Broken (Psalm 147)

As we gather here today, I can't help but remember what the Apostle Paul tells us in Ephesians 5:19-20.

Ephesians 5:19–20 (ESV) — 19 addressing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody to the Lord with your heart, 20 giving thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ,‌

Now, let's not gloss over that. Paul wrote these words while sitting in a prison cell. Yet, he says, "Always giving thanks for everything." This is the New Testament reality—we, as followers of Jesus, are called to be a people who live with hearts full of praise. Not just on the mountain tops, but also in the deep, gut-wrenching valleys of life.

You see, we've been walking through this sermon series on "Dealing with Depression," looking at various Psalms that address the depths of human despair. And can I just say, if you've ever felt like you're the only one in the room wearing a mask—hiding behind smiles and nods—you're not alone. The Bible is raw; it does not shy away from the reality of depression, or as the King James puts it, "being downcast in spirit."

But today, we're taking a shift. We're landing this plane on Psalm 147, a psalm so drenched in praise, it almost feels out of place. Why? Because, Church, even in the throes of depression, we are beckoned towards a posture of praise. And not just any praise—a praise that recognizes the deep truths about who God is and who we are in Him.

It Is Good To Praise Him (1)

If you have your Bibles, go ahead and turn to Psalm 147, verse 1, where it says,

Psalm 147:1 (ESV) — 1 Praise the Lord! For it is good to sing praises to our God; for it is pleasant, and a song of praise is fitting.‌

You see that? Right there in black and white, the Psalmist doesn't tiptoe around it. He says, "It is good to sing praises to our God." Now, that word "good" isn't just some shallow adjective like when we say, "Oh, that movie was good." No, no, no. Here, "good" implies something deeply beneficial, something intrinsically right. It's as if the Psalmist is saying, "When you praise God, you're doing what you were designed to do!

Imagine this, you buy a high-performance car, one that's engineered for speed, agility, and power. You take that car, and you only drive it to the grocery store two blocks away, never going over 20 miles an hour. That car was built for the open road, for speed, for the wind tearing through your hair as you floor it. But you never experience that. Why? Because you're not using it for its intended purpose.

Likewise, you and I were designed for praise. To restrain that is to misuse our God-given design. Now, some of you might say, "Well, I'm not really the praising type. I'm introverted. I like to keep it all inside." Let me be clear, praise is not about temperament; it's about obedience and alignment with our Creator. When we praise God, we're saying, "You are worthy, and it's good that I recognize that."

Yet, maybe you're sitting there, wrestling with depression, and you're thinking, "But you don't get it. My life doesn't feel praiseworthy right now." Hold on. Stick with me. Your praise isn't about your circumstances; it's about the immutable, unchanging nature of God. Even when it's hard—especially when it's hard—leaning into praise places you into the very rhythm of what you were made for.

So, in your lowest valley or your darkest night, there's an act of defiance, a raw authenticity in saying, "God, life is hard, but You are good. I don't understand it all, but You are worthy of praise."

Alright, let's get ready to move on to our next point, that "God Understands."

God Understands (2-5)

Our second point takes us deeper into Psalm 147, verses 2 to 5. Let's read: "The Lord builds up Jerusalem; He gathers the outcasts of Israel. He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. He determines the number of the stars; He gives to all of them their names. Great is our Lord, and abundant in power; His understanding is beyond measure."

Now, Church, I need you to lean in because there's something remarkably comforting in this passage. The Psalmist presents us with an awe-inspiring juxtaposition: A God who's great enough to name the stars, yet intimate enough to bind up the wounds of the brokenhearted.

Don't miss this. We're talking about a God who orchestrates galaxies, who sets the boundaries of the universe. But this God—this all-powerful, all-knowing God—is also concerned with you, with your brokenness, with your wounds.

Ever been so overwhelmed that you can't even articulate what's bothering you? Ever felt the weight of the world on your shoulders, crushing you so much that you can't even breathe? God understands that. He gets it. And He's not standing afar off, detached, unbothered. No, He's right there with you, binding up your wounds, whispering to you that you are not alone, you are not forgotten.

If you're sitting there today, saying, "You don't understand my pain, my depression, my struggle." I want you to know: God does. He doesn't just see a face in the crowd; He sees your face. He knows the number of hairs on your head, for crying out loud! He knows the hurt you're trying to bury, the tear-stained pillow, the silent screams.

And He's saying, "I'm here. I understand. Let me heal you. Let me take your wounds and bind them up. I've counted the stars; trust me, I can handle the complexities of your heart."

It's both humbling and liberating, isn't it? To realize that you are intimately known by a God who's unimaginably great. A God who has all the power and all the understanding to see you, to know you, and still says, "You're mine."

Why Is This Hard?

Before we press on to our final point, let's pause and confront the elephant in the room: Why is it so difficult to truly believe we're intimately loved by God? I mean, when is the last time that you genuinely felt the need to praise God in your struggle? We don’t do it. Why does it seem too good to be true?

I suspect part of it is because we've been conditioned, often through painful experiences and failures, to believe that love is conditional, that love has to be earned. Society, maybe even some ill-advised theology, has told us that God's love is a wage we earn through good behavior or piety. So we think, "Sure, God loves the world in an abstract way, but me, with all my mess? No way."

And you know what that is, don't you? It's a faith issue. The writer of Hebrews tells us, "Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see" (Hebrews 11:1). You might not see God's love tangibly, not in the way you see a friend's smile or a mother's embrace. But faith calls us to believe, to have confidence that God's love is not only real but personal—tailored just for us, even in our brokenness.

So you're wrestling with depression, you're stuck in a rut, and it feels like God is a million miles away? Let me be clear: The distance you feel isn't on God's end. The cross already proved the extent of His love; the resurrection showed us His power to redeem any situation, even death itself. The question is, do you have the faith to believe that?

Because if you do, then the struggle—the depression, the pain, the anxiety—all these become not just battlefields but classrooms. Places where faith is tested, yes, but also where it grows, where we learn the intimate love of God in ways mere theory could never teach us.

So when you're down, when you're broken, when you're out of sorts, remember this: Faith isn't a passive acknowledgement. It's an active trust. A trust that says, "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me" (Psalm 23:4).

Believing that you are intimately loved by God isn't naive or too good to be true. It's the cornerstone of our faith, the very foundation upon which we stand. If we can't start there, where can we go?

How Can God Heal Us?

I want to add another layer to this. Not only does God understand our pain, but He's also actively involved in the process of binding up our wounds and healing our broken hearts. But how can we be so sure that He gets it, that He really understands?

Well, Church, this is where the beauty of the Incarnation comes into play. Turn with me to Hebrews 2:14-18. It reads:

Hebrews 2:14–18 (ESV) — 14 Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, 15 and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery. 16 For surely it is not angels that he helps, but he helps the offspring of Abraham. 17 Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. 18 For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.

Catch that? Jesus, the Son of God, took on flesh and blood, took on our humanity, to break the power of death and evil. But He didn't stop there. It says He had to be "made like them, fully human in every way." Why? So that He could be a "merciful and faithful high priest."

Let me put it this way: Imagine you're drowning, thrashing about in deep waters, and along comes someone on a boat. Now, if that person has never swam before, never felt the grip of the water, how much would they really understand your struggle? But Jesus doesn't just sail by; He dives in. He knows the weight of human suffering, the intensity of temptation, the agony of despair. He didn't observe our pain from a celestial throne; He lived it.

So, when the Bible says He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds, this is not metaphorical language. This is God getting His hands dirty, applying the balm of His grace and mercy to the places where we hurt the most.

And because He understands—truly understands—He can empathize with our weaknesses and provide the kind of healing that's not just skin-deep but soul-deep. He's not offering platitudes; He's offering Himself, the Great Physician, the one who can mend what's been shattered and restore what's been lost.

So whether you're in a season of suffering, wrestling with questions and doubts, or simply need the touch of God on a specific area of brokenness, rest assured: You're not entrusting your heart to someone who doesn't get it. You're placing it in the hands of a God who's been there, felt that, and triumphed over it all.

Be Humble & Hope In Him (6-11)

Psalm 147:6–11 (ESV) — 6 The Lord lifts up the humble; he casts the wicked to the ground. 7 Sing to the Lord with thanksgiving; make melody to our God on the lyre! 8 He covers the heavens with clouds; he prepares rain for the earth; he makes grass grow on the hills. 9 He gives to the beasts their food, and to the young ravens that cry. 10 His delight is not in the strength of the horse, nor his pleasure in the legs of a man, 11 but the Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him, in those who hope in his steadfast love.

As we arrive at our third point, let's zero in on verses 6 to 11 of Psalm 147. It says, "The Lord lifts up the humble; he casts the wicked to the ground... His delight is not in the strength of the horse, nor his pleasure in the legs of a man, but the Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him, in those who hope in his steadfast love."

Here's where the rubber meets the road, folks. We've established that praising God is fundamentally good. We've delved into the comforting reality that God understands our pains and our struggles. But how do we practically align ourselves to live out this truth?

The Psalmist offers us a simple yet challenging answer: Be humble and hope in Him. This humility isn't about thinking less of ourselves; it's about thinking of ourselves less and God more. It's saying, "God, I might not understand everything that's going on right now, but I'm going to trust that You do. I'm going to hope in Your steadfast love." What is one area in your life that requires greater humility?

But there's something even more radical here. Did you notice where God's pleasure lies? Not in the strength of a horse or the legs of a man—symbols of human power and ability. God takes pleasure in those who fear Him, in those who hope in His steadfast love.

Listen, you could have the charisma of a world leader, the wisdom of a sage, and the resources of a tycoon, but if your hope isn't rooted in God's steadfast love, you're missing it. You're missing what makes life meaningful, what gives struggle purpose, what offers hope a solid foundation.

We have to lay down our self-sufficiency, our illusions of control, and say, "God, my hope is in You. Even when the nights are long, even when the tunnel seems endless, I will hope in You." Because when we are humble, when our hope is rightly placed, we free ourselves to fully experience the joy of praising God for who He is, not just for what He can do for us.

This is the pathway to a life that transcends the ups and downs, a life that rises above the challenges, including depression, to continuously offer praise to our incredible God.

Conclusion

As we conclude this sermon and this series on "Dealing with Depression," let's pull back the curtain and gaze at the grand narrative we've been weaving. We started by acknowledging that depression is real, it's human, and yes, it's even biblical. But we've also discovered that it's not the end of the story.

We've learned that it's good to praise God, not as a denial of our pain but as an affirmation of His goodness and sovereignty. We've delved into the unfathomable depths of God's understanding, how He knows us intimately and longs to heal our brokenness. And we've recognized the crucial roles of humility and hope, of placing our full trust in a God who is beyond measure, yet immeasurably close.

So, what now? Church, as we step out these doors, as we face the looming uncertainties and the haunting what-ifs, let us not forget the call to be a people of praise. Not just Sunday morning praise, but a deep-down-in-your-soul kind of praise that reverberates through every circumstance.

Because when you praise God in the storm, you rob the enemy of his power to hold you captive in despair. You dislodge the stranglehold of depression and elevate the truth of God's Word over your feelings. You say, "Even here, even now, even in my brokenness, my God is worthy of praise."

I challenge you, in the quiet moments when depression whispers lies, in the busy moments when life tries to drown out the truth—remember who your God is. He is the Builder of Jerusalem, the Counter of stars, the Healer of the brokenhearted, the Lifter of the humble.

Don't let your struggles become the soundtrack of your life. Replace it with a symphony of praise. For when you do, you align yourself with the very heartbeat of God—a God who delights not in our strength but in our surrender, not in our getting it all right but in our coming to Him just as we are.

This is the way we fight our battles. This is the way we rise above. This is the way we declare that even in the midst of depression, we have a reason to praise, a reason to hope, and a God who is worthy of it all.

So let us leave this place not burdened but empowered, not in despair but in joy, ready to face whatever comes our way, with our hearts full of praise.