Dark. Inhospitable. Damp. Shadows full of questions; silence full of sadness. The body shivers. Alone. Enemies close. Friends far. Manacled within midnight at midday. David, miles from the throne, sits in a cave.

He retraces his descent. How had it come to this? God promised him so much, delivered so much — exalted him high enough to cut off a giant’s head. He had won the hearts of the nation, the prince, and the king’s daughter. Even Saul, for a time, loved him. Now he sits alone in a cave. How the mighty have fallen. He whose legend demanded celebration now hides himself in the heart of the earth. Where had he taken the false turn? He has nowhere to be and no one to be with. How can he ever recover what was lost?

Have you ever been in such a cave? You no longer understand the plan. You fail to connect the dots between God’s promises, your prayers, and this dungeon. How could God ever turn this loneliness, this hardship, this unsmiling turn for your good?

Aren’t you glad, then, to read this inscription over Psalm 142: “A Maskil of David, when he was in the cave. A Prayer.” The cave psalms (57, 142) have given voice to my soul, teaching me not merely to stop grumbling but to be grateful for the shadows, the silence, the seclusion. Perhaps a brief reflection on Psalm 142 will do the same for you.

Alone

Isolation is often the worst part. It deepens the blackness and hardens your bed of stone. When your dread came upon you, you expected others to be right there with you.

But here you sit.

In a cave.

Alone.

Rain falls outside; the walls echo with your misery:

Look to the right and see:
     there is none who takes notice of me;
no refuge remains to me;
     no one cares for my soul. (Psalm 142:4)

Look, Lord! Look here at my right hand and see only rocks. Is there a friend within reach? None. Once my deeds were sung and your work through me extolled; you made me a household name. Once the whole nation offered me its gratitude; now, none take notice of me; now, no one cares for my soul. I have been chased from the refuge my sling secured; no refuge remains to me but that of an outlaw. Solitary confinement, my home.

Not Alone

When David didn’t know where to turn, David knew where to turn. When all paths seemed blocked, he knew the path upward never suffered roadblock. God was always within earshot.

With my voice I cry out to the Lord;
     with my voice I plead for mercy to the Lord.
I pour out my complaint before him;
     I tell my trouble before him. (Psalm 142:1–2)

“With my voice . . .” The cave reverberates with David’s desperation. His troubled soul needs vent; his vexation needs vocalization. He did not let thoughts fester in his head. This was no actor’s soliloquy, spoken to himself. This was the voice of a man after God’s heart, who cried out to God when his heart broke. David knew that when he was alone, he was never alone.

And even when his spirit fainted, when the walls closed in and hope seemed lost, when he could not think himself out or fight his way through, a single conviction burned:

When my spirit faints within me,
     you know my way! (Psalm 142:3)

He doesn’t know where to go or whom to trust, only that enemies crowd his friendless path. His spirit staggers like a waterless man in the desert. His life is a wandering; he doesn’t know the way — but his God does. This zigzag, this sorrowful setback, this dark detour — how could this work out for good? How could this be the path to promise? How could this be the right way? He didn’t need the answers. He didn’t need to check the map or grab the steering wheel or know the way himself — “you know the way!” And Christians add, “Lord, you are the Way.”

Enough

If you will have it, receive the lesson of the cave:

I cry to you, O Lord;
     I say, “You are my refuge,
     my portion in the land of the living.” (Psalm 142:5)

Sometimes it takes the cave — life in shambles, enemies winning, friends nowhere to be found — to (re)learn that God is the only true refuge, our only true portion in the land of the living. That he is, in fact, enough. Silence teaches a body of divinity about God’s all-sufficiency; darkness helps us rediscover the Light of the world again. When life is too much for us, when we are brought so low as to lick the dust, he kneels beside us. Our portion has not left us. Our reason for living is right here.

He knows your way when no one else does; he hears your voice when no one else can; he sits beside you when no one else will. When you find yourself in the heart of the earth, the sun seems dead, and no brother lends you the comfort you crave, do you know the one who has caught every tear and listened to every sigh? His name is still translated into many titles: Love and God and Father and Savior and Friend.

He who dwells above the cave orders your life still. In the other psalm from a cave, David writes, “I cry out to God Most High, to God who fulfills his purpose for me” (Psalm 57:2). David addresses a God above all circumstances, yet one who orchestrates his circumstances. One not startled, not scrambling, not stumbling over what befell him. A God who has a purpose for David, one he is fulfilling even now. In the heart of the earth, with pressure all around, God is fashioning his diamond. A man who knows how to be brought low can be entrusted to go higher. A man who trusts God when thrown down is nearly ready for a throne. God makes kings in caves.

Surrounded

David’s hope is not done. God is enough for him. His presence turns Adullam to Eden, yet he is confident God has more to give. Human relationships still mattered — “it is not good for man to be alone.” Hear the prayer’s last line.

The righteous will surround me,
     for you will deal bountifully with me. (Psalm 142:7)

He will not leave you alone. God will surround you with those who love him, in this life and the next. He will yet be gracious. God will deal bountifully with you. Until Christ can wipe away every tear from your eye with his own hand, he uses those of his body to do so.

When all seems lost, remember your God.

He is the God who, though your soul has fainted, knows your way. He is the God who is a refuge when men and kingdoms fail. He is the portion of your soul when no friend sticks closer than a brother. He is the God who raises those from the dust, aids those under persecution, and satisfies you to praise his name. He is the God who does nothing without purpose, who fulfills his purpose for you, even when you cannot see your hand before your face. And he is the God who will yet be gracious and will surround your lonely soul with righteous companions in due time.

Recently, a member of my church told me what affected him most the first time he visited our Sunday service ten years ago. Was it the faithful Bible teaching? Or maybe the friendliness of the people? The way the gospel informs all we do? Nope.

“As I looked around, everyone was actually singing. Loud. Like they really believed it,” he told me. He grew up in a church context where singing seemed optional. When he visited with us, he was amazed to see so many people in one place at one time all singing wholeheartedly to God. I felt both encouraged and saddened by his comment. Encouraged because that’s what I have experienced in my church. Saddened because I know that’s not the norm.

But shouldn’t it be? Everywhere, the Bible commands, invites, and models singing in response to God’s word, works, and worthiness. Singing shows up when God creates the world (Job 38:6–7), when God delivers the Israelites from Egypt (Exodus 15:1), when David and others proclaim God’s wondrous works (1 Chronicles 16:9), when God’s people assemble to praise him (Psalm 149:1), when we sojourn among the nations (Psalm 108:3), and when we reach the new heavens and earth (Revelation 15:3). From beginning to end, the Bible assumes the gospel turns sinners into saints and saints into singers.

So, if songs are a primary way God has designed to give him glory, encourage our hearts, and proclaim the glad news of deliverance, how can we keep from singing on Sunday morning? Of course, poor leadership, loud bands, and bad song choices can hinder a congregation’s voice. But members have a role to play as well, and we’re pretty adept at finding reasons not to sing. So, we’re going to take a look at seven hindrances in hopes that God might “tune our hearts to sing his grace,” regardless of what else is going on.

1. Ignorance

Many Christians simply don’t understand the significance God places on singing. Scripture contains over fifty commands to sing. Why? Singing expresses and evokes our affections, enables us to remember God’s word, and deepens the unity we enjoy through the gospel. Singing is more than a good idea. It’s a gift for our good. As Paul Tripp says, “Songs give wings to the emotions of our hearts.” But if we don’t realize that, we’ll be less motivated to sing.

2. Fear of Man

Some people are self-conscious about their voice. Maybe you’ve been told you can’t sing, that you’re out of tune, or even worse, tone deaf. You wonder what others think of your singing and don’t want to be a distraction. But if Jesus rebuked the Pharisees for wanting to muffle the praise of children (Matthew 21:15–16), it’s doubtful he has a problem with your voice. The Father is seeking worshipers, not trained vocalists. He’s listening for your heart, not your pitch.

The real issue is whose glory occupies our attention. Are we really seeking God’s glory when our thoughts are consumed with the sound of our own voice? One of the beauties of congregational singing is that every voice — strong and weak, good and bad — is swallowed up by the sound of the whole church. Make the most of that opportunity!

3. Condemnation

It’s not uncommon to walk in on Sunday morning more conscious of our guilt than of God’s forgiveness. We don’t feel worthy to sing with the saints. And if people knew what we’ve done, or what we’re struggling with, they would probably label us a hypocrite. At least, that’s what we tell ourselves. But for all who are in Christ, the gospel tells us we have been wholeheartedly, fully, and finally forgiven through our Savior’s substitutionary death on the cross (Hebrews 10:12; 12:2; Colossians 2:13).

We sing not because we “feel” forgiven, but because we are forgiven. And singing with God’s people reminds us of that glorious, life-transforming reality. As Charles Spurgeon said, “We must sing of the finished work of a precious Saviour; and he who knows most of forgiving love will sing the loudest.”

4. Worldliness

Psalm 147:1 tells us,

It is good to sing praises to our God;
     for it is pleasant, and a song of praise is fitting.

Why is singing praises to God pleasant? Not only because music is enjoyable, but because God himself is. Melody, harmony, and rhythm are humble servants that enable us to enjoy more fully the lavish banquet of grace we’ve received in Christ. Singing grows our affections for God and satisfies our deepest yearnings as we reflect on his goodness, steadfast love, mercy, and faithfulness. So, if we find ourselves apathetic or unmoved as we sing, it could be that we’ve been filling ourselves with the pleasures of the world. As a result, our appetite for God is weak when we sing. But as we persevere and allow the Spirit to both convict and encourage our hearts, we will find that “the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace.”

5. Unpreparedness

Whenever I lead music on Sundays, I love seeing countenances brighten, bodies engage, and the volume increase as we sing. But I also wonder why we aren’t more eager to participate when we walk through the doors. David says in Psalm 108:2,

Awake, O harp and lyre!
     I will awake the dawn!

He’s not waiting for the instruments to “move him to worship.” He’s telling them to join him in exuberant praise because his heart is already overflowing. What difference might it make if we woke up a little earlier Sunday morning, familiarized ourselves with the songs we were going to sing, sang as we drove to the service, or prayed in advance that God’s Spirit would fill us as we sing to one another (Ephesians 5:18–19)?

6. Self-Centeredness

Paul writes, “When you come together, each one has a hymn, a lesson, a revelation, a tongue, or an interpretation. Let all things be done for building up” (1 Corinthians 14:26). “Building up” isn’t always the first thing on our minds as we walk through the doors on Sundays, especially when it comes to singing. Singing well takes work. We have to pay attention. It involves our lungs, our larynxes, our lips, our mouths, our minds, our hands, and for some, our feet. But God didn’t design singing just for us. It’s also meant to serve others, just as it did when my friend first visited our church.

7. Suffering and Grief

It can be difficult to sing when we’re going through trials. The apostle James seems to imply as much when he asks, “Is anyone among you suffering? Let him pray. Is anyone cheerful? Let him sing praise” (James 5:13). Sometimes our grief is so deep, so painful, that the best we can do is let the sound of believers around us wash over our weary, burdened soul — and that too brings God glory. But Christians are never without hope. Singing helps us remember that “faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). Out of that assurance and conviction, a song arises to express trust, even when the dawn has yet to appear.

Yes, singing on Sundays can be difficult. But God gives more grace. We find that in choosing to raise our voice with other redeemed sinners, we end up being on the receiving end of his goodness. That’s because singing with the church is itself a means of grace. It comforts us in our suffering, calls us back from the world, and quiets our self-conscious fears. It overcomes our distractions, misconceptions, and even resistance. God uses singing to remind us that he has pursued us with a relentless love, sent his precious Son to die in our place, and given us his Spirit to pour that love into our hearts.

And doesn’t that make you want to sing?

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For married Christians, sex is a strange combination of function and fun, discipline and desire, heaven and hobby. But for the Christian wife in particular, married sex can also represent mystery, frustration, or even shame.

Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 7:2–5 are wonderfully direct and clarifying, although they are sometimes misapplied or misunderstood:

Because of the temptation to sexual immorality, each man should have his own wife and each woman her own husband. The husband should give to his wife her conjugal rights, and likewise the wife to her husband. For the wife does not have authority over her own body, but the husband does. Likewise the husband does not have authority over his own body, but the wife does. Do not deprive one another, except perhaps by agreement for a limited time, that you may devote yourselves to prayer; but then come together again, so that Satan may not tempt you because of your lack of self-control.

This passage brings to light an outrageous, joyous facet of married life. Paul does not deal here with sex as procreation — though we know from the whole testimony of Scripture that sex and procreation are blessedly intertwined. Instead, this passage highlights other purposes of sex. Here we see married sex represented in three ways.

1. Duty and Delight

Paul makes clear that married sex is a mutual duty for a husband and a wife. “The husband should give to his wife her conjugal rights, and likewise the wife to her husband” (1 Corinthians 7:3). What a duty! A recreation, a romp, a heavenly joke and a heavenly feast! Does the word duty make you flinch? Or does the phrase conjugal rights make you uncomfortable? Don’t let it. Our modern sensibility may pit duty and delight against each other, but from the beginning it was not so. First Corinthians 7:2–5 is one proof among many that duty kisses delight in God’s world.

God commanding a husband and wife to have sex is like a master commanding his servants to throw a party out of his own larder, using the best wine and best dishes. It’s like a boss commanding his employees to give themselves a raise and a paid vacation to Bali. Here you have been commanded, as man and woman, to engage regularly in something that God designed to give you moments of literal ecstasy and unifying, self-forgetful delight. Of all the hobbies you could engage in together — tennis, chess, movies — this is the only hobby you’ve been told not to neglect.

I know you’re both tired. I know the kids will be up in the night. But revel in this. Laugh with your spouse about the strangeness and wonder of it all. Discipline yourselves to obey the spirit of 1 Corinthians 7:2–5, and there will be years of blessing hidden inside the obedience.

2. Expression of Mutual Authority

God also decided to assign authority over a husband’s body and authority over a wife’s body to the other (1 Corinthians 7:4). I’ll never forget the day I realized Scripture had handed me the keys of authority over my own husband’s body. What does that mean? I wondered.

Well, in Scripture, a right use of authority benefits those underneath that authority — as parents benefit kids or pastors benefit a church. Godly authority gives and tends life in others. So, while I cannot control his mind or his body, and he cannot control mine, we each can nevertheless take responsibility for cultivating the garden of our love so that it becomes a safe, inviting, even thrilling space for the other.

Having authority over each other’s bodies means that he approaches me as a cultivator, a master gardener, taking the lead and seeking to learn the ins and outs of pleasure for the woman God gave him. It also means that I, as a woman, come to the marriage bed with a similar sense of responsibility. Mutual authority calls for creativity, planning, and a sense of fun.

As the more complex partner, part of the wife’s joyous duty is to tend not only to her husband’s pleasure but to her own. A woman should not be afraid of this process. In fact, her own pleasure is part of the gift she gives her husband. He is blessed in the blessing of her. She is blessed in the blessing of him. They are mutually blessed in this singular act of intimacy, a priceless picture of eternal oneness between Christ and his church.

Of course, Scripture is also quite clear that neither spouse can use his or her authority to ask the other to sin against the law or one’s own conscience. Romans 14:13 directs us “never to put a stumbling block or hindrance in the way of a brother.”

The Song of Solomon is a wonderful primer for God-honoring forms of amorous language and behavior between a wife and her husband. Here you see a woman speaking of both her own body and his body as a source of mutual pleasure and wonder.

As an apple tree among the trees of the forest,
     so is my beloved among the young men.
With great delight I sat in his shadow,
     and his fruit was sweet to my taste. . . .

His left hand is under my head,
     and his right hand embraces me! (Song of Solomon 2:3, 6)

3. Protection Against Satan and Sin

Depriving one another of sex is expressly forbidden in this passage — “except perhaps by agreement for a limited time, that you may devote yourselves to prayer” (1 Corinthians 7:5).

“Depriving one another” doesn’t necessarily look like one spouse (stereotypically, the wife) consistently saying no. Most often, it results from mutual laziness, which weakens and estranges couples over time. If a husband and wife are not tending sexually to each other, they make themselves vulnerable to temptation. Desire in marriage ebbs and flows, but this passage assumes humans are sexual beings: We long to be seen and touched, in both body and spirit. So, picture marital intimacy as two people standing together under one large shield that they both uphold, deflecting the arrows of an enemy.

Paul is not condemning couples in sexless seasons that they did not choose — due to sickness or unavoidable absence, for example. He is concerned for the sexless marriage that doesn’t need to be that way — one that is sexless due to indifference, avoidance, or false guilt. And why does he warn against depriving one another? Because when intimacy lags, temptation looks for an opening.

Cultivate the Gift

Surely, marriage is a painful topic for some of you reading. A woman who feels that she is in a loveless marriage probably needs more help than one short article can offer. If this is you, I would encourage you to seek godly counsel from a biblical counselor or a mature Christian woman in your life. I also have appreciated books like This Momentary Marriage.

But no matter your situation, I know that the word of God has been given for our instruction, and every gift given in obedience to this word is poured out as an offering before him. Obedience always bears fruit, in our own hearts if nowhere else. How many precious moments of sacrifice have been logged away in God’s sight by a faithful husband or a faithful wife who chose to bless a difficult spouse?

Cultivate this gift — God’s creative provision for procreation and recreation — and you engage in holy work.

Not a bad way to spend a Tuesday night.

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The last few years have witnessed a series of Super Bowl ads about Jesus under the slogan “He Gets Us.” The ads themselves have left much to be desired. But the slogan at least is true. The Bible assures us that “we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin” (Hebrews 4:15). In fact, it was for precisely this reason that “he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest” (Hebrews 2:17). “He gets us” because he became one of us.

“But did he really?” some might ask. We live in a society that emphasizes each person’s or group’s specific identity and lived experience. Yet Jesus was an unmarried Jewish male who left earth in his early thirties. This means, among other things, that he was never elderly, never had kids, and never experienced life as a woman. You can see how all this might seem to put distance between him and some of us. “How can he sympathize with me when he never shared my experience?” a pregnant mother might wonder.

And yet if Jesus’s complete sinlessness doesn’t make him too distant to sympathize with us (and it doesn’t), then neither do these lesser differences. While recognizing sexual and cultural distinctions, Scripture also views humanity as a unified whole with temptations that are “common to man” (1 Corinthians 10:13). That shared humanity is what enabled him to “[suffer] when tempted” (Hebrews 2:18), and it’s what enables him to sympathize with all of us as our heavenly high priest.

To that end, I’d like to use some Scripture-infused imagination to see how Jesus can sympathize with all his brothers and sisters, despite how different our lives might seem from his.

Sympathizing with Pregnant Mothers

Does Jesus understand the temptations that come with experiences unique to women? As the incarnate Christ, he was male, not female (Luke 2:7, 21). He never had XX chromosomes, never had a menstrual cycle, never birthed or breastfed a baby, and never went through menopause. But that’s no more a flaw in him than it is for any other male. In his case, his lack of sin gives him the most tender of hearts, and his experience of suffering gives him a place from which to sympathize. So, if Jesus were talking to a pregnant mother, perhaps he would say something like this:

Daughter, I won’t pretend to have ever been exactly where you are. But I also don’t want you to think I’m a stranger to your pain. Are you wondering if I know what it’s like to be drawing ever-closer to an excruciating experience — with nothing lawful I could do to stop it, even though part of me wished I could (Matthew 26:38–39, 53–54)? Do I know what it’s like to be terrified of what’s coming and to have to remind myself of the joy on the other side of the pain?

Yes, daughter, I know. And I can tell you that there’s nothing like the relief of coming out on the other side and being able to say, “Behold, I and the children God has given me” (Hebrews 2:13; cf. John 16:21; Isaiah 53:11). Don’t let the looming trial cause you to regret your decision to bear children. Instead, learn from me. I cried out in my distress, and I found relief (Luke 22:43). God didn’t spare me from the pain, but he did bring me through it. So, call out to my Father and your Father (John 20:17). Go to him. When you do, you will find me sitting on a throne of grace, eager to supply you with mercy in your time of need (Hebrews 4:16).

Sympathizing with Tired Family Men

Jesus was a man, but he wasn’t a husband or a dad. He never came home to rambunctious children after a long day at work, sat up with a sick toddler, or felt the burden of financially supporting a wife. Still, he’s no stranger to these pressures and the temptations that come with them. In addition to the unique burden of giving his life as a ransom for many, he was a man who wore many hats (son, brother, friend, rabbi, celebrity, and more). And if he were talking to a father with small children, maybe he would say something like this:

I never had kids of my own. But if you’re asking me if I know what it’s like to serve people who don’t always say thank you (Luke 17:11–19), to feel power go out of me long before my work is done (Mark 5:30), to be responsible for people who are constantly engaged in petty quarrels with one another (Mark 9:33–34), to frustratedly wonder whether they’ll ever learn the lessons I’m teaching them (Mark 9:18–19), to be swamped by needy people with endless requests (Mark 2:2; 3:9), such that I couldn’t even find time to eat (Mark 3:20–21) — then yes, son, I know that feeling. But I also know that God will meet you in those moments.

So, when you’re tempted to let tiredness make you short-tempered, remember my strength is made perfect in weakness, and God is teaching you obedience through what you suffer (2 Corinthians 12:9; Hebrews 5:8). When you’re inclined to let people’s ingratitude drive you to self-pity, remember a joy has been set before you by a Father who sees your good deeds (Hebrews 12:2; Matthew 6:4). You’re in a race that I have already run, and I am always here for you (Hebrews 12:2; 13:5; cf. Matthew 28:20).

Those are just a couple of meager efforts to see how Jesus understands the temptations we face in our experiences. I would invite you to try it yourself.

Sympathy in Every Respect

Surely, we sense that requiring someone to share our exact circumstances before they can sympathize with us is an impossibly high bar, one that would invalidate almost all human sympathy, not just Jesus’s. Such a mindset often leads to a self-pitying dead end that says, “No one understands my pain — not Jesus, not anyone!” It’s a satanic strategy meant to isolate us from aid and comfort.

It’s not a shortcoming that Jesus couldn’t be male and female, Jew and Navajo, young and elderly, healthy and disabled, all in one life. Nor is it necessary for him to experience multiple incarnations so as to identify with different people’s experiences. We must be careful that cultural forces don’t subtly pervert our felt-needs here. Any worldview that would logically lead us to accuse Jesus of “mansplaining” or tell him to “check his Jewish privilege” (John 4:22; Romans 3:1–2; 9:4–5) is on a crash course with Christianity.

If we needed a better high priest than Jesus, God would have given one to us. But we didn’t. We have a high priest “who in every respect has been tempted as we are” (Hebrews 4:15). That doesn’t mean he experienced every situation we’ve ever been in. But it does mean there’s nothing we can tell him that would make him say, “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” He understands. And truth be told, if we could stand in his shoes for five minutes and experience what it’s like to have emotions totally unclouded by sin, we’d realize that he understands us far better than we understand ourselves. Like Digory when he sees Aslan’s “great shining tears,” we’d discover that he feels our concerns more deeply than we do.

His embodiment may have limited his experiences, but it didn’t limit his sympathies — indeed, it expanded them. The real distance is between God and man. Having crossed that distance, the differences between him and other humans are minor by comparison. As God, Jesus already understood us as only an infinite Creator could (Psalm 103:14; Psalm 139; Hebrews 1:2, 10–12). But as man, he now understands us from the inside, as only a fellow sufferer can. He knows our frame in more ways than one, and he “gets” our temptations in ways that we can’t, because he’s the only one who never yielded to them.

So, don’t let meaningful but secondary features of your humanity cause you to question his sympathy. As one who is both divine and human, sinless and finite — he gets you.