Psalm 110 - Sermon1

INTRODUCTION

This past Friday — just two days ago — four astronauts splashed down in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of San Diego. They had just completed NASA’s Artemis II mission — the first time human beings have traveled to the moon and back in over fifty years. 270,000 miles from earth. And when you see the images that came back from that distance — the earth from out there — you see what every astronaut who has ever left this planet sees. A small, blue marble hanging in an infinite black sea. No borders. No noise. No headlines. Just this tiny, fragile, beautiful thing suspended in the dark.

Those four astronauts are probably still getting their land legs back this morning. And we are talking about the God who made the universe they just traveled through.

And the longer you look at that image the more the questions come.

Is there a point to all of this? Are we just a biological accident on a tiny rock orbiting an average star in one of hundreds of billions of galaxies? If the universe is that vast and we are that small — is there any reason to think that anyone is in charge? And if someone is in charge, do they actually know what they’re doing — and do they care about us?

Those are not small questions. And they’re not just philosophical questions. They’re the questions underneath the anxiety that a lot of us carry every single day. The headlines feel chaotic. The world feels unstable. And somewhere deep down, the fear is this: nobody is steering.

This morning I want to show you that somebody is steering. And that he published his plans — in a psalm, written by a shepherd king three thousand years ago — so that we could read them.

But first — let me take you to Jerusalem. Fifty days after Easter.

The city is packed. It’s the day of Pentecost — one of the great Jewish festivals — and Jews from every corner of the Roman world have made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. The streets are full, the temple courts are crowded, and the disciples of Jesus are gathered together in an upper room.

And then it happens.

The sound of a rushing wind fills the house. Tongues of fire appear and rest on each of them. And they begin to speak — in languages they have never learned — languages that the crowd outside recognizes as their own. People from Parthia, Media, Egypt, Rome — every one of them hearing the wonders of God declared in their native tongue.

The crowd is stunned. Some are amazed. Some think they’re watching a group of people who have had too much to drink at nine in the morning.

And into that moment steps Peter.

This is the same Peter who seven weeks earlier was warming himself by a courtyard fire while Jesus stood trial, and when a servant girl pointed at him and said you were with him — he said no. Three times. I don’t know him. That Peter. And now he stands up in front of thousands of people and opens his mouth — and he is not nervous. He is not apologizing. He is not hedging. He is certain.

What happened to Peter between that courtyard and this moment is the whole point of Easter. He stopped getting his news from the courtyard fire. He started getting it from somewhere else.

And here is what he says: what you are watching right now was planned long ago. The prophet Joel spoke of it. King David spoke of it. The resurrection of Jesus was not a surprise ending — it was always where the story was going. And to prove it, Peter does what every good preacher does — he closes with his best material. He quotes from the Old Testament. From Psalm 110:

“For David did not ascend to heaven, and yet he said, ‘The Lord said to my Lord: “Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet.”’”  — Acts 2:34–35 (NIV)

And then the grand finale:

“Therefore let all Israel be assured of this: God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Messiah.”  — Acts 2:36 (NIV)

Peter leaves no room for doubt. Joel spoke of it. David spoke of it. The God who made 200 billion galaxies showed up in an upper room in Jerusalem, set the church age in motion, and fulfilled a promise that had been waiting a thousand years. The cosmic became specific. The infinite became personal. And the plan — it turns out — had always included you.

Today I want to land especially on that closing Old Testament quote from Peter — Psalm 110. And I want to do this for three reasons.

First, Psalm 110 is the most quoted and alluded to psalm in the entire New Testament. Matthew, Mark, and Luke all reference it. It appears here in Acts. Paul makes frequent use of it in Romans, 1 Corinthians, Ephesians, and Colossians. The writer of Hebrews refers back to it multiple times. It even shows up in the final book of the Bible. It is clear that this psalm meant a great deal to the inspired writers of the New Testament — it contained an important message.

Second, this psalm is a powerful reminder that the Bible is one unified story. The Old Testament is the New Testament concealed; the New Testament is the Old Testament revealed. As the BibleProject puts it: “The Bible is a unified story that leads to Jesus.” Psalm 110 is exhibit A.

Third, this psalm answers a critical question for our day and age — it speaks directly to us today. It speaks to the anxiety we often feel as we watch the news unfold before our eyes. This psalm reminds us of one of the most important truths in all the world: Jesus is King.

THE PSALM

So let me take you there. Open your Bibles to Psalm 110.

Seven verses. Written by David roughly a thousand years before the birth of Jesus. And yet the early church couldn’t stop quoting it. When the New Testament writers wanted to explain who Jesus was and what he had accomplished, they kept coming back to this one psalm. Over and over again.

Here it is in its entirety:

“The Lord says to my Lord: ‘Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet.’ The Lord will extend your mighty scepter from Zion, saying, ‘Rule in the midst of your enemies!’ Your troops will be willing on your day of battle. Arrayed in holy splendor, your young men will come to you like dew from the morning’s womb. The Lord has sworn and will not change his mind: ‘You are a priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek.’ The Lord is at your right hand; he will crush kings on the day of his wrath. He will judge the nations, heaping up the dead and crushing the rulers of the whole earth. He will drink from a brook along the way, and so he will lift his head high.”  — Psalm 110 (NIV)

Now — read that and you might be a little lost. Melchizedek. Crushing kings. What is going on here? We’ll unpack all of that over the next three weeks. But today I want us to focus on just that first verse.

“The Lord says to my Lord: ‘Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet.’”  — Psalm 110:1 (NIV)

This is often called a Royal Psalm — it declares the kingship of Christ. In David’s time, the full meaning may not have been as clear as it is to us. But as we see how the New Testament uses it, it becomes unmistakable: this psalm has Jesus in mind. In fact, Jesus himself removes all doubt:

“While Jesus was teaching in the temple courts, he asked, ‘Why do the teachers of the law say that the Messiah is the son of David? David himself, speaking by the Holy Spirit, declared: “The Lord said to my Lord: Sit at my right hand until I put your enemies under your feet.” David himself calls him Lord. How then can he be his son?’ The large crowd listened to him with delight.”  — Mark 12:35–37 (NIV)

Jesus is pointing to himself. Yes, he is the son of David — but at the same time he is David’s Lord. He is both. And David, writing by the Spirit, gets a glimpse into that reality — a fulfillment of the promise God had already made centuries earlier that a descendant of David would sit on a throne that would last forever (2 Samuel 7:16). God promised a king whose reign would never end. That is the primary storyline of Scripture.

Jesus arrives as that king — born in Bethlehem, welcomed into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, crucified — which doesn’t seem to fit the king narrative at all. But on Easter he is raised from the dead, and after the resurrection he takes his place at the right hand of God. Reigning.

That is the one thing I most want us to see in Psalm 110 today: Jesus is reigning.

NEWS FROM HEAVEN

Do you ever wonder who is in charge? Or whether anyone is in charge at all? And if someone is in charge, does he really know what he’s doing — and does he actually care about us? This psalm speaks directly to that anxiety. It is a psalm written by a king, about a king — someone even greater than himself. And it declares that there is a throne, there is a king on it, and that king is Jesus.

I also want to notice something unique about this psalm. David is sharing with us a conversation he overhears — a conversation in heaven. Look again at verse 1:

“The Lord says to my Lord: ‘Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet.’”  — Psalm 110:1 (NIV)

Think about what that means. Imagine a journalist who somehow got access to a private conversation between the most powerful figures in the world — before any of the events they were discussing had even taken place. And then published it. That is what David did. He was given access to a conversation in the throne room of the universe and he published it in the hymnbook of Israel. They sang it for a thousand years before they fully understood it. And now we hold it in our hands.

How remarkable — David is hearing from heaven. And we need to hear from heaven, don’t we? We read and hear so much from our preferred news outlets — and I’m not saying that’s wrong — but perhaps we give them more attention than we give to what is coming from heaven. We need to hear from heaven. We need to get our news from heaven.

Now, David overhears two Lords speaking to each other, and this can be a little confusing. Let’s look at it more closely. The first “Lord” is in all caps — in most English translations that indicates the personal name of God, which we would render as Yahweh. The second “Lord” is not in all caps — the Hebrew word is Adonai. Most scholars conclude that this is a conversation between the first two persons of the Godhead: God the Father speaking with God the Son.

Isn’t it beautiful that we get to hear this conversation? We have access to the strategy and plans of God — and knowing that there is a plan should bring us peace. It is so important that we understand this: everything we have celebrated over the last couple of weeks — Palm Sunday, the betrayal, the crucifixion, the resurrection — all of it was planned long ago.

This is not history spinning out of control.  This is a strategy.

A strategy that traces back not just to this psalm, but all the way to Genesis — and even before that, to the foundation of the world.

God has always had this plan. David gets to overhear it. We get to overhear it. And on this side of the cross, we have witnessed it fulfilled.

Spurgeon couldn’t get over this either. Writing on this very psalm he said:

“How condescending on Jehovah’s part to permit a mortal ear to hear, and a human pen to record his secret converse with his co-equal Son! How greatly should we prize the revelation of his private and solemn discourse with the Son, herein made public for the refreshing of his people! Lord, what is man that thou shouldst thus impart thy secrets unto him!”

— C.H. Spurgeon, The Treasury of David, Vol. 4, p. 460

That’s exactly right. We have been let in on the conversation. We get to overhear heaven.

JESUS IS SITTING

Let’s notice something else in verse 1 — the very first words of the conversation:

“The Lord says to my Lord: ‘Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet.’”  — Psalm 110:1 (NIV)

Jesus is sitting. That is not just an observation — it is a theological gem. Hebrews makes use of Psalm 110, and it leans hard into this idea of sitting:

“Day after day every priest stands and performs his religious duties; again and again he offers the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins. But when this priest had offered for all time one sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God, and since that time he waits for his enemies to be made his footstool. For by one sacrifice he has made perfect forever those who are being made holy.”  — Hebrews 10:11–14 (NIV)

The contrast is striking. The Old Testament priests never got to sit down. Their work was never done — sacrifice today, repeat tomorrow, repeat again the day after that. But Jesus sits down. His sacrifice is finished. His one offering is all it takes — all it will ever take — to restore the relationship between God and man. We can find peace in that. We can rest in our salvation. Remember what John wrote:

“I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God so that you may know that you have eternal life.”  — 1 John 5:13 (NIV)

Jesus is sitting. Which means we can rest. We can have confidence.

In the ancient world, when a battle was truly over, the victorious general would sit down — right there on the field. Not retreat to his tent. Not begin planning the next campaign. Sit. In full view of his army and his enemies. It was a public declaration: this fight is finished. I am not worried about a counterattack. It is done.

That is the image behind “sit at my right hand.” Jesus is not in some war room pacing the floor, anxious about how things are going to turn out. He sat down. In full view of heaven and earth. The work is complete. The battle is won.

What we have celebrated over the last couple of weeks gives us that same rest. The work is finished. We can carry a calm about us that the world simply cannot explain.

Spurgeon saw this clearly when he wrote:

“His work is done, and he may sit; it is well done, and he may sit at his right hand; it will have grand results, and he may therefore quietly wait to see the complete victory which is certain to follow.”

— C.H. Spurgeon, The Treasury of David, Vol. 4, p. 461

The priests stood because the work was never finished. Jesus sits because it is.

THE RIGHT HAND

Now notice also where Jesus is seated — at the right hand. This is the position of authority. Jesus is not just resting; he is reigning. This is how Paul uses it in 1 Corinthians:

“Then the end will come, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father after he has destroyed all dominion, authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet.”  — 1 Corinthians 15:24–25 (NIV)

He is reigning — but there is an implication that the victory, although absolutely secure, is still waiting to be fully consummated. Until I make your enemies a footstool. The outcome is not in doubt. The battle, however, is not yet over.

There may be days when it seems like evil is making a comeback. Days when it even seems like evil might win.

I watch a lot of sports — maybe too much. But one thing I’ve been paying attention to is something called the win probability. It’s a live percentage that tracks which team is likely to win as the game unfolds. And I’ve noticed that my anxiety level tracks almost exactly with the win probability of my team. As many of you know, the Patriots are my team. In 2017 they played the Atlanta Falcons in the Super Bowl. Let me show you the win probability chart for that game:

(Show Super Bowl win probability chart)

The Patriots started as favorites, but it was all downhill from there. By the third quarter they were down 28–3. At one point Atlanta’s win probability was 99%. I was defeated. But then the comeback began, and minute by minute the Patriots’ win probability climbed — until it reached 100% when they won in overtime.

Those kinds of games produce an unreasonable amount of anxiety. And I say unreasonable because — it’s just a sport. But it happens. Ask my wife — she doesn’t need to look at any graph to know the win probability. She just looks at me.

When we doubt the victory we are vulnerable to anxiety — anxiety that can rob us of our joy.

Which is why I want to show you one more chart:

(Show God vs. Satan win probability chart)

Look closely at that. The win probability for God has been 100% from beginning to end. The outcome has never been in doubt. And that is exactly what David overhears in this psalm. Spurgeon said it plainly:

“Therefore there is no cause for alarm whatever may happen in this lower world; the sight of Jesus enthroned in divine glory is the sure guarantee that all things are moving onward towards ultimate victory.”

— C.H. Spurgeon, The Treasury of David, Vol. 4, p. 461

The chart just puts that in modern language.

A FOOTSTOOL FOR YOUR FEET

“Until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet.” That is the language of overwhelming, total, decisive victory. In fact, this same image appears in the book of Joshua during Israel’s conquest of the land:

“When they had brought these kings to Joshua, he summoned all the men of Israel and said to the army commanders who had come with him, ‘Come here and put your feet on the necks of these kings.’ So they came forward and placed their feet on their necks. Joshua said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Be strong and courageous. This is what the Lord will do to all the enemies you are going to fight.’”  — Joshua 10:24–25 (NIV)

Let that image sink in. Now picture King Jesus — his foot on the neck of every power, every ruler, every force that sets itself up against him.

What David overhears is this: the victory is never in doubt.

There’s another way to think about this. Have you ever been watching a movie — forty minutes in, everything is going wrong for the hero, the tension is unbearable — and your friend who has already seen it leans over and whispers: don’t worry, it ends well.

Everything changes. You’re still watching the same movie. The same hard scenes are still on the screen. But you’re not anxious anymore, because you know how it ends.

That is what Psalm 110 is. God leaning over and whispering: don’t worry. I’ve already seen how this ends. The king is on his throne. Sit down. Watch.

Now — I am not saying this world isn’t hard. I am not saying everything is going to go our way. There will be days when we feel defeated. But that is exactly why we need this psalm. This psalm reminds us that in the darkest of times, King Jesus is victorious. We have word from headquarters itself. And if this news doesn’t help quiet our sorrows and our fears and our concerns — then perhaps we are more tuned in to the news from below than to the news from above.

Psalm 110. How we need it in these days. Jesus is King. He is exalted. And we can live in the joy of that victory.

INVITATION

Before we sing I want to give you a moment to respond to what we’ve looked at this morning.

Maybe you walked in today and the weight of the world has been on your shoulders. The headlines. The uncertainty. The sense that things are spinning out of control. And somewhere along the way you stopped trusting and started white-knuckling — trying to manage outcomes that were never yours to manage in the first place.

Today is a good day to loosen your grip.

The king is on his throne. The victory is secure. The win probability has been 100% since before the foundation of the world. And the same God who planned the resurrection, who raised Jesus from the dead, who seated him at his own right hand — that God knows your name, and he is not nervous.

You don’t have to be either.

If you’ve never placed your trust in Jesus — this is what you’d be trusting. Not a philosophy. Not a religion. A king. A real one. Who died, rose, and reigns. And whose victory you can share in — starting today.

Whatever you walked in carrying this morning — whatever headline has been living rent-free in your head, whatever fear has been keeping you up at night — I want you to set it down for just a moment. Because there is a king on the throne, his victory is secure, and his name is worth celebrating.

Let’s stand and sing.