
How Long? (1-2)
Psalm 13:1–2 (ESV) — 1 How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? 2 How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?
These are not the words of an unbeliever, a skeptic, or a cynic. These are the words of a king, a warrior, a prophet – a man after God's own heart. But even the strongest of us, even the mightiest in faith, can reach a point where we cry out, "How long?"
How many of us have whispered these very words, perhaps in the dark of night, perhaps in the hidden chambers of our hearts? How long must I endure this pain? How long until this struggle is over? How long until I feel Your presence again, Lord?
David's suffering is not momentary; it's prolonged, relentless, ceaseless. It's the agony that doesn't seem to have an end, the wound that won't heal, the question that remains unanswered.
Imagine a clock, its hands frozen, trapped in a moment, refusing to move. That is what David's soul felt like. Time, instead of healing, became a prison, a relentless cycle of despair. Every tick of the clock was a reminder of God's silence, every passing hour a proclamation of his hidden face.
But the real anguish here lies not in the waiting itself but in the perceived abandonment. "Will you forget me forever?" David cries. This is a fear that goes beyond the temporal; it touches the eternal. It's the terror of being forgotten by the One who has promised to remember, of being overlooked by the One who sees all.
Now, let us pause and consider our own lives. Where are we crying out "How long?" Where do we feel forgotten, abandoned, stuck in time? What are the dark corridors of our souls where we wrestle with these very questions?
David's plea is our plea. His heart's cry is our heart's cry. And here, in this Psalm, in this timeless expression of human anguish, we find a connection with David, with each other, and even with God Himself.
"How Long?" is not just a question. It's a doorway into understanding that even in the deepest, most painful seasons of our lives, we are not alone. David's words echo down through the centuries, a reminder that faith is not the absence of questions but the courage to ask them.
As we move forward, we'll explore how David's cry for understanding becomes a pathway to hope. How does one move from a place of abandonment to a place of assurance? That is the journey we are on.
Consider Me (3-4)
Psalm 13:3–4 (ESV) — 3 Consider and answer me, O Lord my God; light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death, 4 lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him,” lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken.
The desperation in David's voice escalates, turning from a cry into a plea. He is no longer just asking; he is imploring, begging, reaching for the very face of God. "Consider me," he pleads, "Light up my eyes."
The image here is powerful and stark. To have one's eyes lit up is to see clearly, to find direction, to perceive a way out of darkness. It's the spark of hope when all else seems bleak. It's the first ray of dawn after a long and terrifying night.
But why does David need this light? Why this desperate plea for clarity and vision?
Because he fears the sleep of death, the ultimate defeat. He fears that his enemies will rejoice over him, that his very soul will succumb to despair. This is a reminder that all of our physical danger and struggles are a spiritual battle, a war for the very essence of who we are.
David's plea is raw, human, and honest. He is not pretending; he is not posturing. He is laying bare his soul before God, exposing his vulnerabilities, his fears, his deepest longings.
Have we ever found ourselves in such a place? A place where the weight of trials and tribulations threatens to crush us? A place where our enemies, be they physical or spiritual, seem to be gaining the upper hand?
It's in these moments that our cry becomes not just a question but a reaching, a stretching toward the Divine. It's a recognition that we cannot save ourselves, that our wisdom, strength, and ability are insufficient. "Consider me, Lord" becomes not just a plea but a surrender.
The beauty of David's cry is that it reveals a relationship. He does not call to an unknown, distant deity but to "my God." He knows to whom he is speaking. He knows that his God sees, hears, and understands.
And so must we.
Our trials, our depressions, our anxieties, are not just obstacles; they are opportunities. Opportunities to reach out to God, to deepen our relationship with Him, to discover that He is not just a God but "our God."
"Consider Me" is not just David's plea; it's our invitation. An invitation to bring our deepest fears, our darkest doubts, our most pressing needs to the One who can light up our eyes, guide us through the night, and turn our despair into hope.
As we move to the final part of this Psalm, we will see how David's plea turns into a promise, how his despair turns into a song. How does one go from crying "Consider me" to proclaiming "I will sing"? That is the transformation we are about to witness.
“I Will Sing” (5-6)
Psalm 13:5–6 (ESV) — 5 But I have trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. 6 I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me.
Here, dear friends, is the crescendo, the climax, the moment where David's despair transforms into declaration, where his sorrow turns into song.
How is this possible? How does a heart, heavy with grief, suddenly rise in jubilation?
The answer lies not in what has changed around David but in what resides within him: Trust. "But I have trusted in Your steadfast love," he proclaims. This is not a fleeting emotion; it's a foundational truth.
Trust is the bridge that leads from despair to delight. It's the rock upon which David stands, the anchor that holds him steady amidst the storms.
This trust is not in a vague concept or a fleeting emotion; it's in God's "steadfast love" – a love unchanging, unyielding, unbreakable. It's the love that has been proven time and time again in David's life. It's the love that will not let him go.
"My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation." David's joy is not wishful thinking; it's a certainty. It's the confident assurance that salvation belongs to the Lord, that His redemption is sure and steadfast.
And so David sings.
"I will sing to the Lord, because He has dealt bountifully with me." Notice the tense here. David is not waiting for the deliverance to sing; he is singing now. He is praising in the midst of pain, worshiping in the midst of waiting. His song is not a response to a change in circumstances but a reflection of a change in perspective.
And here is where we find our hope, our strength, our song.
If we wait for the storms to pass to start singing, we may never sing at all. But if we learn to sing in the storm, if we learn to trust in God's steadfast love, we will find a joy that transcends our circumstances, a peace that surpasses understanding.
David's song is our song. His trust can be our trust. His joy can be our joy.
We began this journey with a cry, "How long?" We end with a proclamation, "I will sing." In between, we have discovered the path from despair to delight, a path paved with trust, grounded in love, and anchored in salvation.
May we, like David, learn to wait in trust, to cry out in honesty, and to sing in faith. For the One who was faithful to David is faithful to us. His love never fails. His salvation is sure.
Application and Conclusion
In the heartfelt cries and triumphant praises of Psalm 13, we've journeyed with David from despair to hope. We've seen that trust in God's steadfast love leads to rejoicing and singing, even in the midst of suffering.
But what does this ancient Psalm mean for those among us burdened by mental anguish, fears, and anxieties today? How can we sing like David?
Our answer is found not only in the words of David but in the life and promises of Christ.
"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest" (Matthew 11:28).
Here, dear friends, is the invitation that fulfills David's plea. It's the call to every weary soul, the promise to all who are burdened. Christ's arms are open wide. His love is steadfast, and His rest is available to all who trust in Him.
If you find yourself today in the dark night of the soul, if the worries, fears, and anxieties threaten to overwhelm you, hear the voice of Christ calling you, inviting you, reassuring you. As we've learned from David, faith isn't about eliminating questions but embracing the One who holds the answers. In Christ, we find the ultimate response to our cries.
Trust in His steadfast love, rejoice in His salvation, and let your heart sing. For the God of David is the God of Christ, and He is our God. His promises are sure, His love is unchanging, His grace is sufficient.
So, let us wait, not in despair but in hope, not in silence but in song, not in fear but in faith. For we have a Savior who has considered us, who has loved us, and who will never leave us nor forsake us.
Let us, therefore, sing.