When God Feels Silent Psalm 74
Notes
Transcript
Subject - Desolation
(Captures the emotional, spiritual, and national crisis the psalm reflects.)
Theme: Hope amidst desolation/Lament due to desolation.
(Highlights the two main movements of the psalm: honest lament and hope in God’s covenant faithfulness.)
Thesis Statement: When God seems absent and all feels lost, Psalm 74 teaches us to bring our raw grief to Him, remember who He is, and call on Him to act in faithfulness to His covenant.
Principle Statement: In times of spiritual devastation, we are not abandoned—we are invited to lament honestly, trust God’s unchanging character, and cling to His promises.
Have you ever looked around at the world and felt like something sacred is being burned to the ground?
Maybe not literally.
But it feels like it.
It feels like God is distant…
Like evil is winning…
Like everything that used to be stable and strong—your family, your faith, your future—is smoldering in ruins.
And worse? God seems to be doing nothing about it.
That’s not just a feeling. That’s Psalm 74.
Psalm 74 isn’t polite.
It’s not tidy.
It’s not the kind of psalm you frame and hang above your fireplace.
It’s a raw, tear-streaked prayer that cries:
“God, Your enemies have marched into Your temple, shattered what’s holy, mocked Your name… and You’re just watching?”
This psalm is for people who know what it feels like to sit in the ashes and wonder if God has abandoned them.
It’s for those who’ve walked into church hoping for answers—and walked out with heavier questions.
It’s for the parent whose child has wandered far from God…
The believer who’s tired of singing songs they don’t feel anymore…
The Christian watching their culture crumble and wondering where God is.
Psalm 74 gives us permission to say what we’re often too afraid to admit:
“God, I don’t understand what You’re doing… but I still know who You are.”
And right here—right in that tension—is where we find the principle of this psalm:
When God seems silent in the face of devastation, the faithful learn to lament honestly, remember confidently, and pray boldly for God to act according to His covenant.
That’s what we’re going to do today.
We’re not going to slap a bandage on broken faith.
We’re going to sit with it—lament deeply, grieve honestly, and then rise in hope.
So if you’ve ever found yourself in that place—where faith feels fragile and God feels far—this psalm is for you.
And more than that: God gave it to you—as a gift to shape your prayers and strengthen your faith when everything around you feels like it's falling apart.
Let’s open our Bibles to Psalm 74.
A Maskil of Asaph. 1 O God, why do you cast us off forever? Why does your anger smoke against the sheep of your pasture? 2 Remember your congregation, which you have purchased of old, which you have redeemed to be the tribe of your heritage! Remember Mount Zion, where you have dwelt. 3 Direct your steps to the perpetual ruins; the enemy has destroyed everything in the sanctuary! 4 Your foes have roared in the midst of your meeting place; they set up their own signs for signs. 5 They were like those who swing axes in a forest of trees. 6 And all its carved wood they broke down with hatchets and hammers. 7 They set your sanctuary on fire; they profaned the dwelling place of your name, bringing it down to the ground. 8 They said to themselves, “We will utterly subdue them”; they burned all the meeting places of God in the land. 9 We do not see our signs; there is no longer any prophet, and there is none among us who knows how long. 10 How long, O God, is the foe to scoff? Is the enemy to revile your name forever? 11 Why do you hold back your hand, your right hand? Take it from the fold of your garment and destroy them! 12 Yet God my King is from of old, working salvation in the midst of the earth. 13 You divided the sea by your might; you broke the heads of the sea monsters on the waters. 14 You crushed the heads of Leviathan; you gave him as food for the creatures of the wilderness. 15 You split open springs and brooks; you dried up ever-flowing streams. 16 Yours is the day, yours also the night; you have established the heavenly lights and the sun. 17 You have fixed all the boundaries of the earth; you have made summer and winter. 18 Remember this, O Lord, how the enemy scoffs, and a foolish people reviles your name. 19 Do not deliver the soul of your dove to the wild beasts; do not forget the life of your poor forever. 20 Have regard for the covenant, for the dark places of the land are full of the habitations of violence. 21 Let not the downtrodden turn back in shame; let the poor and needy praise your name. 22 Arise, O God, defend your cause; remember how the foolish scoff at you all the day! 23 Do not forget the clamor of your foes, the uproar of those who rise against you, which goes up continually!
Cry Out Honestly When God Feels Absent (vv. 1–3)
Cry Out Honestly When God Feels Absent (vv. 1–3)
Our psalm begins with very forceful and direct language, language that comes from a pained heart.
1 O God, why do you cast us off forever? Why does your anger smoke against the sheep of your pasture?
Some other translations change the wording to be even more forceful - O God, why have you rejected us forever? Why does your anger smolder -
This is a difficult question coming out of pain of deep loss.
We are told of that loss in verse 3 and that is expanded on in the verses that follow.
The enemy has destroyed everything in the sanctuary, they have burned all the meeting places of God in the land.
Biblical scholars believe this psalm to have been written after the Babylonians conquered Judah in 586 BC.
So this Psalm, being attributed to Asaph, would have been written by one of his descendants.
That is the context, now back to the content.
This Psalm is a lament psalm.
A lament is a song of mourning or sorrow.
Our psalm opens with two very raw, heartfelt questions.
Questions that come from a feeling of rejection by and silence from God in the face of great loss.
The language used is that of intentional rejection.
Why do you cast us off?
Forever adds on a element of time.
From the people’s perspective, the silence and suffering have no end in sight.
Why does your anger smoke or smolder is another powerful image.
Think of a fire that is sitting there smoldering, not yet dead but giving off smoke to fill the air.
This is a picture of visible suffering.
This is perhaps the last image the psalmist had of the temple as he was being driven away.
God’s wrath is like that burning smoke, still smoldering, active, and visible in their suffering.
The imagery of God’s anger “smoldering” paints a picture that speaks both of the destructive power God used in rebuking his people and also of the hiddenness of God’s way.
And it is wrath against the sheep of your pasture.
The pain is increased by the fact that they know their identity.
They know they are God’s flock, under His care, and yet they are experiencing rejection.
The language helps us to know that the psalmist is not questioning God’s ability to act.
He knows that their current situation is a result of God’s active punishment.
There is a cry here of confusion and despair, the people see a hopeless future and find it difficult to come to terms with their God’s continued anger towards them.
God can handle your raw questions.
God can handle your raw questions.
There is a bright spot here though, and that is the fact that they can still come to God and that God can handle their questions.
The psalmist doesn’t edit his grief. He asks why, and not just once. His questions are painful and possibly even offensive if taken out of context—but they are real.
The structure of verse 1 features parallel questions that reflect the emotional and theological confusion of a people who know they are God's but feel forsaken.
Often in the middle of our suffering, we feel like we need the right words.
This psalm though helps us to see that we can bring the real words to God.
We can ask Him the real questions.
God is not fragile.
He invites our unfiltered cries.
We don’t approach God through performance, but through grace.
Because of Jesus, we don’t have to clean ourselves up before entering God’s presence.
The psalmist in Psalm 74 didn’t edit his emotions—and neither should we.
God wants a real relationship with each of us.
This psalm reminds us that biblical faith is not fake reverence.
God is not impressed by polished prayers or “right answers.”
He desires hearts that speak honestly—especially in suffering.
Jesus is the ultimate example of this.
What did He cry out on the cross - My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Jesus expressed deep abandonment—not out of unbelief, but in trust that God hears even in the darkest hour.
His cry sanctifies ours.
If the sinless Son of God could lament in agony, so can we.
We must stop pretending with God and start truly depending upon Him.
Trying to “sound spiritual” or suppress pain isolates us, but lament opens the door for deeper intimacy with God.
Through honest prayer, even if it begins in frustration or fear, we come to know His nearness in the ruins.
Do you feel like God is distant? Tell Him. Cry out like the psalmist.
Is there something you’ve been holding back because it feels “too messy” to bring to God? Lay it before Him.
He’s not offended—He’s a good Father.
When you lament, you’re not weak—you’re engaging your faith.
Lament is not the opposite of trust; it’s the language of trust in a broken world.
Verses 2 and 3 shift from questions to an appeal to God.
Even in the silence, the psalmist prays.
Even in the ruins, he cries out.
He believes God is still listening—even if He's not yet answering.
Verse 2 strengthens the appeal: “Remember your congregation, which you have purchased of old.”
This is covenantal language—redeemed, tribe of your heritage, Mount Zion—terms that bind Israel to God by His own saving acts.
Verse 3 transitions from grief to petition: “Direct your steps to the perpetual ruins.”
It’s a cry for divine reengagement—“Come and see!”—as if the psalmist is asking God to step back into the devastation He seems to have vacated.
These verses set the tone for the entire psalm: lament that is grounded in relationship.
The psalmist does not walk away from God; he runs to Him, bringing every accusation, question, and ache.
Lament flows from covenant love.
This psalm isn’t written by someone outside the faith.
It’s written by someone inside the covenant, who knows God as Redeemer, Shepherd, and King.
Lament is not a sign of weak faith—it’s an act of faith-filled protest.
We lament because we believe in God’s goodness and promises.
If we didn’t believe He loved us, we wouldn’t bother crying out at all.
Lament gives us a language to stand in the gap between what we know about God and what we see in our lives.
It holds us in relationship when circumstances seem to contradict His character.
What grief or confusion are you holding back from God?
Do you think you have to “fix your faith” before you can speak to Him?
Psalm 74 teaches us: You don’t have to wait until you understand to start praying.
If you feel like God is far—pray anyway. Cry anyway. Trust anyway.
Don’t suppress your sorrow—bring it to the One who sees and knows.
As the psalmist lifts his eyes from God’s past faithfulness, he’s forced to confront a painful contrast: the present feels nothing like the past.
The God who once split the sea and led His people now seems silent.
The sanctuary that once echoed with praise now lies in ruins.
And so, faith doesn’t deny the pain—it laments it.
That brings us to the second movement of this psalm: we must grieve the brokenness of a God-defying world.
Grieve the Brokenness of a God-Defying World (vv. 4–11)
Grieve the Brokenness of a God-Defying World (vv. 4–11)
In verses 4-9 we are given a vivid picture of the desecration of God’s sanctuary.
Your foes have roared, swinging axes, broken wood, fire.
All of the meeting places burned.
Israel’s worship of God was systematically dismantled, physically and spiritually.
There is deep sadness in these verses.
These verses show:
The severity of sin’s consequences -
Idolatry, war, and spiritual apathy have real, visible, and devastating effects.
In the original historical context, this likely reflects the Babylonian destruction of the temple—a judgment from God but also a display of human pride and cruelty.
God’s people are not immune to suffering, desecration, or silence.
Sometimes God allows devastation to bring about repentance and renewal.
5 The Lord has become like an enemy; he has swallowed up Israel; he has swallowed up all its palaces; he has laid in ruins its strongholds, and he has multiplied in the daughter of Judah mourning and lamentation. 6 He has laid waste his booth like a garden, laid in ruins his meeting place; the Lord has made Zion forget festival and Sabbath, and in his fierce indignation has spurned king and priest. 7 The Lord has scorned his altar, disowned his sanctuary; he has delivered into the hand of the enemy the walls of her palaces; they raised a clamor in the house of the Lord as on the day of festival. 8 The Lord determined to lay in ruins the wall of the daughter of Zion; he stretched out the measuring line; he did not restrain his hand from destroying; he caused rampart and wall to lament; they languished together. 9 Her gates have sunk into the ground; he has ruined and broken her bars; her king and princes are among the nations; the law is no more, and her prophets find no vision from the Lord.
All of this brokenness has led the people to feel as if God is silent when they have needed Him the most.
The loss of prophets and signs (v. 9) signifies a felt absence of divine direction.
The psalmist cries, “How long, O God,”—a common biblical lament.
God is acting outside of our time frame.
He even pleads with God to act forcefully: “Take your hand out of your robe!” (v. 11)
Psalm 74 does not rush to hope.
It sits in the ashes.
It teaches us that lament is a legitimate part of faith.
This section names what is broken.
And that is okay.
It’s okay to name what’s broken.
Christians aren’t called to pretend everything is fine.
We’re called to grieve with hope, but that grieving is real.
Psalm 74 shows us it is biblical to lament:
When churches are divided.
When culture mocks God.
When people desecrate what is holy.
When injustice seems to win.
When God seems silent.
Unfortunately, because of Adam’s sin, we live in a broken world.
Paul reminds us and points us to the future.
22 For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. 23 And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.
While we wait, can you name the brokenness you see in culture, in the church, in your own life?
It is okay to grieve these things, and to grieve them deeply, but grieve them toward God.
Have you ever looked through old photos, perhaps of your own family.
You notice outdated hairstyles, remember vacations, linger over pictures of loved ones who are no longer with us.
Sometimes, when you go through photos, the ones that used to bring joy, now stir up grief.
Not because the memories were bad—but because life had changed.
People have grown apart.
Some have passed away.
Some of the joy in those photos feels unreachable now.
That’s what lament feels like: flipping through the photo album of God’s past faithfulness, while sitting in a present that feels broken and silent.
That’s what the psalmist is doing in Psalm 74.
He remembers what God has done in the past—His covenant, His miracles, His power. That’s Point 1.
But then he looks around and sees destruction:
God’s sanctuary desecrated, enemies mocking, and no sign from heaven.
That’s Point 2—he doesn’t rush past the grief.
He lets it breathe.
And here’s the turning point:
The psalmist doesn’t just grieve—he worships. He moves from asking, “Why?” to declaring, “Yet God is my King from of old.”
He begins to recount not just what God did for Israel—but who God is at His core: Creator, Deliverer, Ruler.
Because when the present looks dark and the future feels uncertain, we need to remember not just what God has done—but who He still is.
That’s where he turns next—and so should we.
Let’s move now into the third movement of the psalm:
Remember Who God Is and What He Has Done (vv. 9–17).
Remember Who God Is and What He Has Done (vv. 12–17)
Remember Who God Is and What He Has Done (vv. 12–17)
Verse 12 begins - Yet God -
12 Yet God my King is from of old, working salvation in the midst of the earth.
Up to this point, the psalmist has been lamenting the destruction of the temple, the silence of God, the triumph of enemies and the apparent absence of divine intervention.
This is one of those moments in scripture - but God.
Used in this way, these conjunctive words are theological pivot points.
Here in this psalm, this is a personal a covenantal confession of faith.
The writer doesn’t just say God is king, he says God is my King.
That personal possessive pronoun signals a relationship of trust and belonging, despite present chaos.
This is a bold confession in the context.
God’s throne on earth—has been burned (v. 7), and His signs are gone (v. 9).
Yet the psalmist clings to the truth that God’s rule has not ended.
He knows that God’s reign is unshakable.
He is king from of old.
In contrast to the newly risen enemies who have desecrated the sanctuary (vv. 4–8), God has always been King.
His unchanging nature gives hope amid shifting circumstances.
He is still working salvation in the midst of the heart.
The verses continue with reminders of what God has done.
The same God who parted the Red Sea (vv. 13–14), brought water from the rock (v. 15), and set boundaries in creation, created the seasons (vv. 16–17) is still active, even when we cannot see it.
When everything around you feels out of control, you must remember who God has always been.
The world may rage, the Church may suffer, evil may seem to triumph—but God remains King.
Faith reaches back to God’s past faithfulness to anchor present trust.
You may not understand what God is doing now, but you can rest in what He has done then.
These verses teaches us to preach the truth to ourselves—not once, but continually:
“God is my King. He is eternal. He is working salvation—even in this.”
In the face of personal pain, spiritual apathy, cultural decline, or suffering, Psalm 74:12 is a rallying cry for faith:
“Even if I don’t see it, I know my King reigns. He has delivered before. He will deliver again.”
God is not only the Redeemer of crises, but the sustainer of daily life.
Jesus is -
3 He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power. After making purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high,
Even when nothing seems to be “happening,” God’s control over creation is proof of His constant presence.
Perhaps you feel yourself in that place of desolation this morning.
You look around you and all you see are broken things.
Broken relationships, you feel distant from God,
So what do we do when everything feels broken and God seems silent?
We remember.
We rehearse the truth—again and again—that God is our King from of old, that He is working salvation, even when we cannot yet see the outcome.
This isn’t sentimental nostalgia.
It’s spiritual survival.
It’s not escapism—it’s anchoring your soul to the unchanging reality that your Redeemer lives and reigns.
And when you remember that, you’re not left passive.
You’re invited—like our psalmist—to plead boldly.
To say: “God, I know who You are. I know what You’ve done. So act again—for Your name’s sake. Rise up and defend Your cause.”
In other words: Faith doesn’t just remember God’s past power—it calls on Him to reveal it again in the present.
That’s exactly what Asaph does next.
And it’s what we’re invited to do too.
To shift from lament to bold intercession.
Plead Boldly for God to Act According to His Covenant (vv. 18–23)
Plead Boldly for God to Act According to His Covenant (vv. 18–23)
There is a series of imperatives here where the Psalmist is calling on God act in these final verses.
Verse 18 begins with the psalmist calling God to remember.
He uses the proper name for God.
When you see LORD in all caps in our English translations it is Yahweh -
a side not, a recent translation that I have been reading and enjoying actually takes and translates it each time as Yahweh.
The Hebrew word used here shows us that the Psalmist is calling on God to remember, make known, profess, the word even carries the meaning of take to court.
It is not like God has forgotten.
He not only wants God to remember the enemy and to avenge himself against them, but he is also concerned that God does not forget his people who are suffering.
What the psalmist is asking for here is action.
19 Do not deliver the soul of your dove to the wild beasts; do not forget the life of your poor forever.
They have already been physically given over to their enemies, what the psalmist is really asking for is not merely life in a biological sense.
He is saying, Lord don’t harden your heart towards us.
This isn't simply poetic.
It's an intimate, covenantal appeal.
The psalmist doesn’t say “a dove,” but “Your dove”—the cherished life of someone God claims as His own.
He is pleading with God don’t hand over the deepest life—the innermost being—of your beloved and defenseless people to ravaging forces.
To say ‘the soul of your dove’ is to pray not with power, but with belonging.
It’s to say: I am Yours. Fragile, maybe. But Yours.
Don’t let the world consume what You’ve called Your own.
Do not forget, have regard for, arise O God, defend your cause, do not forget.
Looking at these imperatives, it is natural to ask the question -
Is it wrong or irreverent to pray to God in this manner?
These here are direct, passionate, even urgent commands.
Not requests, not suggestions.
Commands directed to God.
We see multiple examples of this throughout the psalms.
This kind of praying is normal in lament because lament is a deep feeling.
It’s not wrong to use imperatives—it’s covenantal.
God’s people are not strangers to Him.
When we pray like this, we are:
Reminding God of His own promises (not because He forgets, but because we trust them).
Pouring out our heart honestly—which God invites
8 Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us. Selah
Clinging to the character and name of God as our only hope.
Imagine a child crying out to a loving parent:
“Come now! Help me! Remember what you promised! Don’t leave me!”
That’s not rebellion.
It’s relational trust expressed in desperation.
Jesus Models This Kind of Prayer
In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prayed:
“Abba, Father, all things are possible for you. Remove this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will” (Mark 14:36).
He begins with boldness: “Remove this cup” (an imperative).
He ends with surrender: “Yet not what I will…”
That balance—boldness grounded in relationship, and surrender rooted in trust—is what faithful prayer looks like.
It is what you can have if you have a relationship with God through Jesus Christ.
The psalmist isn’t commanding God as a general gives orders—he’s pleading with covenantal confidence, knowing:
God is good.
God is just.
God has made promises.
God loves His people.
To pray imperatives is to say:
“God, we trust You so much, we’re asking You to do exactly what You said You would do.”
That’s not arrogance—it’s faith.
This section is a model for us as Christians today on how to pray when we feel like everything is broken, like God is distant, when we are desperate and defenseless.
How do we pray in those situations?
As our psalmist does.
“Lord, don’t give over the deepest part of me—your beloved child—to the chaos around me.”
This is a prayer of identity-based trust:
“I don’t feel strong.”
“I’m not victorious right now.”
“But I am still Yours.”
Biblical prayer dares to speak boldly, not because we are entitled, but because God is faithful.
The imperatives of lament are not disrespectful commands but covenantal cries of desperate trust.
You are not praying from a place of entitlement, but from the deepest security imaginable—belonging.
You are the dove He cherishes.
You are the soul He redeemed (Ephesians 1:7; 1 Peter 1:18–19).
You are the life He won’t let go of, no matter what beasts roar around you (John 10:28–29).
