“The fear of the Lord” is our heart’s awakening to and recognition of God’s outrageous goodness.
A lifetime spent studying the intricacies of the Hebrew language still might result in only scratching the outermost surface of its depth, beauty, and complexity. Philologists have scrutinized and grappled with the ancient linguistic form for millennia, and yet we are still coming to blows over its lyricism and scope of meaning. Nowhere is this more true than in the poetic books that appear in the Old Testament, where much of the genius of the Hebrew poets remains lost to us. It’s there, but it requires patience and diligence to notice it, qualities that are becoming increasingly scarce. This is due, in large part, to the process of translating Hebrew into English. For example, Psalm 111 is an acrostic psalm, which means that each of the twenty-two lines after the first line of the first verse (which functions as the title) are all carefully composed so that they begin with the successive letters of the Hebrew alphabet (Ps. 111:1–10).
This wasn’t the psalmist’s attempt to be coy or cute. Rather, he was assisting his readers so they might know and understand what worship was all about. In other words, Psalm 111 (and others like it, such as Ps. 112, 119, and 145) is not only a specimen of Hebrew eloquence but also an ancient mnemonic device, the purpose of which was to imbue worshipers with the requisite understanding of what it means and what it looks like to praise the Lord. Put another way, through the aesthetic elegance of Psalm 111, the anonymous psalmist gives his congregation a basic lesson in what it means to say “hallelujah” with their “whole heart” (Ps. 111:1). As we are given the A-B-C’s of an Israelite worship service, we too can see what should reverberate through the halls of churches.
1. Worship that’s fueled by wonder.
As the psalmist begins his anthem of praise to the Lord, he expresses the incentive for giving thanks in the first place. The “hallelujah” that fills his entire being with praise emerges from remembrance of the innumerably and incalculably great works of God (Ps. 111:2). For the “congregation” as well as the individual, these constitute the motivating impulse of praise, compelling one and all to ascribe worth to he who works and has worked for the sake of his people throughout history and time. To dare to use modern parlance, as the “worship leader,” the psalmist invites the whole assembly to praise the Lord not because of anything they’ve done but solely because of the Lord alone.
What fills the hearts and mouths of these worshipers is the goodness and righteousness of God, which endure forever.
What brings this “company of the upright” together has nothing inherently to do with them. This isn’t a gathering of good people coming together to celebrate each other’s goodness. Their anthem isn’t “Look at how good we are and how much better we’re becoming!” Instead, what fills the hearts and mouths of these worshipers is the goodness and righteousness of God, which endure forever. The theme of this worship service is thanksgiving or “gratitude” (Ps. 111:1), a countenance that emerges out of the recognition that something was done for you or given to you by someone else. Those who are grateful are those who are aware that they’re the recipients of grace. The psalmist’s call to worship, therefore, is an invitation to collectively acknowledge God’s faithfulness and favor, an invitation that still summons the church to assemble.
God’s works are the match to the flame of our praise. The reason the church gathers will always be his work for us. “The church itself,” Martin Luther comments, “does not follow its own work and word, but the Word of God” (13:383). To put a spotlight on our works, therefore, does nothing except expose them for what they are — namely, shoddy examples of what it looks like to be righteous (Isa. 64:6). Worship that puts us at the center is a nonstarter since we don’t have any works that are “worthy” to be celebrated, let alone worshiped. There is nothing within the church’s liturgy that permits the focus to fall on us, on what we’ve done, or on what we bring to the table (which, in all honesty, is nothing but sin anyway). What incentivizes the people of God to assemble is exclusively God’s works and no one else’s.
2. Remembering and rejoicing.
Not only are the works of God the reason for our worship, but they are also the contents of our worship. The “what” of the psalmist’s “hallelujah,” likewise, emerges from God’s great works. As he rallies God’s people to praise the Lord, he articulates some of the things God has done for them (Ps. 111:4–8).
While, at first, these might seem like generic reasons to worship the Lord, they are, in fact, deeply rooted in the history of the people of God. For instance, the triad of “he provides,” “he remembers,” and “he has shown” is not a cliché affirmation of God’s ability to provide or stay faithful to his word. Instead, it brings to mind all the times he was patient with his incessantly frustrating and ungrateful people, sustaining them throughout their journey through the wilderness. When they were hungry, he fed them with food from heaven. When they were thirsty, he called forth water from a rock. When the Israelites went back on their word or when they failed to stay true to God’s words, he was the one who remembered his covenant. When that nation of nomads and former slaves arrived at the edge of the Red Sea, with an army of Egyptians barreling down on them, he was the one who definitively and unmistakably put “the power of his works” on display by splitting that body of water in two and bringing them to safety.
These are just the tip of the iceberg of God’s “wondrous works,” with countless others left unmentioned. Nevertheless, the subject of our worship is the works that invite us to worship in the first place. In other words, God’s works are not only the match to the flame of our praise, they’re also the gasoline. What stokes the praise of God’s people are the trustworthiness, power, and wonder of God’s works on their behalf. The stimulant and substance of the church’s hallelujah is the faithful activity of the Lord, which surpasses all understanding. Accordingly, this call to worship is a call to remember (Ps. 111:4). God designed our worship to be a living memorial of his power and grace. All those altars set up by the patriarchs, all those rituals performed by the saints of old were not only signaling their devotion to God but also God’s devotion to them. Through them, he instituted a way for all of his works to be “remembered.”
The ultimate hope of God’s people has always been tethered to his promise to rescue and redeem them.
The whole assembly “of the upright” is one of continual remembrance of the “gracious and merciful” deeds of the Lord. “He proclaims to us in this remembrance,” Luther observes, “the mighty, powerful, wonderful works which He did for us when He drowned our sin in His blood, killed our death in His body, and by His death and resurrection conquered and cast down the power of the devil.” (13:377). The church’s “hallelujah,” therefore, is a corporate marveling at all of God’s works on their behalf in the past, which not only tell them what to bank on in the present but also how to navigate the future (Ps. 111:7–8). This is the truth that resonates even more profoundly with us since the greatest expectation of the psalmist’s worship has already been fulfilled.
As the psalmist details the contents of the people’s praise, he arrives at the best of all of God’s works. “He sent redemption to his people,” the psalmist declares, “he has commanded his covenant forever. Holy and awesome is his name!” (Ps. 111:9). The ultimate hope of God’s people has always been tethered to his promise to rescue and redeem them. But, praise be, we are not still waiting and hoping God will be true to his word and send his redemption to us. This has been accomplished for us in the person and work of Jesus Christ, who is the divine epitome that redemption is extended to us not after we’ve gotten our act together, but while we’re all still face-down in the muck and mire of our sin and filth.
3. The fear that sets us free.
As the psalmist concludes his open invitation to “give thanks to the Lord,” he caps it off by reminding everyone why this is so important. “The fear of the Lord,” he says, “is the beginning of wisdom; all those who practice it have a good understanding. His praise endures forever!” (Ps. 111:10). The phrase “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” is one that appears several times throughout the Old Testament (cf. Prov. 1:7; 9:10; 15:33; Job 28:28, etc.). But it is crucial that we don’t misconstrue the instruction being given. Whoever the psalmist might have been, he isn’t insinuating that “true worship” begins with a fearful sense that “God’s always watching.” The “fear” he refers to is not the timid or terrifying posture of a kid who has just broken Mom’s favorite vase. Neither panic nor dread informs our praise. This is awe — that is, the jaw-dropping, heart-stopping realization that there will never be enough lifetimes to give God thanks for everything that he has accomplished for us and given to us.
“The fear of the Lord” is our heart’s awakening to and recognition of God’s outrageous goodness. Accordingly, those who are wise are those who have finally understood how little they bring to the table in light of what God has done. This isn’t the “wisdom of the world,” which prioritizes humanity’s logic and credentials. Rather, this is the wisdom of the cross, wherein the world is shown the apex of God’s great works in the bloody demise of his own Son (1 Cor. 1:18–25). In the ghastly scene at Golgotha, “we do indeed behold,” Charles Simeon once wrote, “the perfections of our God shining forth, as it were, in meridian splendour” (6:257). Since the apotheosis of God’s work is manifest in the “folly of the cross,” those “who have a good understanding” are those whose faith is in the God who was crucified for them. Indeed, at the heart of the worship of Christ’s church is the upside-down wisdom of the cross, which not only compels us to “give thanks” but also serves as the prevailing priority of our worship. Over and above anything else that fills the sanctuaries of churches are God’s everlasting deeds of righteousness and mercy, in which and because of which sinners are made righteous.
