Psalm 133: The Beauty of Lived Unity

I know the people who say what I’m about to share mean to be helpful, but I personally hate it. In fact, I think most honest parents who are in the absolute throes of parenting, hate it.

It goes like this: you’re sharing (cough *complaining*) about how hard it is changing poopy diapers all the time. Which funny story about that... I actually threw up on my oldest son once due to just such a situation. It went from bad to worse. I warned my Rachel! I told her my stomach couldn't handle it, but she just told me to suck it up and change the mess.

Well... the mess got bigger.

Anyways, you’re complaining. How long, Hooooowwww LLLOOONGGG until we’re done wiping butts! Seriously, how long till you can figure out the toilet paper situation by yourself?! You’re lamenting, you are exhausted, and then some well-meaning empty nester offers you their wisdom… and says the phrase…

"Oh, don’t wish these years away. They go so fast… and you know what I just miss it so much!"

I know there’s some truth in the statement and they mean well and so I smile and say something polite because I’m a pastor and I’m supposed to be kind. But in my head, I’m punching them in the face and screaming, "Don’t wish these days away?! I don’t think you remember what these precious years were like that you're waxing all nostalgic about!"

Folks, you want to deeply discourage a mother who is elbows-deep in dishes, diapers, and disobedience? Tell her not to wish those precious years away! She's gonna kill you!

Nobody who is crying out "How long?!" wants to hear these platitudes. How long must I break up fights? How many times do I have to say the exact same thing?

But it’s not just parents who feel this "How long." We all feel it.

And the "How longs” of life get a lot heavier than diapers, don’t they?

Right? Maybe it’s the quiet sigh of the man sitting in his car before walking into a dead-end job that is crushing his soul, wondering, How long do I have to do this just to pay the bills?

It’s the quiet despair at 2:00 AM, staring at your spouse's back as they sleep on the absolute furthest edge of the mattress. The ideal you had on your wedding day is dead. Your current reality cold… and so much less than you dreamed… how long your soul whispers…

And then there is the heaviest "How long" of all.

You sit across the small, scratched table at the coffee shop. The latte is cold. You just poured out your heart. You took a massive risk. You gave your best advice, your most loving attempt to share the grace and truth of the Gospel with someone you deeply love. Because the stakes are eternity.

And you watch their eyes glaze over. You watch them politely nod, stand up, and walk away. Unchanged. Rejecting the grace. Rejecting the truth. Rejecting you. Rejecting Jesus.

The door chimes as they leave. You just sit there. Staring at the empty mug. And the crushing weight of unreciprocated love hits you. How long, Lord? How long will I proclaim the gospel to my wayward kids… to my friends… to lost folks and see no fruit? How long will they rebel and turn their backs on You Lord? On me??

The pain in all of these situations is real, and if it’s not these situations, it’s another.

The reality is we all live in that agonizing gap between our ideals and our reality. We all hit these walls and our heads spin. It leaves us feeling completely lost.

And the question of life isn’t if you will hurt. The question is what you do with the pain when it comes. When our ideals meet a reality that’s somehow less than.

Our culture tells you to vent. Post your rant. Let it out into the void of the internet. Tell everyone your truth! But venting just creates an echo chamber. And ultimately it just makes you bitter and cynical. Venting is anger directed at the wind.

Religion, on the other hand, tells you to hide it. Put a spiritual band-aid on a bullet hole, as the great theologian Morgan Wallen would say… Paste on a smile. Walk into Crossroads, shake a hand, say, "I'm blessed, brother!" and pretend your soul isn't bleeding out!

But, venting doesn't help, it just makes you bitter; and faking it till you make it, only makes you more exhausted.

Church, the culture says vent. Religion says fake it. But the Gospel gives us a third way. Jesus says stop pretending and start pouring out.

Here’s our big idea for today: You have to pour out your pain to find your praise.

Turn with me to Psalm 13. King David is writing this and he writing from a time where he is the anointed king of Israel, but not the reigning King of Israel. Rather, when he writes, he’s living in a cold, damp cave. He is being hunted by Saul. He is exhausted. He should be enjoying his youth and his reign, but he’s on the run and that is less than ideal to him! It makes him feel completely lost!

And notice what he doesn't do. He doesn't paste on a religious smile for God. He pours out his raw, unfiltered pain. Listen to verses 1 and 2:

Psalm 13:1–2 NIV

1 How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? 2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look at the repetition. How long? How long? How long? How long? Four times.

David feels abandoned. He is tormented by his own thoughts. His mind is a chaotic loop of sorrow. He feels defeated. He brings his ugliest, most disappointed, rawest self directly to God.

It’s comforting to know a hero of the faith like David feels what we feel. But when we hit that low place of deep disappointment, where our ideal life meets a reality that’s so much less, the real question of our hearts isn't about David. It's: Does God get how we feel?

This is where it’s helpful to understand that often times, Biblical characters don’t point to themselves; they are meant to point us beyond themselves to Jesus. We don't worship David, right!? He was a man after God’s own heart sure, but also he failed miserably in other parts of his story. We don’t worship David. We look to him because he points us to someone infinitely better: Jesus, the Better King David!

And some of us believe Jesus is offended by our "How long." We think if we bring our raw, unfiltered disappointment to God, He'll cross His arms and question our faith.

But God is not offended by your "How long." He understands it, because He lived it. If you read the Gospels with this lens, you see Jesus constantly feeling the "How long" of a hard life—the slowness of His disciples, the stubbornness of religious leaders. There are countless examples, but there are 2 that I’ve been comforted by most in recent weeks, Jesus in Jerusalem, and Jesus at Nazareth.

Listen to the how long of Jesus in Jerusalem. It’s Palm Sunday. Jesus rides into the city on a colt and the crowd goes wild! Palm branches are waving. It looks like the ultimate success story. But have you ever felt profoundly alone in a crowded room? Have you ever been at a celebration, but internally you are carrying a crushing weight of sorrow? Jesus knows exactly what that feels like. He stops. He looks over the city. He knows they don't really want Him. They want what He can do for them. They want power and fame. They want a political mascot. They want an easy fix. And Jesus breaks down. He weeps. He wails over the city. “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem... how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing.”

How long!

And it wasn't just the faceless crowds in the big city that broke His heart. It was the people who knew Him best. Think about when Jesus returns to His hometown of Nazareth. He walks the dirt streets where He played as a boy. He looks into the faces of the people He grew up with. And those exact same people—His neighbors—drag Him to the edge of a cliff to try and throw Him off of it! Can you even imagine!

How long!

Jesus knows the agonizing pain of unreciprocated love. He knows the sting of rejection. Church, when you feel like a utility in your own marriage—where you are wanted for what you provide but not for who you are—Jesus knows that "How long." When you pour your heart into a wayward child, and they just want your resources but want nothing to do with your God—Jesus knows that "How long." He watched people He poured His life into walk away.

He knows the "How long."

Which means, you and I, we don't have to clean ourselves up to come to Him. We don't have to pretend it's painless. He is the Word made flesh who moved into the neighborhood of our grief. He stands in the dirt with us!

And because He does, you can do exactly what David does next in the Psalm.

David is sitting in the dirt of his own "How long?" And to be clear, he’s been talking to God this entire time. He isn't just venting his pain to the wind or online; he's complaining straight to the Almighty. But right here, he makes a massive pivot. He stops simply complaining about his pain, and he pushes into a bold demand.

Look at verses 3 and 4: Psalm13:3-4

Psalm 13:3–4 NIV

3 Look on me and answer, Lord my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death, 4 and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,” and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

Do you hear the shift? He goes from simply expressing his pain to pushing into a petition. Look on me! Answer me! It’s almost a demand. He takes all his confusion and he slams it right onto the throne of God. He pours it out.

And pay close attention to what he asks for: "Give light to my eyes."

Friends, when you are stuck in a heavy season of "How long," your eyes literally go dark. Exhaustion, depression, and grief take a massive physical and spiritual toll. You lose your perspective. You lose your vision for the future. David is saying, "God, if You don't break through this darkness, I am not going to make it."

But most of us are terrified to pray like this.

We don't want to bring our raw, bleeding, unfiltered hearts to God because we are afraid of what He will say. We expect God to fold His arms, look down His holy nose, and give us a theological lecture. "Well, Levi, don't wish these years away. Remember, I work all things together for good! Suck it up and read your Bible more."

If God can't empathize with us, who cares if the veil is torn and we have access to Him? I don't want to come confidently into a throne room just to get another lecture. I don't need a bumper sticker slogan cliche offered in a way that makes me feel small and stupid! I need someone to see me in the dark and offer me comfort!

Church, listen to me: Jesus does not minimize your pain. He legitimizes it.

The writer of Hebrews tells us that we have a High Priest who sympathizes with our weaknesses. Think about Jesus at the tomb of Lazarus. His friend has died. Mary and Martha are weeping. Jesus knows that in five minutes, He is going to shout into that tomb and Lazarus is going to walk out alive.

Now, Jesus does speak truth into that moment—He reminds Martha that He is the resurrection and the life. But when Mary falls at His feet weeping, He doesn't just offer her a theological lecture. He doesn't cross His arms and say, "Wipe your tears, where is your faith? Just watch what I'm about to do."

Instead, what does the shortest verse in the Bible say? Jesus wept (John 11:35). He enters into their pain. He cries with them. He legitimizes their grief. He proves that God sees you, God hears you, and God's heart breaks with yours. And then, He wipes His face, clears His throat, and screams into the darkness, "Lazarus, come out!"

Jesus empathizes with your pain, AND He has the sovereign power to do something about it. He doesn't just sit with us in the darkness; He speaks light into it.

And David, David knew this! It's why he didn't just sit alone with his "How longs"! He didn't just vent them into the ether... He brings them to God! The God of light. He lifts his tear-filled eyes to gaze on this God and demand that He do something! David knows that not only is He the only God who can do something, but that He's the only God good enough who cares enough to be moved by these tears!

Revelation speaks about the prayers of the saints. Do you know how God sees them? They are like sweet incense. And David in Psalm 56:8 says that God keeps count of our tossings, He puts our tears in a bottle because they are precious to Him!

Folks, when you bring your unfiltered, bleeding heart to a Savior God like this, He begins to lift the fog. He gives you the perspective, the comfort, and the vision you need to not just survive your "How long," but thrive in spite of it!

Now, I know this could just sound like an out-of-touch preacher spinning an inspiring story. I hope it is inspiring, but you may be wondering, "Ok, I see it, but how? What does this practically look like? How do I stop faking it and start letting God give light to my eyes? My How Long is pretty dark!”

First, get loud or get a pen. Turn off the radio in your car on your commute, roll up the windows, and just yell your frustration to God. Go for a walk in the woods and pray out loud. Or get a journal and write down your ugliest, most unfiltered prayers. Stop filtering yourself and just start pouring it out.

Second, listen. Once you've poured it out, practice listening prayer. Open the Word. Ask the Holy Spirit to speak into the silence and actually give light to your eyes.

And third, share it. Notice something about Psalm 13: David wrote this lament down. And then he gave it to the choir director! He shared it! He invited others into it.

You need to take what you've shared with God and share it with trusted, Godly friends. Invite them to speak light and truth into your life.

We have to do this, church. Because when we all put on our religious masks and pretend we have no pain, we create a culture of absolute isolation. If everyone is faking it, you are going to walk around feeling completely alone because your real, lived experience doesn't match the fake reality everyone else is projecting!

But when you live an honest, open-hearted life, you give the people around you permission to take their masks off, too.

That is why we can stop faking it. We don't have to paste a fake smile on our face when our world is falling apart. We have a Savior who wept, a King who conquers, and a church family to stands in the dark with us. Pour out your pain to find your praise.

And church, when you truly believe that—when you stop pretending and start pouring out your pain to a God like this—something miraculous happens to our hearts. We find our praise.

Look at how Psalm 13 ends. David has poured out his pain. He has petitioned. He has demanded an answer. And then, in verse 5, the entire psalm pivots on one massive word:

Psalm 13:5–6 NIV

5 But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. 6 I will sing the Lord’s praise, for he has been good to me.

Look closely at those verses. Has David’s situation changed? No. Is Saul still hunting him? Yes. Is he still living in a damp, cold cave? Yes. The enemy hasn't been defeated yet. The trial isn't over yet.

But David chooses to sing anyway. Why? Because praise isn't based on a change in your circumstances; it's based on the character of God. David anchors his present pain in God’s past faithfulness.

How could David sing in a cave? Because he looked backward. He looked at the history of his people. And he looked at his own messy life.

Think about David's story. He was a no-name shepherd. The absolute runt of the family. There are even strong biblical clues and traditions that suggest David was an outcast, treated by his older brothers as an illegitimate child. When the prophet Samuel came to anoint a king, David's dad didn't even bother to invite him into the house. He left him out in the dirt.

But God looked at the runt, the outcast, the forgotten kid in the dirt, and said, "That's my guy." God took that forgotten shepherd boy, used him to slay a nine-foot giant named Goliath, and made him King of Israel!

And now, David sits in that cave, surrounded by enemies, and says, "If God was faithful to me then, He will be faithful to me now. He has been good to me." He’s still got a reason to praise!

Church, if David could look back at his messy life and find the courage to trust God in the dark... how much more can we?!

David had to look back at a dead giant. We get to look back at an empty tomb!

We look back at Jesus. Jesus didn't just empathize with our pain; He marched directly into the ultimate giant we faced—Death and Chaos. He stormed the gates of hell, disarmed the enemy, and walked out of the grave alive! He is risen, and He is reigning over it all.

But listen to me: The God who is risen and reigning is not an angry principal waiting in His office to lecture you about your lack of faith! He is Emmanuel. God with us. He has the heart of a loving Father.

Think about what He did on the cross. While He was hanging there, bleeding out, suffocating under the weight of our sin, what did He do? He prayed for you. He looked at the people mocking Him and cried out, "Father, forgive them, for they don't know what they're doing!" He was saying, “Father, forgive them, because they can’t see that the 'how long' of their hearts has its expiration in me! Forgive them!”

Folks... if that picture of Jesus doesn't make you praise... you're not seeing Him!

Because of Jesus, no matter what you are facing down today, you still have a reason to praise. The grave is empty. The curse is broken. And one day, He is returning to wipe every tear from your eyes and make all things new.

But to find your praise, you’ve got to begin by pouring out your pain to this merciful Savior.

So stop pretending it's painless. Take off the religious mask. You don't have to carry that crushing weight by yourself anymore. Bring your raw, unfiltered, bleeding heart to Emmanuel. He is with you in the waiting.

Pour out your pain to find your praise. Let's pray.

Father, thank You that we don't have to fake it. Thank You for Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us. For the marriages that are struggling, for the exhausted parents, for the heavy diagnoses, and for the heartbreak of wayward kids... Lord, we cry out, "How long?" Meet us in the waiting. Give us the courage to pour out our pain. Remind us of the cross, where You secured our forgiveness, and point our eyes to the empty tomb, so that no matter what we face, we can find our praise. In Jesus' name, Amen.