Big Buts of the Bible

“Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers, but whose delight is in the law of the LORD, and who meditates on his law day and night.”
—Psalm 1:1–2

I should probably begin with a confession.

Plants come to my house to die.

I don’t mean to kill them. I have nothing against plants. I actually like them. But somewhere between “This would look nice in the house” and remembering that living things apparently require regular attention, another innocent victim joins the botanical casualties.

Thankfully, the trees outside have considerably less dependence upon me.

And I’ve come to appreciate watching them move through their seasons. For a while they can look almost lifeless, branches bare and color gone. Then spring arrives and little signs of green begin appearing. Before long the trees are full again, thriving through spring and summer. Eventually fall begins showing around the edges, and they start looking a little older.

I can relate. My hairline long ago entered a rather advanced autumn.

Psalm 1 begins the Bible’s great collection of songs and prayers with a tree. But before we get to the tree, it asks us to consider something else: What is shaping us?

Walk. Stand. Sit.

“Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers…”

The words—wicked, sinners, righteous—can make us uncomfortable, particularly if we’ve heard them used primarily to divide humanity neatly into good people and bad people.

I don’t think that’s the most helpful way to hear Psalm 1.

The “righteous” person isn’t someone who never sins, never struggles, never doubts, or somehow manages to get everything right. And “wicked” doesn’t have to mean the sort of spectacular evil that gets somebody featured on the evening news.

Psalm 1 is describing directions. And notice the movement. Walk. Stand. Sit.

First, you’re moving alongside something. Then you stop there. Eventually, you pull up a chair. What begins as influence can become participation. What becomes participation can eventually become somewhere we make ourselves at home.

James describes something similar when he writes about desire drawing us away, giving birth to sin, and sin eventually growing into something destructive. Rarely do we wake up one morning and decide, Today seems like a good day to thoroughly wreck my life.

Usually, we drift.

One choice. One compromise. One resentment we keep feeding. One voice we continue listening to. One habit we stop questioning. Walk. Stand. Sit.

But.

Another Way to Be Shaped

“…but whose delight is in the law of the LORD, and who meditates on his law day and night.”

There’s our pivot.

Law needs a little unpacking too. If we hear that word and immediately picture a list of regulations with God standing nearby checking boxes, we’ll miss the beauty of the psalm.

The idea is God’s instruction—His Word, His wisdom, His way of teaching us how to live. And the psalmist doesn’t merely say the blessed person obeys it. He delights in it.

That’s different.

You can follow a rule because you’re afraid of what will happen if you don’t. You can perform a religious duty because somebody told you good Christians are supposed to do it.

Delight comes from somewhere deeper. This person has discovered something here worth returning to.

So he meditates on God’s Word “day and night.” That doesn’t mean walking around twenty-four hours a day mumbling Bible verses. It means God’s truth has become something he returns to, thinks about, carries with him, and allows to shape the way he sees his life.

He invests time there. And whatever receives our sustained attention eventually begins shaping us.

The human heart doesn’t remain empty for long. If we aren’t intentionally allowing something good and true to form us, plenty of other voices are eager to volunteer for the job.

Planted

Then Psalm 1 gives us the picture:

“That person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither…”

I love that it doesn’t say the tree is always producing fruit. It yields fruit in season.

There are seasons. Even healthy trees experience them.

There are seasons of visible growth and seasons when almost nothing appears to be happening. Seasons of abundance and seasons of waiting. Seasons when the branches look so bare we might wonder whether anything is alive in there at all.

Some of us know those seasons well.

Grief can feel like winter. So can disappointment. Depression. A broken relationship. Recovery. Waiting for something that doesn’t seem to be changing. Trying to rebuild after choices we wish we could undo.

Sometimes our lives don’t look particularly fruitful.

But the tree is still planted.

Its life isn’t determined entirely by what can be seen on the branches today. Beneath the surface, its roots remain near the water.

Maybe that’s one reason I find Psalm 1 more comforting than condemning. The invitation isn’t Get yourself together and become a better tree. It’s about where we’re planted.

Blessed

Psalm 1 begins with the word blessed.

Sometimes that’s translated “happy,” but happy can sound too dependent upon circumstances. Nobody feels cheerful through every season of life, and Scripture certainly doesn’t promise that people who spend time in God’s Word will somehow escape sorrow.

The Psalms themselves will make that abundantly clear.

Keep reading and you’ll encounter fear, anger, loneliness, confusion, enemies, tears, grief, repentance and questions shouted toward heaven.

Psalm 1 isn’t promising an easy life. It’s describing a rooted one.

A life receiving nourishment from somewhere deeper than today’s circumstances. That may be the blessing.

Not that winter never comes. Not that branches never become bare. Not that we never struggle, stumble, question, or hurt. But that there is still water available to the roots.

The Doorway to the Psalms

It’s interesting that Psalm 1 stands here, at the entrance to the entire Psalter.

Before we encounter all those songs of praise and cries of anguish, before David pours out his fears and celebrates his victories, before people ask How long, Lord? and Why? and Where are You?, we meet this tree.

And we’re asked, in effect: Where will you plant yourself as you enter?

What place will God’s Word occupy in your life? What voices will you allow to shape the way you understand yourself, your circumstances, other people—and God?

Those are worthwhile questions for all of us.

Because every day there are currents inviting us to walk with them. Places encouraging us to stand. Seats offering us somewhere to settle in.

Maybe your branches feel bare right now. Maybe this hasn’t been your most fruitful season. Maybe you’ve been walking in directions you know aren’t helping, or you’ve pulled up a chair somewhere you never intended to stay.

Grace means the story doesn’t have to end there.

Come back to the tree. Spend a little time next to the living water. Listen. Think. Let the roots drink.

Spring doesn’t arrive on our schedule.But trees planted beside living water have good reason to hope it will come.