God Knows Me; God Is with Me

I invite you to follow along as I read the first twelve verses of Psalm 139:

O Lord, you have searched me and known me!
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
 you discern my thoughts from afar.
You search out my path and my lying down
 and are acquainted with all my ways.
Even before a word is on my tongue,
 behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.
You hem me in, behind and before,
 and lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
 it is high; I cannot attain it.

Where shall I go from your Spirit?
 Or where shall I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you[’re] there!
 If I make my bed in Sheol, you[’re] there!
If I take the wings of the morning
 and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
 and your right hand shall hold me.
If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
 and the light about me be night,”
even the darkness is not dark to you;
 the night is bright as the day,
 for darkness is as light with you.

Amen.

A brief prayer:

Father, what we know not, teach us. What we have not, give us. What we are not, make us. For your Son’s sake. Amen.

A man whom I’ve never met, by the name of Chris Morphew, is an author, a teacher, and a high school chaplain in western Sydney, Australia. He wrote a book some time ago—wrote it expressly for students—which bore the title Who Am I and Why Do I Matter? Who Am I and Why Do I Matter? It would be naive of us to think that that is just a very contemporary question or that it is a question which only settles in the minds of those who, in the pursuit of academic excellence, have time to sit and ponder.

But I was reminded this morning as I walked along the road, as I saw what I think was a donation from Carnegie—who was a Scotsman, but he gave away many things, which was uncharacteristically Scottish. But anyway, there’s a visual arts building down there that Carnegie put there. And in the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, amongst the many paintings that are there, there is one that was painted by the Postimpressionist artist Gauguin—the largest painting that we have of his, spanning a large expanse and covering birth all the way through to death. Uncharacteristically, he put three questions up on the corner of his painting:

D’où Venons Nous
Que Sommes Nous
Où Allons Nous

“Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going?”

Unfortunately for Gauguin, although he was raised as a catechized Catholic, he had no answer to those questions. If only, we might say, he had turned to the book of Psalms. If only that he had immersed himself in the things that we have here—laments, joys, sorrowful tales, grief, doubt, fear, longing, and all set in the context of the infinite and unlimited nature of God’s presence, God’s knowledge, and God’s power. One of my favorite Old Testament commentators, who’s gone on to heaven now, Alec Motyer, describes the psalmists as being “people who knew far less about God than we do and yet loved him a great deal more.”[1]

Now, all of that by way of introduction, because what I want to do in the time allotted to me is to spend today and tomorrow, God willing, in Psalm 139, this morning dealing with the first two sections, which are there in the first twelve verses.

It is an amazing portrait, isn’t it? It is, if you like, poetic theology, or theological poetry. It contains vast truths—the omniscience of God, his omnipresence, his omnipotence—but not conveyed in a way that would be, if you like, academic but rather in a fashion that puts it down at ground level, at just exactly where we’re living our lives. And it is intensely personal.

I have two overarching headings for this morning. The first is simply, in verses 1–6, “God, You Know Me”; and then, in 7–14, “God, You’re with Me.”

“God, You Know Me”

First of all, then, it begins, “You have searched me and known me!”

In the Book of Common Prayer—which is, of course, an Anglican help to worship—we say these words: “Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are [hidden]…” All desires known, all hearts open, no secrets hidden. In other words, “God, you know everything, and you know me.”

Google and other techie people have all kinds of ambitious plans for collecting data, but they cannot hold a candle to the reality of God’s comprehensive knowledge of everyone and everything. Says Calvin in an earlier era, “[How few acknowledge] that he who formed the ear, … the eye, … the [mind], himself hears, … sees, and knows everything.”[2] Everything! How vastly different from the idols that we read of in the Old Testament, who are present in our contemporary culture:

They have mouths, but [they] do[n’t] speak;
 they have eyes, but [they] do[n’t] see;
they have ears, but [they] do[n’t] hear,
 nor is there any breath in their mouths.[3]

Why? Because they are “the work of human hands.”[4] “Those who make them [will] become like them,” and “so do all who trust in [him].”[5]

It’s quite absurd, isn’t it? And yet not unknown—the absurdity of seeking ultimate answers from substitute gods. Ultimate answers from substitute gods. I just came from somewhere in Pennsylvania yesterday, and they told me that in this particular place, there was a spot for quietness and for meditation. And indeed, they provided literature so that I could, for once in my life, be quiet and perhaps meditate. I think my wife would have liked it, but she would like it just if I was quiet now without having to go any special place. But there’s no indication given at all as to how we might do this or on whose presence we might seek.

You see, what is being told us here is that David knows that the divine knowledge is not only comprehensive, but it is a knowledge of David himself. You see, it makes all the difference in the world to me to say, for example, “You know, God knows everyone, and God knows everything,” and then to say, “God knows me in my bedroom. God knows me in my car. God knows me in my aspirations. God knows me in my fears and in my failings,” and so on.

Now, if you just have your gaze at the text, you will see just how comprehensive and how personal this is. “You know what I do”—verse 2: “You know when I sit down and when I rise up.” In other words, he knows your actions, and he knows your movements. Mine too! In the second half of that verse: “You know what I think.” “You know what I think”: “You discern my thoughts from afar.” David knows it’s impossible for him to deceive God, because God knows his secret thoughts.

It makes all the difference in the world to me to say, ‘God knows everyone, and God knows everything,’ and then to say, ‘God knows me.’

Let me just say something parenthetically: Self-deceit is the worst. Because if I meet you and I sense that you’re trying to deceive me, I will push back against that in order to preserve myself. But the subtlety of sin reveals itself in self-deception, so that we convince ourselves, “No, I wasn’t thinking that way. No, I wasn’t saying that. No, I wasn’t there. I wasn’t this.” And David says, “You know what I think.”

In verse 3: “You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways.” In other words, “You know where I go, my path, my resting spots. You know when I go to the cemetery and have a sandwich.” You didn’t, till I told you just now. Well, why would I ever do that? Well, it’s quiet there. Nobody talks to you. I mean, you can talk to the graves, but they don’t talk back—not in my experience. But when I go there, I remind myself, “One day you will be here.” I remind myself that I stand on the shoulders of others that God has now taken to himself. It’s not a random thing. I’m not proud of it. It’s rather strange.

But the point is, there’s no distance, you see. Every so often—even now, with all of the advances of towers and everything else—every so often you find yourself on the phone, and you’re saying to somebody, “You’re losing me.” “You’re losing me.” Or “I’m just going through a zone where I don’t have” Verizon, or AT&T, or whatever it might be. And we understand what that means. We are now non-communicado for the next hundred yards or the next hundred miles, whatever it might be. There is no such notion with God. “You know what I do. You know what I think. You know where I go.”

“You know what I say”—verse 4: “Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it all together.” “Behold” is an interesting word in the Bible. I’m not going to stop on this, and you can research it if you choose. But even in the New Testament, for example, it will say, “Behold!” In other words, it’s supposed to make us go, “Whoa!” I mean, you don’t drive in the car and say, “Behold! Chick-fil-A!” I mean, it’s like, “There’s a Chick-fil-A.” You don’t go, “Behold!” But this is a “Behold!” moment: “Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.”

Verse 5: “You know me better than I know myself.” “Better than I know myself.” Because “you hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.” You see, you and I may be masters of disguise before one another. I can conceal my travels. I can cover my past. I can exaggerate about where I go and what I achieve. I can cover my heart’s secret longings. But I cannot hide a single part of any of that from a God whose knowledge of me is so wonderful, so high that the psalmist says, “I barely can get my head around it at all.”

“You know what I need.” “You know what I need.” We sang about it. It’s wonderful. I would have picked those songs if somebody said, “Give me three songs before you speak.” I would have done “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” and the one about the sparrows and all that jazz from Matthew 6, or whatever it is. God is not empty-handed.

What do we need from God? We need everything, don’t we? He’s hemmed us in. It’s an interesting phrase, isn’t it? “You hem me in, behind and before.” You can read that in terms of restriction, but you shouldn’t. You should read it in terms of protection. “I’m in front of you and behind you—bidden or unbidden. You are with me.”

I think that’s enough on the first six. Perhaps you’ll agree, maybe not. Too late for you to make an impact; this doesn’t matter. “You know what I do, you know what I think, you know where I go, you know what I say, you know me better than I know myself, and you know what I need.”

“God, You’re with Me”

Now, don’t you think that verse 6 makes a good transition for us? “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it[’s] high; I cannot attain [to] it.” It serves both as a conclusion to those earlier verses and also, then, as an introduction to the verses that follow, moving from “God knows me” to “God is with me.” So the exclamation which ends the first section serves, as I suggest, as an introduction to the second.

“Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence?” Now, I wonder: What is David doing here? Do you think he’s thinking to himself, “Maybe there’s somewhere I can go and hide.” It would be bizarre, actually, given what he’s just said in the first six verses, to then say to himself, “Well, maybe there is somewhere after all, after all I’ve just written down.” No, I don’t think that’s the case.

But you know, along the journey of our lives with God, we’re not unfamiliar with the idea of going to try and find a hiding place. In fact, the Bible begins with Adam and Eve hiding.[6] Hiding! That was a stupid idea, wasn’t it? He made them! And also, when he comes and he says, “Where are you?”—what, you mean you don’t know? “Of course I know. I’m saying that in order that you might say to yourself, ‘Yeah, where am I?’”

“Where am I?” Have you ever been there in your teenage years? And somewhere in your car on a Friday, or at a concert sometime, or alone as you walked, you felt that that was the question that came to you: “Where are you?” And you said to yourself, “Yeah, where am I? Where am I in the great continuation, the continual movement of God in his providence and in his grace?”

Adam and Eve were in trouble. Jonah—he tried it, remember? He sought to flee from God. He wanted to make his own run for it. And that got him in pretty deep water. And if it weren’t for the salvation that belongs to the Lord, he would have stayed in the deep water until the whale spat him out. What a smelly proposition that must have been! Why did he do that? Because he thought he could run and hide. Let me tell you (I’m an old man now): You can’t run, and you can’t hide. The hounds of heaven will chase you down. It’s a measure of God’s grace and goodness to you. You may have been brought up in a Christian home, signed up in this school, signed your name to the whole thing, and you are the only person apart from God who knows that you’ve decided, “I can hide this.” You can’t.

There’s a wonderful hymn which begins,

When all thy mercies, O my God,
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view, I’m lost
In wonder, love, and praise. …

Unnumbered comforts to my soul
[Your] tender care bestowed
Before my infant heart conceived
From whom those comforts flowed.

But here’s the verse that’s in my mind:

When in the slippery paths of youth
With heedless steps I ran,
[Your hand] unseen conveyed me safe
And [brought] me up to man.[7]

Maybe that’s your testimony today. You remember it was a young man who took all that fell to him and took his journey to a far city, and he thought he could end it all there, probably, make it all there, be it all there—until “he came to his senses.”[8] And, of course, what did he find? Not the severe tones of an angry father but the running, embracing, loving, giving from a father who represents a God whose hands are full of things he wants to give to us.[9]

All of those attempts at hiding were unsuccessful. And that’s why, apart from that, I don’t think David here is thinking along these lines. I don’t think he’s thinking about looking for the possibility of escape, but rather, he is comforting himself with the fact that escape is impossible. He’s not looking for a place to run and hide, except to run into the shelter of the only one who goes before him and comes behind him. Remember Philippians 1:6: “He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” There may be twists and turns along the way, but his purposes will ripen fast.

David isn’t looking for a place to run and hide, except to run into the shelter of the only one who goes before him and comes behind him.

Now, you notice how he proceeds in this. He says, “You know, if I climb up to the sky, you’re there”—verse 8. “If I go underground, you’re there. If I flew on the wings of the morning, you’d find me in a minute, because you would already be there waiting for me when I arrived.” Well, let’s just take those questions.

What if I ascend or descend—verse 8? “If I ascend to heaven, you[’re] there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!” This is poetic. “Sheol” is a mystery word in many ways in the Old Testament. When we view Sheol in light of a resurrected Jesus, we understand that what we’re able to say, in the words of the catechism from Heidelberg: “What is my only comfort in life and in death but that I belong, body and soul, to my only Savior, Jesus?”[10] And that’s really the answer to what he’s saying here: “If I were to fly up as high as I can go, if I were to find myself laid into the ground…” To depart and to be with Christ will be far, far better.[11]

There’s another good hymn which begins, “Lord, it belongs not to my care whether I [live or die].” And it has this wonderful verse concerning heaven and the afterlife:

My knowledge of that life is small;
The eye of faith is dim.
[It is] enough that Christ knows all
And I shall be with him.[12]

Upwards or downwards.

Verse 9: “What if I take the wings of the morning?” It’s a great picture, isn’t it, “the wings of the morning”? If I was able to take with the speed of light, as it were, and go as far east as I could possibly go, or if I were to go in the other direction, too, it would be impossible for me to outrun God.

I’m sure that the picture here that the psalmist has, when he actually says, “If I [were to] take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea”—Israelis were not sailors. The sea in the Old Testament is often described—the tossing of the sea is a picture of sin and sadness and so on. And so it would seem that perhaps David is saying, “You know, if I could get all the way over there, and even if I were to go over to that big sea, that Mediterranean Sea, the vastness of it…” ’Cause he didn’t have a huge, big atlas like you have here in your library. This was the extent of his boundaries. And what he’s saying is “Not only do you know me, but you’re with me, and your hand shall lead me. Your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.”

It’s a wonderful picture, isn’t it? One of the great joys of getting older is that you can hang around with younger people, and they can look after you. And sometimes they’ll say, “Well, can I help you, Mr. Begg?”

And I’m like, “No! Why would you help me?”

“Well, I just want to. You look a little old, a little infirm.”

I said, “Well, we’ll talk about that later.”

But even my doctor told me, “You’re pretty healthy, but make sure you don’t fall.” That’s what he said.

I said, “What is this, an insult?” I said, “I’m not my father.”

“No,” he said. “The danger is that you fall.”

Well, I fell—wearing my socks, Christmas Day, going out to get something that my wife asked for. I went out the door, and I took off—not quite on the wings of the morning. And I didn’t ultimately dwell in the uttermost parts of the earth, but I was flat on my butt on the concrete floor of the garage, broke my fingers, had to go to the emergency room—which was a perfect Christmas Day. And while the guy was stitching my fingers, I said, “Oh, so this is what the doctor meant! ‘Don’t fall.’”

But here’s the promise:

He will keep me till the river
Rolls its waters at my feet;
[He will] bear me safely over
Where the loved ones I [will] meet.[13]

Are you worried that you won’t be able to finish? Are you worried that you can’t finish the race? Don’t worry! Because look what it says. Look at this: “Even there your hand shall lead me, … your right hand shall hold me.”

“And if I were actually to say that the darkness would cover me—even darkness isn’t dark to you! The night is as light as the day.”

Sorry to quote so many hymns. It is a disease I have. But this is a quote from the fellow who wrote the other hymn. It goes like this:

A sovereign protector I have,
Unseen yet forever at hand,
Unchangeably faithful to save,
Almighty to rule and command. …

If thou art my [sword] and my sun,
The night is no darkness to me;
As fast as the [morning rolls] on,
They bring me but [closer] to thee.[14]

See, darkness may enable us to run away and hide from one another, but not from God. There’s no corner of the universe that God is not sovereign over. And before there was time and before there was anything, there was God.

Now, you know that you believe these things. And I’m not here, ultimately, to tell you things you don’t know but to remind you of what you mustn’t forget. And one of the great benefits that you’re enjoying as students in this place is not simply the education that you’re receiving but the context in which it’s coming. And also, it is allowing you to think sensibly and deeply and to form an understanding of the world that is so vastly different from that which is the prevailing thought forms of certainly our Western culture.

You have grown up in this present generation with three big lies. Three big lies. Number one: There is no creator God. Number two: There is no absolute morality. And number three: There is no ultimate truth. “There’s no God who made us. There is no reason why I can’t sleep with anybody I want to sleep with—male, female, or otherwise—because there is no absolute morality, and there is no ultimate truth.”

Now, what a privilege it is, then, to be able to awaken in the morning and turn to our Bibles and, apart from anything else, just to say to ourselves as we walk out into this day, “He knows me. He’s with me.”

There is a vast, invisible boundary between God in his holiness and we in our sinfulness. And you and I know that we cannot penetrate that boundary. Savingly, God has come to do that in Jesus.

And I remember as a young person being asked one time about my background, and I said, “I was brought up in a Christian home.” And I said, “I don’t know if that was an advantage or not.” And an older gentleman came to me afterwards and said in no uncertain terms, “Son, that was a pure, huge advantage. And if you’re too dumb right now not to understand that, hopefully you will live long enough to understand it.” What an immense privilege it is!

Do you worry that because your testimony says things like “Well, I wasn’t in a rock band, and I wasn’t a Hells Angel, and I didn’t fall off my motorbike”?

“Well, what’s your story?”

“Well, ‘I heard the voice of Jesus say, “Come [to] me and rest,”’ and ‘I came to Jesus as I was,’[15] and he made me a new person. That’s the story! And he knows me, and he’s with me.”

One final song—which I’ll sing for you now. No! That’s a joke. It’s all right. Okay. A guy called [Carmichael] wrote this. It was a ’60s thing. I don’t think anybody even knows it anymore. It began,

In the stars his handiwork I see;
On the wind he speaks with majesty;
Though he ruleth over land and sea,
What is that to me?

I will celebrate nativity
[’Cause] it has a place in history.

Diddle deedle deedle dum, and all the way it goes. But the refrain in the opening part is “What is that to me?” And then it changes, and he writes,

[And then one day] I met him face-to-face,
And I [knew] the wonder of his grace.
Then I knew that he was more
Than just a God who didn’t care
[Who] lived away [up] there.
And now he walks beside me day by day;
[Now he keeps and guards me faithfully].[16]

That’s the Christian testimony. I take it that’s yours.

Father, thank you for the Bible. Thank you that we can go away and read the Bible. We can check and see if the things that have come from my mouth are true and accurate and helpful. And so we pray that your Word—that is your Word, your voice—may settle in our thinking and may stir our forward movement as we seek to follow Jesus, in whose name we pray. Amen.

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[1] J. Alec Motyer, interview by Robert P. Mills, The Presbyterian Layman, May 9, 2000, https://banneroftruth.org/us/resources/articles/2000/j-alec-motyer.

[2] John Calvin, Commentary on the Book of Psalms, trans. James Anderson (Edinburgh: Calvin Translation Society, 1849), 5:219.

[3] Psalm 135:16–17 (ESV).

[4] Psalm 135:15 (ESV).

[5] Psalm 135:18 (ESV).

[6] See Genesis 3:8.

[7] Joseph Addison, “When All Thy Mercies, O My God” (1712).

[8] Luke 15:17 (NIV).

[9] See Luke 15:11–24.

[10] Heidelberg Catechism, Q. 1. Paraphrased.

[11] See Philippians 1:23.

[12] Richard Baxter, “Lord, It Belongs Not to My Care” (1681).

[13] Francis Harold Rowley, “I Will Sing the Wondrous Story” (1886).

[14] Augustus Montague Toplady, “A Sovereign Protector I Have” (1774).

[15] Horatius Bonar, “I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say” (1846).

[16] Ralph Carmichael, “He’s Everything to Me” (1964).