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What’s the worst pain in the world? Physical pain (toothache, childbirth, kidney stones)? Emotional pains (bereavement, depression, fear)? Relational pains (betrayal, unfaithfulness, abandonment). All of these are great pains, but they are not the greatest pain.

I believe the greatest pain in the world is the pain of injustice: seeing the wicked get off, seeing the righteous condemned, especially when we’re one of the victims. I’ve been one of these victims and no doubt many of you have too. We’ve seen wicked people defended, protected, and promoted; and we’ve seen good people accused, condemned, and punished. That pain goes really deep and really long.

How do we deal with these wounds? How do we heal them? Psalm 58 offers some truth stitches to sew them together.

Sermon Notes on Matthew 28:18-20.

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Human love is shaky. It’s weak and wavering, soft and unreliable. As David discovered yesterday, the best of friends can quickly become the worst of enemies. Our best buddy can become the worst betrayer, as most High School students can testify. So much of the teen depression and anxiety epidemic is spread through the unfaithfulness and unreliability of friends. Shaky friendships produce shaky hearts. Is there a steady love that can give us steady hearts? David answers that question in Psalm 57.

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Many Christians have tried journaling as a spiritual discipline to strengthen their faith. A spiritual journal is a daily record of the ups and downs of our spiritual journey. Those who keep it up, testify to the huge benefit, especially looking back on it in later years. Most of us, though, can’t keep it up. Like many good habits, it’s just so hard to stick with it. We stop and start, stop and start, resulting in big blanks between the bursts of journaling. We’ve got pages of nothing, especially during hard times, the very times when journaling would be the most encouraging. Fear gives us writer’s block. Tears erase our text. What can encourage us when times are black and our pages blank? David points us to another journal in Psalm 56, a journal with no blanks.

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I’ve always wanted to fly. I don’t mean fly in a plane; I mean fly myself. When I was very young, I made wings of various shapes, sizes, and materials. But, despite furious flapping of my wings, every time I tried to lift-off, I landed on my face.

My fantasy revived recently with the development of jet-suits. I’ve watched numerous videos of people flying across lakes and up mountains wearing these jet-packs. I’ve even made enquiries, but can’t persuade my wife that $500,000 is a bargain. I’m still hopeful that I’ll live long enough for the prices to come down enough for me to fly in one of them.

“Why, David? Why do you want to fly in the sky—without a plane?” Freedom! When life is stressful and sad, it would be just amazing to take off, get away from everything and everyone, and just fly around like a bird. I suppose it’s really escapism. It’s wanting to escape this world of weighty worries and enter a better one, a lighter one, even for a short time. You might think I’m weird. So did I, until I came across another David with a similar flying fantasy in Psalm 55. He helped me answer the question, “What should I do when I’m crushed with heavy burdens?”

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“I need help. Can you help me?” Aren’t these some of the hardest words to say? To admit we need help is hard enough, but to actually ask for help is even harder. We like to help ourselves, and we may like to help others, but we hate asking for help for ourselves. Sometimes we’ll go to enormous lengths to avoid admitting and asking for help. We may risk even our health and happiness rather than reach out for help. “I can do it myself” we insist. “I don’t need help” we protest, as everyone around us sees us sinking and failing. We may want to ask for help but we won’t ask for help. Why is H…E…L…P the hardest word to say and how do we learn to say it? Psalm 54 comes alongside to help us say “Help” and get help.