The Root That Remains

 The Root That Remains

 “But I am like an olive tree flourishing in the house of God; I trust in God’s unfailing love for ever and ever.”

— Psalm 52:8

      A few days ago I was leaving a voice message to Leslie about Psalm 52.  I started a tradition of reading a Psalm to her and leaving a few thoughts.  Some Psalms strike a cord, other ones feel flat.  Psalm 52 orginally felt like it was going to be a flatter devotional.  I struggled to find an application.  But the Holy Spirit grabbed ahold of me and showed some beautiful truths that I hadn't seen with any previous reading.  You need to know that I read through the Psalms twice a year.  I've done this for probably ten plus years.  That means I've read this Psalm over twenty time and I had zero notes on it.  I had never studied the passage let alone preached or taught on it.  But this Psalm drew me in.

      Context is king and the context of this Psalm really showcases the power behind the words.  The superscript of the Psalm lets us know that the author is David, but it doesn't just reveal the authorship, but also the reason why the Psalm was written.  David was fleeing from King Saul and in his distress he found help from the priests in the city of Nob.  They provided basic provisions for David and also allowed the use of Goliath's sword.  But the story continues in 1st Samuel 22 with a sinister plot.  See, Psalm 52 was written by David during one of his darkest moments. He had been betrayed.  Doeg the Edomite had spied on David and  reported him to King Saul, causing the death of 85 innocent priests. David’s heart was heavy, not only from the evil done but from the reminder of how cruel people can be when power and pride take root in the heart.  David felt the full weight and grief of those righteous men.

      He begins the psalm with a cry against wickedness: “Why do you boast of evil, you mighty hero?” (v.1)  David doesn’t deny the reality of evil—he names it, confronts it, and brings it before God. David knew that the heart was desperately evil and deceitful. Evil had destroyed innocent lives. Yet by the end of the Psalm, his focus shifts entirely. Despite the treachery and sorrow, David declares: “I am like an olive tree flourishing in the house of God.”  David turned his heart toward hope.

      What a contrast! Evil men are compared to uprooted trees that will perish, while David sees himself as rooted—alive and thriving in God’s presence.  Olive trees are resilent.  The olive tree is slow-growing but enduring. It weathers storms, droughts, and even pruning, yet still produces oil—the symbol of anointing, healing, and light. David isn’t flourishing because life is easy; he’s flourishing because his roots go deep into God’s unfailing love.  That strikes home.  All of a sudden I saw the Psalm from the perspective of a widower and the call to put down deep roots of faith.  I needed to be like the tree that was planted by the water in Psalm one.  We need to allow those roots to go deep despite the dry season that grief can put us in.  Not only that, but we are still to produce fruit in this season.  We aren't meant to be fruitless widows, widowers, or grievers.  Even in this season God wants us to produce fruit.

      When we’ve been wounded, betrayed, or left standing in the ruins of loss, it’s tempting to measure life by what has been cut down. But Psalm 52 reminds us: our flourishing doesn’t depend on circumstances—it depends on where we are rooted.  Read that again.  Our flourishing doesn't end because we grieve.  Yes, we grieve, but our roots are planted in Christ Jesus, and though the storm may rage and the night may fall, we are firmly rooted in Him.  Our life might not look the same, but we can still live.  

      In seasons of grief, it’s easy to feel like everything has been stripped away. Yet, even then, if your roots reach into the soil of God’s love, new life can grow. Slowly. Quietly. But surely.  We can't rush it.  We might be tempted to rush grief, but instead we simply need to remain planted.  Even in loneliness, God's love is our steady root beneath the soil of sorrow.  Over time new shoots begin to rise.  It might be small, almost microscopic at times, but's it's coming.  Some of you might be struggling with that right now, and I totally get it.  Maybe your loss is recent, or maybe you are just struggling with grief, but look for small moments of peace, look for unexpected laughter, and wait patiently for a sense of purpose to return.  My prayer is that one day you will look back and see what God was quietly growing under the soil all along.

      Like David, you can say: “I will praise you forever for what you have done.” (v.9) Not because the pain is gone, but because you trust that even here, God is still good.

Journal Prompt

1. What areas do you feel cut down right now?  Be specific, don't use general terms.

2. Ask God to show you one place, big or small, where life migth already be starting to grow.