Loading...
Search, filter, and discover the perfect illustration for your sermon
Free to browse · Sign up free to unlock most illustrations · Premium ($9.95/mo) for the full library of 50,000+ illustrations
Yet Spurgeon's commentator, John Field, clarifies what this plea was *not*: it was no prayer *to* David, nor did it suggest the dead saints intercede for us.
"He shall call to the heavens from above, and to the earth" (Psalm 50:4).
If they are driven hard one day, all the animals will die.' He did not demand that his reconciled brother match his slower journey, but instead stated his reason openly so he would not be thought unkind.
Spurgeon identifies four critical matters that constitute our main concern in prayer.
Basil observed that these saints possessed such extraordinary courage and confidence amid their sufferings that watching heathens witnessed their heroic zeal and constancy—and turned to Christ themselves.
Yet we must consider the mangled victims left in their wake—those who trafficked in cunning and deception, proving specially obnoxious to the Almighty.
First, observe the *condition*—the small word "So" anchors everything.
Rather, He sets him apart for Himself—to converse with him, to communicate Himself to him as a friend and companion, making him His delight.
When danger surrounds us, our fear knows no bounds—we sense the full weight of our peril.
Similarly, when a musician strikes an out-of-tune instrument, he produces sound but the instrument's broken strings produce the jarring discord.
This seems counterintuitive until we understand what Spurgeon observed: the subjects of God's people's joy extend far beyond comfort and blessing.
Many people attribute their deliverance to fortune or their own skill, yielding only scattered praise to God.
Consider Pharaoh—his wise men, his armies, his chariots—plunging into the Red Sea like lead, sinking beneath the waters.
Yet the psalmist's reply contains crushing power: "Our God is in heaven; all that he pleased he has done." Consider the contrast Martin Geier illuminated with surgical precision.
The margin reads, "Set your heart to her bulwarks." This is no passing glance or negligent inspection; it demands wholehearted attention and deliberate investigation.
This vivid image captures the predicament of our Saviour as He faced His persecutors.
Consider the work of mortification—to pluck out our eyes, to chop off our hands, to cut off our feet.
The mountains sing their praise (Isaiah 54:12), the valleys echo with melody (Psalm 65:13), and the trees of the wood lift their voices (1 Chronicles 16:33).
Henry Smith, the Elizabethan preacher, illuminated this image with piercing clarity: arrows, once released from the bow, fly toward their intended target with no power to recall them.
His affliction becomes a wall that separates the sufferer from all comfort.
The God who owns all cattle on a thousand hills needs neither meat nor blood from human hands.
First, the object of love is clear: "Thy commandments"—not the psalmist's own desires or the world's counsel, but the very Word of Elohim *theos* (God).
The Lord Yahweh endured the unspeakable sorrows and agonies of crucifixion in perfect, marvelous silence—the scourging, the mockery, the nails, the darkness.
Our Lord entrusted His gospel to merely twelve apostles—destitute of human learning, worldly influence, and secular power.