A Songbook for the Soul's Dark Night
Introduction:
We are no strangers to the feeling of waiting. We know what it's like to be stuck in traffic, looking at the clock, inching forward, wondering, "How long is this going to take?" We know the sound of the city, the constant roar of jeepneys and tricycles, the noise of construction, the buzz of millions of lives lived in close quarters. Yet, in the midst of all this noise, it is possible to experience a silence that is more deafening than any sound. It is the silence of God.
Have you ever been there? In that place where your prayers seem to hit a ceiling and fall back to the ground, unanswered? In that season of life so dark, so confusing, so painful, that you look up to the heavens, and the only words your soul can form are, "Lord, how long?" How long must I wait for the results of this medical test? How long will I be an OFW, separated by miles of ocean from my children who are growing up without me? How long must our family struggle to make ends meet, with prices rising every day? How long until this sorrow, this heavy blanket of grief, finally lifts from my heart? How long, O Lord, will You feel so distant, so quiet, when I need You most?
If these questions echo in the chambers of your heart, I want you to know that you are not alone, and your faith is not broken. In fact, you are standing on holy ground. The Bible, in its perfect and divine honesty, gives us a songbook for the soul's dark night. It gives us the Psalms. And today, we look at a short but profound song from David, Psalm 13.
This Psalm is a divine lifeline. It shows us that God doesn't expect us to pretend we're okay when we're not. He provides a sacred path for us to follow when we feel lost in the dark. It is a journey in three movements: from the raw cry of complaint, to the courageous pivot of prayer, and finally, to the defiant choice of praise. It is the journey that God invites every one of us to take, from "How long?" to "I will sing." Let us read again the first two verses, and I want you to feel the weight of every word.
1 How long wilt thou forget me, O LORD? for ever? how long wilt thou hide thy face from me?
2 How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily? how long shall mine enemy be exalted over me?
I. The Cry of a Troubled Soul (vv. 1-2): Permission to be Honest
Listen to that. It's not a single question, but a rapid-fire succession of them, a drumbeat of despair. Four times, David cries, "How long?"
He begins with the deepest fear of the human heart: the fear of being forgotten by God. "How long wilt thou forget me, O LORD? for ever?" It's the feeling of a child who was holding his mother's hand in a crowded mall, and suddenly looks up to find she is gone. The panic, the terror-it's not just about being alone, it's about being left behind, forgotten. David's pain is so prolonged that his sense of time is distorted. A long season of suffering feels like an eternity.
Then, the pain deepens. He feels God is hiding His face. In our relationships, what is more painful than an argument? The silent treatment. When someone you love refuses to look at you, to speak to you that withdrawal is a profound pain. For a Hebrew, the blessing of God was for His face to shine upon you. So for God to hide His face was to feel the loss of His love, His favor, His very presence.
And where does David turn in this perceived absence of God? He turns inward. "How long shall I take counsel in my soul...?" He's trapped in the echo chamber of his own mind. It's that 3 AM committee meeting in your head, where Fear has the loudest voice, Doubt raises a point of order, and Anxiety tables a motion to panic. When we try to navigate the confusing side-streets of our sorrow with only our own thoughts as a guide, we don't find a way out. We just go in circles, and the result is what David describes: "having sorrow in my heart daily." It's a relentless, grinding sadness.
Finally, he feels the crushing weight of his enemy. "How long shall mine enemy be exalted over me?" For David, this was likely a physical enemy like King Saul. For us, our enemy may be a sickness that won't go away. It may be a financial debt that looms over our family. It may be an addiction we can't seem to break. It may be the internal voice of depression that whispers lies, saying, "You are worthless. God has abandoned you. Your struggle is proof that your faith is a failure."
Brothers and sisters, the first great ministry of this Psalm is the permission it gives us to be painfully honest. The Bible is not a curated feed of spiritual success stories. It is filled with real people who wrestled, who doubted, who cried out in pain. God is not a fragile deity who will be shattered by your questions. He is a loving Father who leans in to hear the cries of His children. He would rather have you screaming at Him in the storm than walking away from Him in silence.
But the Psalm does not end here. Honesty is the starting point, not the destination. Let's look at the crucial pivot in verses 3 and 4.
3 Consider and hear me, O LORD my God: lighten mine eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death;
4 Lest mine enemy say, I have prevailed against him; and those that trouble me rejoice when I am moved.
II. The Pivot of Fervent Prayer (vv. 3-4): The Courage to Turn
This is the most important turn in the whole Psalm. David stops talking about God and starts talking to God. He shifts from complaining about the darkness to asking God for light. Imagine him, head in his hands in verse 2, now lifting his face, tear-streaked and weary, toward heaven. Notice the name he uses: "O LORD my God." This is intensely personal. In the depths of feeling forgotten, he lays claim to his relationship. He is exercising his covenant right. It's like saying in the middle of a terrible marital struggle, "You are still my spouse." David is in the "in sickness" part of his faith journey, and he is holding on to the covenant. "You feel distant, but You are still my God."
And what is his specific, desperate prayer? "Consider and hear me... lighten mine eyes." What a powerful image for us here in the Philippines. We know what a brownout is. One moment, the house is full of light and noise. The next, a sudden, heavy darkness falls. You can't see, you can't move freely, everything stops. You wait in the dark, hoping for the power to return. This is David's spiritual condition. His eyes have grown dim with sorrow. He is in a spiritual brownout, and he knows the ultimate darkness is "the sleep of death." So he prays for God to flip the switch. "Lord, restore my hope! Restore my perspective! Let me see Your hand at work again! Bring the light back into my soul!"
And his motive is profound. It's for God's glory. "Lest mine enemy say, I have prevailed." He links his personal deliverance to God's public reputation. He is saying, "Lord, my story is part of Your story. If I fall, if my faith is extinguished, those who mock Your name will celebrate. So, for the sake of Your own great name, act on my behalf!"
The second great truth is this: Honest complaint, if it is to be fruitful, must turn into humble, specific prayer. We must gather all our pain, all our confusion, all our "how longs," and turn them into petitions addressed to "the LORD my God." Prayer is the courageous act of turning our face toward God, even when we feel He has hidden His face from us.
This act of prayerful courage leads to the glorious and defiant conclusion. Let us read the final verses.
5 But I have trusted in thy mercy; my heart shall rejoice in thy salvation.
6 I will sing unto the LORD, because he hath dealt bountifully with me.
III. The Choice of Confident Praise (vv. 5-6): The Foundation of Faith
Verse 5 begins with the hinge of faith, the single word that changes everything: "But." This "but" is a declaration of war against despair. It separates the reality of feelings from the reality of faith. David's circumstances have not changed one bit between verse 4 and verse 5. The enemy is still there. The silence may still be ringing in his ears. But David makes a choice. He says, "But I have trusted in thy mercy." He chooses to stand on something that is not his feeling, not his situation, but on the very character of God. The Hebrew word for mercy here is chesed. This isn't just simple kindness. Chesed is God's stubborn, loyal, unrelenting, covenant-keeping love. It is the love of a Father who sees his prodigal son from a long way off and runs to him. It is a love that says, "I made a promise, and I will not let you go." David stops looking at the waves of his trouble and fixes his eyes on the unshakable rock of God's chesed.
And from that foundation of trust, a resolution is born: "My heart shall rejoice in thy salvation." Note the tense. It is future. He is not saying, "I feel so joyful right now." He is commanding his own soul. He is preaching to his own heart. "Heart, you are full of sorrow now, but listen to me: you will rejoice again, because our God is a God who saves!" Faith speaks of things that are not yet as though they were.
The Psalm that began with a groan ends with a vow: "I will sing unto the LORD." And what is the reason? What is the fuel for this future song? He finds it in the past: "because he hath dealt bountifully with me." In the middle of his crisis, by choosing to trust, David's eyes are lightened. He is able to practice spiritual memory. He looks back over the landscape of his life and sees God's track record. He remembers past deliverances, past provisions, past moments of grace. He builds a memorial of God's past faithfulness, and he uses those stones to build an altar of praise in his present darkness.
Conclusion:
My dear friends, this Psalm is God's gift to us today. It is a map for the moments we feel lost. So, where are you on this map this morning? Are you in verses 1 and 2? Are you stuck in the traffic jam of your soul, crying "How long"? God hears you. Pour it all out. He gives you permission.
But I urge you, don't stay there. Take the courageous step into verses 3 and 4. Turn your face to Him, even with tears in your eyes, and pray, "O LORD my God, lighten my eyes."
And then, with all the strength the Spirit provides, make the defiant choice of verses 5 and 6. Say "BUT..." to your despair. Plant your feet on the rock of His mercy, His chesed. And begin to build your own testimony of His past faithfulness. Take a moment, even now. What is one way God has dealt bountifully with you in the past? Hold onto that. That is your proof that He can and will do it again.
Ultimately, we can sing this song with even more confidence than David. For we know the ultimate answer to the question, "How long?" On a cross outside Jerusalem, God's own Son cried out the ultimate cry of dereliction, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" He entered the deepest darkness so that we would never have to be truly and finally alone. His resurrection is the ultimate "lightening of the eyes," the ultimate proof that God's salvation triumphs over the sleep of death.
Because of Jesus, we can trust God's mercy. Because of Jesus, our hearts shall rejoice. And because of Jesus, even in the darkest night, we can begin to whisper the song that we will one day sing for all eternity: "I will sing unto the LORD, because he hath dealt bountifully with me."
