What kind of a person am I? Chinua Achebe describes a kind of man many of us feel. He says, “they were mostly the kind of people that were called ufulefu, worthless, empty men. The imagery of an efulefu in the language of the clan was a man who sold his machete and wore the sheath to battle” (Things Fall Apart, 143). Whoever I am or become, I don’t want to be that man, wearing a sheath to battle. But all of us are exactly that.
In Psalm 99 the poet encourages us to be like three named figures: Moses, Aaron, and Samuel. We actually don’t see this very much in the Psalms. Moses is mentioned seven times, once as the author of a Psalm (Ps. 90), and never as an example. Moses is mentioned as a character in the story of redemption. Aaron is mentioned nine times, four times as a partner of Moses, three times as the head of the “house of Aaron”), and once, famously, in a snapshot of one being anointed for ministry (Ps. 133:2). But never as an example to follow. Samuel? This is the only time he is mentioned in the Psalms.
The point is that here the poet is commending examples to follow. We see from the beginning that there is a problem with his immediate audience, namely, that people do not “tremble” before the Lord (v. 1). At the end of the psalm the poet instructs us to return to that time when He revealed Himself at Mt. Sinai, and terrified every person in the crowd: “exalt the Lord our God and worship at His holy mountain, for the Lord our God is holy (v. 9)!” The poet assesses his audience as a people who are no longer impressed by God.
The prescription to follow the example of Moses, Aaron, and Samuel, is surprising. Usually when we commend the actions of another who is worthy of imitation, we elevate the virtues of that person. Perhaps you heard from parents, Why can’t you be like so-and-so? This was normally followed by all of the virtues of so-and-so that are apparently lacking in your own life.
The poet has a different approach. Notice what it is that is being commended in the lives of Moses, Aaron, and Samuel: they called upon God. The poet wants us to see God through the lens of God’s people who desperately need Him. Do you see that these three men were not the virtuous examples of so-and-so from your childhood? These men sinned, and so needed a “forgiving God” (v. 8). These men did bad things, “wrongdoings” (v. 8). They literally performed deeds that were opposed to the commands of God (see also Dt. 22:14) and, so, these men needed a God who is an “avenger.”
In fact, according to this short psalm, what these men are most known for is needing a God who responds. Despite the terror of this God in verses 1 and 9, there is no other god for these three men to cry out to. The poet says that they “called upon His name” and “called to the Lord (v. 6).” Even if we cannot recall the precise sins and wrongdoings of these three men, the poet does not hesitate in the slightest to tell us that they were sinners and wrongdoers. At the same time, the great sum of these men, the action that can be counted upon to emulate in your own life, is that they were aware enough of their desperate need to cry out to the terrifying God of the mountain. And He answered. Repeatedly.
Nineteenth century French pastor, Adolphe Monod, says that “life is also good because we can serve Jesus Christ, glorify Jesus Christ, imitate Jesus Christ. It is not worth living for anything else. All that we have of strength, of breath, of life, of resources must be consecrated, devoted, sanctified, crucified for the service of our Lord Jesus Christ (Living in the Hope of Glory, from the Les Adieux sermons, 61).” To be sure, the great task of life is not to heartlessly mimic Jesus. But there is a precious reality that Psalm 99 brings to our attention. As Christians, we are not tasked with living the perfect life. We are the ones running into battle with a sheath, but no sword. We are the empty ones. We are tasked, however, with sincerely and frequently acknowledging our need and crying out to the God who supplies the machete to our sheath, who supplies our every need, even the need that can only be answered by the cross of Jesus.
In every language, verbs have moods. That is to say, when a verb is used to suggest the possibility of something, like she might grab her child and leave the building, or she might not, an English teacher will tell us that the verb is in the subjunctive mood. When a verb is a part of a question, like when we wonder if she will grab her child and leave, or if she won’t, the English teacher says that the verb is in the interrogative mood. When the event actually happens and the mother does indeed grab her child and leave the building, the mood is declarative. Finally, when a verb is meant to be understood as a strong command as in immediately grab your child and leave the building right now, the English teacher tells us to use the imperative mood.
In the Hebrew language, a verb in the imperative mood stands out like a sore thumb. They aren’t hard to spot. At the end of Psalm 97 there are three verbs in the imperative mood that function like forceful applications. These are not mere suggestions (that would be the subjunctive mood), they are commands. We’ll look at them later.
After the poet lifts us into the realm of God, the place from which He reigns surrounded by “clouds and thick darkness” (vv. 1, 2), we are brought back down to earth where His rule is felt. The entire world feels it. Lightning lights up the world (v. 4). The heat of the Lord melts the mountains (v. 5). The earth trembles (v. 4). And everyone who worships images are “put to shame” (v. 7). When the rule of God touches the world of human life, nothing remains the same, nobody misses the point, and nobody remains indifferent.
In this cataclysmic situation in which God visits us, what is a worshipper of God to do? The poet is very clear, using three imperatives, what those “who love the Lord” are to do. First, they are to “hate evil” (v. 10). Second, they are to “rejoice in the Lord” (v. 12). And third, they are to “give thanks to His holy name” (v. 12). We might say, devote yourself to holiness, rejoice in the Lord, and give thanks to the Lord … always. Who says poetry shouldn’t be used for commands?
Each of these three commands, holiness, rejoicing, and thanksgiving, can be found in Phillippians 4:4-9. Each also appears in 1 Thessalonians 5:14-17 below. And just like the poet, Paul uses verbs in the imperative mood so that you get the point, and know what to do.
“And we urge you, brothers, admonish the idle, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with them all. See that no one repays anyone evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to everyone. Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”
