Psalm 18 Sermon PART 1 — I Will Love Thee

spoken word sermon, Anglican liturgical (spoken-sung preaching)

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We come this morning to Psalm eighteen, 
which is one of the longest psalms in the Psalter 
and one of the most complex to handle pastorally.
But it is also one of the great psalms 
of unrestrained gratitude in the Bible, 
and once we work through some of its difficulties 
we find ourselves in the presence of something 
quite remarkable.

Let me begin by noting 
that this psalm appears twice in the Hebrew scriptures.
You can read it as Psalm eighteen,
and you can read it as the twenty-second chapter 
of the second book of Samuel.
The narrative version places it 
at the moment David has been delivered 
from all his enemies, including Saul.
The psalm itself is given the same superscription.
This is David's great deliverance song.
The song he composed, 
or perhaps assembled from earlier compositions,
when his decades of ordeal finally ended 
in unambiguous rescue.

[SECTION ONE — The Unusual Verb of Love]
[Cello note sustained]
[Faint church ambient]
[Preacher — measured, scholarly engagement]

The opening verse is striking 
in a way that English translations often miss.

I will love thee, O Lord, my strength.

The Hebrew verb here is racham.
This is unusual.
Racham normally describes 
the deep visceral love a mother has for her child,
or the merciful compassion of God 
toward the helpless.
It is a tender, gut-level word.
And here is the surprise — 
this is the only place in the entire Old Testament 
where this verb is used 
of a human being's love for God.

David is reaching for language 
adequate to what he has just been through.
The ordinary words for love and devotion 
are not enough.
He uses the most tender word he knows,
the word usually applied 
to the kind of love only mothers and God can give,
and applies it to himself toward God.

I think we should pause on this for a moment.
What David is teaching us 
is that genuine deliverance from God 
produces a love in us 
that is more like a mother's love 
than like the polite affection 
of a worshipper toward a deity.
When we have actually been rescued,
when we have actually been pulled out of the deep waters,
something in us is unlocked 
that was not unlocked before.
We come to love God 
in a way that surprises us.

If you have been a Christian for many years 
without ever feeling this kind of love,
do not be discouraged.
It often comes 
only after a deep experience of God's deliverance.
Many of us walk in the milder forms of devotion 
for decades 
before we are given a moment 
of being so rescued from something 
that this deeper love is unlocked in us.
But the psalm preserves the testimony 
that such love is possible 
for human beings toward God.
David has felt it 
and has told us about it.

[SECTION TWO — The Piling Up of Metaphors]
[Cello note steady]
[Preacher — engaged, building]

What follows the opening verse 
is one of the most extraordinary passages 
in the Hebrew Bible.

The Lord is my rock, 
and my fortress, 
and my deliverer.
My God, my strength, 
in whom I will trust.
My buckler, 
and the horn of my salvation, 
and my high tower.

Eight metaphors for God in two verses.
Rock. Fortress. Deliverer. Strength. Buckler. 
Horn of salvation. High tower. My God.

What is happening here?

David is doing something 
that anyone who has been profoundly rescued 
will recognize immediately.
He is reaching for language adequate to his experience 
and discovering that no single image suffices.
The deliverance has been so total, 
so multifaceted, 
that one metaphor cannot contain it.
So he piles them up.

Each metaphor 
captures one aspect of what God has been to him.
A rock — for permanence in a shifting world.
A fortress — for shelter under attack.
A deliverer — for the active rescue itself.
A buckler — for the small shield carried into battle.
A horn of salvation — for strength and victorious power.
A high tower — for elevation above the threat.

If you have ever been delivered 
from something that nearly destroyed you,
you know this experience.
You cannot say it just one way.
You keep finding new images 
because each one captures one angle 
and the experience itself was multi-angled.

The Christian Church has read these verses 
through the centuries 
as foreshadowing what we will say about Christ.
Christ is our rock.
Christ is our fortress.
Christ is our deliverer.
The Church Fathers loved this kind of language 
because it captures the way 
Christ becomes everything to us 
when we have been truly rescued by him.
One name is not enough.
One image is not enough.
We piling up metaphors 
because the rescue is large enough 
to need many.

[end]

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[intro] [British Scholarly-Pastoral Anglican Sermon] [Mid-sized Anglican parish church acoustic] [Single sustained low cello note underneath, very sparse] [Faint English parish church atmosphere] [Preacher — warm British baritone, RP-inflected English, measured but engaged] We come this morning to Psalm eighteen, which is one of the longest psalms in the Psalter and one of the most complex to handle pastorally. But it is also one of the great psalms of unrestrained gratitude in the Bible, and once we work through some of its difficulties we find ourselves in the presence of something quite remarkable. Let me begin by noting that this psalm appears twice in the Hebrew scriptures. You can read it as Psalm eighteen, and you can read it as the twenty-second chapter of the second book of Samuel. The narrative version places it at the moment David has been delivered from all his enemies, including Saul. The psalm itself is given the same superscription. This is David's great deliverance song. The song he composed, or perhaps assembled from earlier compositions, when his decades of ordeal finally ended in unambiguous rescue. [SECTION ONE — The Unusual Verb of Love] [Cello note sustained] [Faint church ambient] [Preacher — measured, scholarly engagement] The opening verse is striking in a way that English translations often miss. I will love thee, O Lord, my strength. The Hebrew verb here is racham. This is unusual. Racham normally describes the deep visceral love a mother has for her child, or the merciful compassion of God toward the helpless. It is a tender, gut-level word. And here is the surprise — this is the only place in the entire Old Testament where this verb is used of a human being's love for God. David is reaching for language adequate to what he has just been through. The ordinary words for love and devotion are not enough. He uses the most tender word he knows, the word usually applied to the kind of love only mothers and God can give, and applies it to himself toward God. I think we should pause on this for a moment. What David is teaching us is that genuine deliverance from God produces a love in us that is more like a mother's love than like the polite affection of a worshipper toward a deity. When we have actually been rescued, when we have actually been pulled out of the deep waters, something in us is unlocked that was not unlocked before. We come to love God in a way that surprises us. If you have been a Christian for many years without ever feeling this kind of love, do not be discouraged. It often comes only after a deep experience of God's deliverance. Many of us walk in the milder forms of devotion for decades before we are given a moment of being so rescued from something that this deeper love is unlocked in us. But the psalm preserves the testimony that such love is possible for human beings toward God. David has felt it and has told us about it. [SECTION TWO — The Piling Up of Metaphors] [Cello note steady] [Preacher — engaged, building] What follows the opening verse is one of the most extraordinary passages in the Hebrew Bible. The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer. My God, my strength, in whom I will trust. My buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower. Eight metaphors for God in two verses. Rock. Fortress. Deliverer. Strength. Buckler. Horn of salvation. High tower. My God. What is happening here? David is doing something that anyone who has been profoundly rescued will recognize immediately. He is reaching for language adequate to his experience and discovering that no single image suffices. The deliverance has been so total, so multifaceted, that one metaphor cannot contain it. So he piles them up. Each metaphor captures one aspect of what God has been to him. A rock — for permanence in a shifting world. A fortress — for shelter under attack. A deliverer — for the active rescue itself. A buckler — for the small shield carried into battle. A horn of salvation — for strength and victorious power. A high tower — for elevation above the threat. If you have ever been delivered from something that nearly destroyed you, you know this experience. You cannot say it just one way. You keep finding new images because each one captures one angle and the experience itself was multi-angled. The Christian Church has read these verses through the centuries as foreshadowing what we will say about Christ. Christ is our rock. Christ is our fortress. Christ is our deliverer. The Church Fathers loved this kind of language because it captures the way Christ becomes everything to us when we have been truly rescued by him. One name is not enough. One image is not enough. We piling up metaphors because the rescue is large enough to need many. [end]

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