The Courage to Say “Here I Am
Verse by Verse study of Psalm 40:1–10
Waiting is rarely easy. Whether we are longing for healing, clarity, justice, or the opening of a long-prayed-for door, waiting often feels like standing in an extended silence, surrounded by questions that have no immediate answers. It exposes our fragility, stirring fear, frustration, and doubt, and presses us to ask not only when God will act, but who God is while we wait. Yet Scripture insists that waiting is never wasted. It is holy ground—a sacred space where faith is tested, refined, and quietly reshaped.
God’s love, the psalmist insists, is neither hidden nor withheld. In Psalm 40 it is encountered in concrete ways—heard, seen, felt, spoken, and shared. Divine mercy does not remain sealed in heaven; it steps into history, finds expression in testimony, and takes form in obedient lives. David’s story becomes a living witness to a God who is determined to make His love known.
The psalm opens with a posture of unguarded honesty: waiting. This is not the confident patience of one in control, but the vulnerable dependence of someone who has reached the end of self-reliance. David does not begin by proclaiming his strength or insight; he begins by admitting his need. What follows is not a tribute to human endurance but a revelation of divine attentiveness: “He turned to me and heard my cry.” Here we encounter the first sign of unconcealed love—a God who bends toward the broken rather than remaining distant.
Throughout the psalm, love is never abstract. It is revealed through God’s actions, His voice, and His steadfast faithfulness. God lifts and steadies, teaches and calls. Silence gives way to song; despair is transformed into testimony. The movement of the psalm carries us from rescue to obedience, from private deliverance to public witness. David learns that grace does more than pull him out of danger—it draws him into a life shaped by trusting obedience.
At the heart of Psalm 40 stands a striking declaration of availability and delight: “Here I am… I delight to do your will.” David turns from empty ritual and offers himself instead, a life formed by God’s word written on the heart. Yet even this obedience points beyond him. The New Testament reveals that these words reach their fullest meaning in Jesus Christ, who did not merely speak willingness but embodied it completely—coming in the flesh to do the Father’s will. Here, love is unveiled not as sentiment or ceremony, but as self-giving obedience—love that takes flesh.
This love, the psalm insists, cannot remain silent. David resolves not to seal his lips or conceal God’s righteousness from the great assembly. Faith shaped by grace must speak; love that rescues demands witness. Psalm 40 therefore confronts every reader: Are we content to remember God’s faithfulness privately, or are we willing to proclaim it openly—even when it costs us?
Ultimately, Psalm 40 invites us to see that God’s love is never meant to remain hidden—neither from us nor through us. It meets us in the pit, sets our feet on solid ground, and then calls us to live openly in its light. To read this psalm attentively is to hear a gentle yet searching question: What does a life look like when it is shaped by a love that refuses to hide?
Opening Prayer
Heavenly Father, we come before You as we are—some of us weary from waiting, some hopeful, some unsure, all in need of Your grace. As we open Psalm 40 together, quiet our anxious thoughts and open our hearts to hear Your voice. Help us remember Your faithfulness in the past and trust You with what lies before us.
Write Your Word within us, not only on the page but in our hearts. Teach us to wait with hope, to obey with joy, and to speak with courage the love You have shown us. Where we are tempted to hide our faith or seal our lips, give us boldness shaped by humility and love.
May Your unconcealed love meet us in this time—lifting us, steadying us, and drawing us closer to You and to one another. We offer ourselves to You now, saying with David, “Here I am.”
Through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.
Verses 1–3 Waiting and the Love That Bends Down
Psalms 40:1-3
“I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.
He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in him.”
Psalms 40:1-3
Waiting exposes our deepest vulnerability. David waits not because he possesses exceptional strength, but because he has reached the end of his own resources. There is nowhere else to turn. In this moment of dependence, what defines the waiting is not David’s endurance, discipline, or resolve, but the astonishing response of God: “He turned to me.” The heart of the passage rests not on human patience but on divine attentiveness. This is the first clear revelation of unconcealed love—a God who does not stand aloof, but inclines Himself toward the cry of the needy.
God’s love is revealed not in sentiment, but in action. David describes four tangible gifts that flow directly from waiting upon the LORD. First, God lifts him out of despair—the pit is neither minimized nor ignored. Love reaches into the place of fear, confusion, and suffocation. Second, God sets his feet on solid ground; love does not merely rescue, it stabilizes. Third, God steadies his steps, giving strength not only to stand but to move forward again. And finally, God places a new song in his mouth—praise born not from theory, but from lived deliverance. Love, once received, insists on expression.
Yet David makes it clear that these blessings are not rushed. Often they arrive only through the trial of waiting, not around it. Waiting becomes the crucible in which faith is matured. God’s love does not always remove difficulty immediately; instead, it reshapes the heart within it. As Scripture affirms elsewhere, “Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage” (Psalm 27:14), and “those who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength” (Isaiah 40:31). Even when sorrow lingers, God does not reject forever, for “though he brings grief, he will show compassion” (Lamentations 3:31–33). In Psalm 40, God’s love is not abstract compassion—it is intervention, bending down, lifting up, steadying, and finally teaching the rescued heart how to sing again.
Verse 4 Trusting the God Who Does Not Hide
Psalms 40:4
“Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, who does not look to the proud, to those who turn aside to false gods.”
Psalms 40:4
Waiting does more than stretch our patience; it reveals the inner movements of the heart. In seasons of delay—when answers do not come quickly and outcomes remain uncertain—we become acutely aware of the subtle spiritual currents shaping our trust. Ignatius of Loyola named this attentiveness the discernment of spirits: learning to notice those inner movements that draw us toward God and those that quietly pull us away. He called the first spiritual consolation — stirrings that strengthen faith, deepen hope, and enlarge love for God and others. These movements awaken a desire to trust, to obey, and to remain open to God’s presence even when clarity is lacking. By contrast, Ignatius spoke of spiritual desolation — those inner impulses marked by fear, restlessness, isolation, or self-reliance, which subtly erode trust and draw the soul away from God. Such movements feel persuasive in times of waiting, but they are not initiated by the Spirit of God and must be recognized rather than followed.
This discernment sheds rich light on Psalm 40:4: “Blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD, who does not look to the proud, to those who turn aside to false gods.” David draws a clear contrast between trust that blesses and trust that betrays. The proud and false powers of the world—status, control, alliances, self-sufficiency—promise security, especially when waiting feels unbearable. Yet these false trusts conceal their emptiness until the moment of crisis. They appear strong from a distance but collapse under weight, leading not to blessing but to disillusionment. In Ignatian terms, they often present themselves through movements of spiritual desolation, urging us to grasp control, abandon hope, or withdraw from God when trust feels costly.
The LORD is different. God does not entice in secret or mask His nature behind illusion. He invites trust openly and proves His faithfulness over time. David can speak of blessing because he has tested God in the crucible of danger, delay, and rescue. The God he trusts has already bent down to hear his cry, lifted him from the pit, and steadied his steps. This is unconcealed love—love that endures examination, love that does not fade when circumstances press hard, love that stands firm under scrutiny. In moments of waiting, spiritual consolation gently draws the heart back toward God, reminding us that trust is not blind optimism but practiced reliance on a faithful Lord.
True blessing, then, does not arise from clever strategies or impressive substitutes for faith. It flows from rooting one’s life in the living God. As Jeremiah declares, “Blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD, whose confidence is in him. They will be like a tree planted by the water” (Jeremiah 17:7–8). Psalm 1 portrays the blessed person as one firmly planted, nourished, and fruitful because their trust is anchored in God’s instruction rather than passing influence. God’s love does not depend on illusion or performance; it survives exposure, revealing itself as reliable, life-giving, and steadfast for all who dare to trust Him fully—especially in the long, discerning work of waiting.
Verse 5 Love Remembered and Recounted
Psalms 40:5
“Many, Lord my God, are the wonders you have done, the things you planned for us. None can compare with you; were I to speak and tell of your deeds, they would be too many to declare.”
Psalms 40:5
David pauses here not to ask for anything, but to remember. He looks back over the terrain of his life and discovers that God’s love cannot be reduced to a single dramatic rescue. It is too abundant, too layered, too persistent. The wonders of God accumulate quietly over time, forming a story that exceeds human accounting. What begins as memory becomes worship, and worship naturally spills into testimony.
This remembering is not nostalgic reflection; it is an act of faith. David understands that forgetfulness weakens trust, while remembrance strengthens it. To rehearse the works of God is to rehearse the truth about who God is. As Psalm 103 exhorts, “Praise the LORD, my soul, and forget not all his benefits,” because forgetting leads to spiritual dullness, while remembering rekindles awe. Likewise, Psalm 139 marvels that God’s thoughts toward us are “precious” and “more than can be counted,” affirming that divine love has always been active, intentional, and personal.
The unconcealed love of God is therefore cumulative. Each act of mercy reinforces the last; each deliverance becomes evidence for the next moment of trust. God’s love is not episodic or occasional—it forms a pattern of faithfulness that can be traced across a lifetime. David’s inability to count God’s deeds is not frustration but joy. It is the recognition that God’s love refuses to be hidden, minimized, or confined to memory alone. It insists on being remembered, named, and passed on, so that faith may be strengthened and praise may continue to rise.
Verse 6 Love That Desires Hearts, Not Performances
Psalms 40:6
“Sacrifice and offering you did not desire— but my ears you have opened— burnt offerings and sin offerings you did not require.”
Psalms 40:6
David confronts one of the most subtle and dangerous temptations in religious life: confusing activity with devotion. In Israel’s worship, sacrifices were not peripheral—they were central, God-given practices embedded in the covenant. Yet David recognizes that ritual, when detached from love and obedience, does not reveal God; it conceals Him. Religious performance can become a substitute for relationship, allowing people to remain busy with sacred acts while keeping their hearts untouched.
God refuses to hide behind ceremonies. His love does not settle for outward compliance or religious cover. Instead, it seeks responsive hearts—lives attentive to His voice and aligned with His will. This is why Scripture repeatedly insists that obedience outweighs ritual. Samuel’s words to Saul—“To obey is better than sacrifice” (1 Samuel 15:22)—echo loudly here, as do the prophets who declared that justice, mercy, and humility matter more to God than offerings made without love (Micah 6:6–8; Isaiah 1:11–17). God’s unconcealed love exposes empty worship not to shame, but to restore authenticity.
The phrase “my ears you have opened” is crucial. As Eugene Peterson observes, people of faith are not robots, mechanically programmed to perform religious duties. They are portrayed as listening creatures, marked by “open ears”—attentive, responsive, and alive to God’s word. True devotion begins not with action, but with listening. God opens the ear so that obedience may follow naturally, not as forced compliance, but as loving response.
In this way, Psalm 40:6 teaches that God’s unconcealed love calls for obedience, not theatrics. Love does not need to be dressed up in spectacle; it seeks truth in the inward being. God desires worship that flows from hearts softened by listening, lives shaped by obedience, and faith expressed not merely in ritual acts, but in daily, willing surrender to His voice.
Verses 7–8 Love That Takes Flesh in Obedience
Psalms 40:7-8
“Then I said, “Here I am, I have come— it is written about me in the scroll.
I delight to do your will, my God; your law is within my heart.””
Psalms 40:7-8
David’s response to God’s unconcealed love is availability. Having rejected hollow ritual, he offers something far more costly and meaningful—himself. The movement in these verses is profound: from offering things to offering a life, from religious observance to relational surrender. David does not negotiate terms or present qualifications; he simply steps forward and says, “Here I am,” he speaks the Hebrew word hineni. Love, when truly received, produces readiness, a declaration of attentive availability and self-offering spoken in response to God’s call. It is the posture of someone who has listened and now steps forward without conditions. When David adds, “I have come—it is written about me in the scroll,” he is not claiming a personal prediction, but aligning his life with God’s already revealed will. Having rejected empty ritual, he offers not sacrifices but himself, shaping his obedience according to the covenant instruction of Scripture.
This willingness is not grim resignation but joy-filled obedience. “I delight to do your will,” David declares. God’s law is no longer an external demand but an internal reality—“within my heart.” Obedience here is not coerced; it is embraced. The unconcealed love of God reshapes desire itself, transforming duty into delight and submission into freedom. Love no longer needs to be persuaded; it responds willingly. Yet David’s obedience, though sincere and heartfelt, remains incomplete—formed by the Law but still marked by human limitation and failure. His hineni is genuine, but it is the offering of a servant still in need of grace.
The New Testament reveals that these words ultimately reach beyond David to their fullest meaning in Jesus Christ. Jesus does not merely speak hineni as willingness; He lives it in the flesh. He can say, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me” (John 4:34), and “I seek not my own will but the will of him who sent me” (John 5:30). The author of Hebrews explicitly applies Psalm 40:6–8 to Christ (Hebrews 10:5–10), showing that where David offered a willing heart, Jesus offered a willing body. Here God’s love is unconcealed in its most radical form: obedience embodied.
In these verses, love moves beyond words into action. It is no longer only spoken or sung—it is lived. This is the love the gospel proclaims: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son” (John 3:16). God’s love takes flesh in obedience, revealing that true worship is not primarily about offerings placed on an altar, but about lives placed fully at God’s disposal. To say “Here I am” is to stand in the light of that unconcealed love and allow it to shape every choice, every step, and every act of faithful obedience.
Verses 9–10 — Love That Must Be Spoken Aloud
Psalms 40:9-10
“I proclaim your saving acts in the great assembly; I do not seal my lips, Lord, as you know. I do not hide your righteousness in my heart;
Psalms 40:9-10
Unconcealed love demands testimony. David insists that what God has done cannot remain private. Grace, by its very nature, resists silence. To withhold praise or testimony would be to contradict the mercy that lifted him from the pit and set his feet on solid ground. David’s faith is not merely inward or emotional; it is vocal, embodied, and public. What God has revealed must be repeated. Love that rescues refuses to stay hidden.
If God’s love has forgiven our sin, steadied our steps, and reoriented the direction of our lives, silence would be unnatural. We instinctively speak about what brings life and healing. We share good news, recommend good help, praise good doctors, and marvel at meaningful discoveries. Joy multiplies when it is spoken. If this is true of temporary and earthly gifts, how much more must it be true of the saving work of God? David understands that gratitude withheld becomes gratitude diminished, and testimony suppressed becomes faith weakened.
This costly necessity of speaking finds a powerful modern echo in the life of Martin Luther King Jr.. Seventy years ago, a young Black preacher sat alone at his kitchen table late at night, his wife and newborn child asleep in the next room. Threats had mounted. Fear pressed in. Exhausted and sleepless, he prayed honestly: “Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right… But Lord, I must confess that I’m weak now. I’m faltering. I’m losing my courage.”
In that moment of vulnerability—so reminiscent of David’s prayers—King later testified that he heard an inner assurance: “Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And lo, I will be with you, even until the end of the world.” That encounter did not remove the danger, but it clarified the calling. Like David, King realized that faithfulness sometimes requires refusing to “seal one’s lips,” even when the cost is high.
This conviction shapes King’s words in Letter from Birmingham Jail, where he warns that the church must not become a taillight, adjusted to the status quo, but a headlight, leading toward justice and truth. Silence, he insists, is not patience but complicity. Like David, King believed that love for God demands public witness. To remain quiet in the face of injustice would be a betrayal of conscience formed by God’s righteousness.
Scripture confirms this outward movement of faith. Paul writes that belief in the heart finds its fulfillment in confession with the mouth (Romans 10:9–10). The psalmist invites others, “Come and hear… let me tell you what God has done for me” (Psalm 66:16). And the apostles, filled with awe and conviction, declare, “We cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard” (Acts 4:20). Faithfulness spoken aloud strengthens both the one who speaks and the one who listens. Testimony anchors truth in the heart and extends hope to others.
Verse 10 The Faithfulness That Never Withdraws
Psalms 40:10
I speak of your faithfulness and your saving help. I do not conceal your love and your faithfulness from the great assembly.”
Psalms 40:10
David’s testimony centers not only on God’s mighty acts, but on God’s faithfulness—a faithfulness that does not waver, retreat, or expire. Human faithfulness gives us glimpses of this love: friends who stay, spouses who endure, companions who walk with us through suffering. These loyalties matter deeply, yet they are fragile and limited. God’s faithfulness, by contrast, is not fragile. It does not depend on circumstances, moods, or performance.
God remains faithful when we forget His promises. He stays loyal when we stumble and fail. His love does not withdraw when obedience falters. It flows from His character, not our consistency. This is why David can proclaim God’s love openly and without fear—it is irreversible. As Lamentations declares, “Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22–23). And even when our faith falters, Scripture assures us, “If we are faithless, he remains faithful” (2 Timothy 2:13).
God remains faithful when we forget His promises. He stays loyal when we stumble and fail. He loves without wavering, retreat, or exhaustion. His faithfulness is not reactive; it is rooted in His character. This is why His love can be unconcealed—it is irreversible. God’s faithfulness does not mirror our consistency; it surpasses it. This is the love David proclaims—a love that does not withdraw, does not hide, and does not end. And because it endures, it must be spoken.
Living in the Light of Unconcealed Love
Psalm 40 leaves us with a faith that is neither naïve nor silent, but honest, shaped, and resilient. David does not describe a tidy spiritual path in which waiting eliminates struggle or obedience removes uncertainty. Instead, he bears witness to a life formed through repeated encounters with God’s mercy—a life that remembers deliverance, embraces obedience, and continues to depend on grace. Thanksgiving does not replace petition; it gives rise to it. Faith learns to pray again because it has learned to remember, and prayer becomes the fertile ground where obedience takes root and grows.
At the heart of the psalm stands David’s simple yet profound response: “Here I am.” This is not the language of confidence or self-assurance, but of surrender shaped by Scripture. God’s law, written on the heart, becomes the source of joyful obedience rather than external obligation. Yet Psalm 40 is honest about human limits. David’s obedience, though genuine, remains incomplete. His hineni points beyond himself, finding its true fulfillment in Jesus Christ, who did not merely express willingness but embodied it—offering His life in perfect obedience and self-giving love. What David begins in prayer, Christ completes in flesh and blood.
This movement from inner devotion to outward faithfulness is a recurring pattern in the life of faith. As James C. Fenhagen observes, deep inner growth consistently gives rise to profound outward change. The apostle Paul’s disruptive ministry flowed from his living relationship with Christ. The lives of Mother Teresa in the slums of Calcutta and Martin Luther King Jr. in the streets of Montgomery were not fueled by mere activism, but by prayer so deep it reshaped how they lived in the world. Fenhagen describes such lives as “expressions of lived prayer”—men and women who went deeply enough with God to embrace life with abandon, and whose inner encounters with Christ compelled them outward into costly service. Psalm 40 calls us into this same integration: prayer that becomes obedience, and obedience that becomes witness.
Finally, Psalm 40 anchors us in the unchanging faithfulness of God. Human resolve falters, courage weakens, and obedience remains imperfect—but God’s love does not withdraw. His mercy is renewed each morning, His faithfulness undiminished even when ours fails. This is the confidence with which the psalm concludes and the hope with which we are sent: the God who once lifted us from the pit will remain with us still. To live in response to Psalm 40 is to pray deeply, obey gladly, speak courageously, and trust that a faithful God is shaping both our inner lives and the life of the world through unconcealed love that never lets go.
God’s love is not hidden behind heaven’s veil. It is spoken and sung, obeyed and proclaimed, through ordinary lives transformed by grace. It moves from rescue to response, from hearing to obedience, from gratitude to witness. The fitting answer to such love is neither spectacle nor self-confidence, but availability:
“Here I am… I delight to do your will.”
This is the posture of those who have encountered the unconcealed love of God—and have chosen to live in its light.
Closing Prayer
Heavenly Father,
We thank You for meeting us through Your Word. Thank You for the ways You have lifted us from despair, steadied our steps, and reminded us of Your unfailing love. As we leave this time of study, help us carry with us what You have spoken into our hearts.
Teach us to wait with trust, to obey with joy, and to live with open hearts shaped by Your Word. Give us courage not to seal our lips, but to speak of Your faithfulness with humility, wisdom, and love. Where fear tempts us toward silence, remind us that Your unconcealed love calls us to witness through both our words and our lives.
We place our lives again in Your hands, saying, “Here I am.” Go with us now—into our homes, our work, and our communities—and let Your faithfulness shine through us. We trust You to finish the work You have begun.
Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
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