THE SCROLL OF PSALM 139

David pens another reflection. At end listen to song. It’s so good!

THE SCROLL OF PSALM 139

A new writing had begun.

⸻

It was a heavy night and the lamps in my chamber burned low, their oil nearly spent. Outside, I could hear the voices of the watchmen echo through Jerusalem’s night streets, but inside, silence pressed on me like a heavy cloak.

I sat hunched over the cedar table. My harp rested in the corner, watching me like an old friend waiting for my hand. But tonight, my fingers trembled—not with the memory of battle, but with the weight of reflection.

Abiathar the priest and Shammah the scribe sat nearby with scrolls and inkpots ready. Young Eliab, eager but solemn, stood sharpening the reeds for writing. I broke the silence first, my voice rough from weariness.

“Abiathar… I’m glad you are all here. There are nights when this throne feels like chains about my soul. By day, I judge Israel. By night, I judge myself. And God—ah, He searches deeper than I dare to.”

Abiathar leaned forward and said gently, “Then put it to song, my king. Let your searching become Israel’s prayer.”

I pressed my palms together and closed my eyes. Words formed in the furnace of my spirit, heavy yet alive. Slowly, I let them fall like chisels striking stone. Tears flooded my eyes.

“O Lord, You have searched me and known me!”

I heard Shammah’s pen scratch eagerly across parchment, catching fire from the words.

I lowered my head and whispered, “He knows when I sit down and when I rise up. He discerns my thoughts from afar. Such knowledge… it is too marvelous for me to comprehend.”

My hands tightened into fists. “Do you see it? Even before I speak, He knows the word. How can I, a king of dust, hide from such a God?”

Shammah was stricken with emotion. “I do see it sire.”

Young Eliab broke his silence, murmuring, “But my lord, is it not comfort to be so known?”

I gave a weary smile. “Comfort…and terror, lad. It is a double-edged blade. For He sees the cracks none else can.”

⸻

The next morning, as I walked through the halls of cedar, I listened to the flood of petitions. Widows pleading for bread. Soldiers demanding justice. Priests pressing for offerings. Everyone expected something.

At last the chamber cleared, and I sank onto the throne, almost feeling wounded in battle and I covered my face with my hands.

“Even here, in the place of judgment,” I whispered to myself, “my own heart condemns me.”

Nathan the prophet had entered quietly and heard me. “Then let your heart learn mercy, David. Do not flee from the One who placed you here.”

I rose and began to pace. “Where shall I go from Your Spirit? Where shall I flee from Your presence? If I ascend to heaven, You are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there!”

I turned sharply, my voice breaking. “I tried to hide once, after Bathsheba… after Uriah. I cloaked my sin in silence, but His presence hunted me down. I could not conceal it, for even in the dark, His light found me!”

Nathan laid a hand on my shoulder. His voice was firm, but kind. “As it is for us all, oh king! And still, He calls you beloved.”

Shocked, I shook my head. The scribes wrote furiously, but I saw their hands tremble. I read their words. They felt my confession carve through the air.

⸻

Later, I sat in the palace gardens. I heard the children’s laughter carried from the courtyards, sweet and cruel, at the same time, to a father who had buried his own son. I could never forget that day.

I whispered into the breeze, “For You formed my inward parts; You knit me together in my mother’s womb.”

Abiathar sat beside me and watched as my eyes blurred with tears.

“I praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made,” I declared, then struck the table with sudden passion. “Wonderful are Your works! Even I—the sinner, the flawed king—was not hidden from You when I was wrought in secret!”

I turned sharply to Shammah. “Write it! Let the people know—no child of dust escapes His eye. Every day of our lives is written in His book before one ever comes to be.”

My voice trembled as I confessed, “Then who am I to despair? Who am I to think that throne, or sin, or sorrow, can erase what He has already seen and purposed?”

⸻

Yet even as I spoke of His wonders, darker thoughts gnawed at me. I walked the battlements that night, gazing at the city lit with torches below.

My jaw tightened. I muttered aloud, “O that You would slay the wicked, O God! That men of blood would depart from me!”

Eliab, who had followed, startled at my fury. “My king, why such anger?”

My eyes burned. “Because wickedness does not sleep, boy! Enemies surround us without, and worse—temptations rise within. I hate them that hate You, O Lord. I loathe those who rise against You.”

I gripped the cold stone of the parapet, my voice breaking. “I hate them with perfect hatred. And yet… sometimes I see their reflection in me.”

Eliab lowered his head and whispered, “Then should you ask Him to search you again?”

And I fell to my knees right there on the stones of the battlement. I lifted my hands into the night sky.

“Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! See if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!”

My cry rose through the heavens. Behind me, I heard the frantic scratching of quills. But I also heard the sound of men weeping—for the prayer was no longer mine alone.

——-

By dawn, the psalm was finished. The ink glistened wet on parchment. I stood, weak from pouring my soul out, yet renewed in a way words cannot explain.

I laid my hand upon the scroll and whispered to my confidants, “This is no song of a king. This is the confession of a man utterly known, utterly seen, utterly held by God.”

Abiathar bowed his head as he reread the words. “It must be added to the others. Then it shall be sung in Israel for generations. For what is true of David is true of us all.”

And so, born from my trials, fears, and awe, this song was carried from palace to temple, from temple to the hearts of Israel—and to all who would ever cry with me:

“Search me, O God, and know my heart…”

——-

“O Lord, you have searched me [thoroughly] and have known me. You know my downsitting and my uprising; You understand my thought afar off. [Matt. 9:4; John 2:24, 25.] You sift and search out my path and my lying down, and You are acquainted with all my ways. For there is not a word in my tongue [still unuttered], but, behold, O Lord, You know it altogether. [Heb. 4:13.] You have beset me and shut me in–behind and before, and You have laid Your hand upon me. Your [infinite] knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high above me, I cannot reach it. Where could I go from Your Spirit? Or where could I flee from Your presence? If I ascend up into heaven, You are there; if I make my bed in Sheol (the place of the dead), behold, You are there. [Rom. 11:33.] If I take the wings of the morning or dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, Even there shall Your hand lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me and the night shall be [the only] light about me, Even the darkness hides nothing from You, but the night shines as the day; the darkness and the light are both alike to You. [Dan. 2:22.] For You did form my inward parts; You did knit me together in my mother's womb. I will confess and praise You for You are fearful and wonderful and for the awful wonder of my birth! Wonderful are Your works, and that my inner self knows right well. My frame was not hidden from You when I was being formed in secret [and] intricately and curiously wrought [as if embroidered with various colors] in the depths of the earth [a region of darkness and mystery]. Your eyes saw my unformed substance, and in Your book all the days [of my life] were written before ever they took shape, when as yet there was none of them. How precious and weighty also are Your thoughts to me, O God! How vast is the sum of them! [Ps. 40:5.] If I could count them, they would be more in number than the sand. When I awoke, [could I count to the end] I would still be with You. If You would [only] slay the wicked, O God, and the men of blood depart from me–[Isa. 11:4.] Who speak against You wickedly, Your enemies who take Your name in vain! [Jude 15.] Do I not hate them, O Lord, who hate You? And am I not grieved and do I not loathe those who rise up against You? I hate them with perfect hatred; they have become my enemies. Search me [thoroughly], O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there is any wicked or hurtful way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

‭‭Psalm‬ ‭139‬:‭1‬-‭24‬ ‭AMPC‬‬

Let this song saturate you:

Search me oh God