The Davidic Covenant, pt. 2
Your whole world has collapsed. The promises you built your life on seem broken. The God who swore on His own name to protect you appears to have walked away. You're sitting in the ruins of everything you believed, and the only prayer you can manage is a desperate 'Why?'
That's exactly where we find the writer of Psalm 89 – and maybe that's where you find yourself today. Sometimes faith doesn't look like confidence and certainty. Sometimes it looks like clinging to God's promises while everything around you screams that He's forgotten them. Sometimes the most faithful thing you can do is honestly tell God, 'This isn't what You promised.'
Welcome back, I'm Austin Duncan, and today we're diving into Week 8 of our journey through the biblical covenants. We've traced God's promises from Noah through Abraham, from Sinai to David's throne. Last week, we celebrated the glorious promises God made to David – an eternal throne, an unending dynasty, a kingdom that would never fail. But today? Today we're going to sit in the ashes of Jerusalem and ask the hardest question in covenant theology: What happens when God's promises seem to fail?
This isn't going to be an easy episode. We're going to wrestle with texts that don't resolve neatly, with questions that hung in the air for centuries before finding their answer. But I promise you this – by the end of our time together, you'll understand why the darkest moment in Israel's history became the womb of our brightest hope. You'll see how exile didn't destroy the Davidic covenant but actually sharpened it, refined it, and ultimately pointed it toward something far greater than anyone imagined.
So grab your Bible, open to Psalm 89, and let's explore what it means to hope when hope seems impossible.
Part I: The Covenant Celebrated (Psalm 89:1-37)
Before we can understand the crisis, we need to feel the weight of the promise. Psalm 89 doesn't start in despair – it starts in worship. And not just any worship, but the kind of exuberant praise that comes from absolute certainty about God's character.
"I will sing of the steadfast love of the LORD, forever; with my mouth I will make known your faithfulness to all generations" (Ps. 89:1).
Notice that opening word – חֶסֶד (ḥesed) – "steadfast love." This isn't just affection or emotion. This is covenant loyalty, the kind of love that binds itself with unbreakable promises. It's the love of a parent who will never abandon their child, the love of a spouse who stays faithful through every storm. And Ethan the Ezrahite, our psalmist, says he's going to sing about this love forever.
Why? "For I said, 'Steadfast love will be built up forever; in the heavens you will establish your faithfulness'" (Ps. 89:2). The psalmist grounds his confidence not in circumstances but in God's character. God's faithfulness is as fixed as the heavens themselves.
Then comes the rehearsal of the covenant: "You have said, 'I have made a covenant with my chosen one; I have sworn to David my servant: I will establish your offspring forever, and build your throne for all generations'" (Ps. 89:3-4).
Let that sink in. God didn't just make a promise – He swore an oath. In ancient culture, that's the highest form of commitment possible. When God swears, He's putting His own character on the line. He's saying, "If this doesn't happen, I'm not God."
The psalm continues by painting God as the sovereign ruler of all creation. Verses 5-18 are this cosmic celebration of God's power. He controls the raging seas (v. 9), He scattered His enemies like dust (v. 10), the heavens and earth belong to Him (v. 11). This isn't just poetry – it's theology. The psalmist is saying, "The God who made these promises has the power to keep them."
And then we get to the heart of it – verses 19-37 give us the most detailed poetic account of the Davidic covenant in all of Scripture. Listen to the language:
"I have found David, my servant; with my holy oil I have anointed him, so that my hand shall be established with him; my arm also shall strengthen him" (Ps. 89:20-21).
The word here – מָשִׁיחַ (mashiach) – "anointed one" – is where we get the word Messiah. David isn't just a political leader; he's God's anointed, set apart for a divine purpose. And God makes astounding promises about this anointed line:
"I will make him the firstborn, the highest of the kings of the earth. My steadfast love I will keep for him forever, and my covenant will stand firm for him. I will establish his offspring forever and his throne as the days of the heavens" (Ps. 89:27-29).
The promises keep escalating. Even if David's sons fail – and notice the psalm acknowledges they might – God says, "I will punish their transgression with the rod and their iniquity with stripes, but I will not remove from him my steadfast love or be false to my faithfulness" (Ps. 89:32-33).
This is unconditional covenant language. God is saying that even human failure can't nullify His promises. He doubles down: "Once for all I have sworn by my holiness; I will not lie to David. His offspring shall endure forever, his throne as long as the sun before me" (Ps. 89:35-36).
The sun and moon become witnesses to this eternal promise. As long as you can look up and see the sun by day and moon by night, you can know that God's promise to David stands firm. That's the setup. That's the promise. That's what makes what comes next so devastating.
Part II: The Covenant Appears Broken (Psalm 89:38-45)
Verse 38 hits like a sledgehammer: "But now..."
Two words in English, but they represent one of the most jarring transitions in all of Scripture. Without warning, without preparation, the psalm shifts from cosmic confidence to crushing despair.
"But now you have cast off and rejected; you are full of wrath against your anointed" (Ps. 89:38).
The very same word – מָשִׁיחַ (mashiach) – that described David's special status now describes the object of God's apparent rejection. The anointed one, the chosen one, the one God swore to protect forever, is being treated like an enemy.
The accusations pile up in devastating detail: "You have renounced the covenant with your servant; you have defiled his crown in the dust" (Ps. 89:39).
Think about that image – the crown in the dust. The crown represents divine authority, God's own selection. To see it in the dust is to see God's promises ground into the dirt. The psalmist continues painting this picture of complete reversal:
"You have breached all his walls; you have laid his strongholds in ruins. All who pass by plunder him; he has become the scorn of his neighbors" (Ps. 89:40-41).
Every promise from the first half of the psalm is being systematically undone. God promised to strengthen David's hand against his enemies? Now those enemies are plundering him. God promised to make David the highest of kings? Now he's the object of scorn. God promised the throne would last as long as the sun? Now it's covered in shame:
"You have cut short the days of his youth; you have covered him with shame" (Ps. 89:45).
What makes this so powerful is that the psalmist isn't describing a temporary setback. He's describing what looks like the complete failure of God's covenant promise. And he's not attributing it to enemy nations or human failure – he's attributing it directly to God. "You have cast off... You have renounced... You have defiled... You have breached... You have cut short... You have covered with shame."
This is bold. This is audacious. This is the kind of prayer that makes many modern Christians uncomfortable. The psalmist is essentially saying to God, "You broke Your promise. You failed to keep Your word. You, God, are the problem here."
But here's what we need to understand – this isn't blasphemy. This is covenant faith. The psalmist is holding God to His own words. He's saying, "You swore by Your holiness. You said You wouldn't lie to David. So how do You explain this?"
Part III: The Cry for Restoration (Psalm 89:46-52)
The final section of the psalm doesn't resolve the tension – it amplifies it. The questions become more desperate:
"How long, O LORD? Will you hide yourself forever? How long will your wrath burn like fire?" (Ps. 89:46).
Notice the word זָכַר (zakar) – "remember" – appears in verse 47: "Remember how short my time is! For what vanity you have created all the children of man!"
This isn't asking God to recall information He's forgotten. In Hebrew, "remember" is covenant language. It's calling God to act on His covenant commitments. When Noah was in the ark and God "remembered" him (Gen. 8:1), it meant God acted to save him. The psalmist is pleading, "Remember Your covenant! Act on Your promises!"
The questions get more pointed: "What man can live and never see death? Who can deliver his soul from the power of Sheol?" (Ps. 89:48).
The psalmist is essentially saying, "We're dying here! If You don't act soon, there won't be anyone left to fulfill these promises to!"
And then comes perhaps the boldest verse in the psalm: "Lord, where is your steadfast love of old, which by your faithfulness you swore to David?" (Ps. 89:49).
He's throwing God's own words back at Him. "You swore by Your faithfulness. Where is it? Where is that חֶסֶד (ḥesed) you promised would never fail?"
The psalm ends with a description of mockery: "Remember, O Lord, how your servants are mocked, and how I bear in my heart the insults of all the many nations, with which your enemies mock, O LORD, with which they mock the footsteps of your anointed" (Ps. 89:50-51).
The enemies aren't just mocking David's descendants – they're mocking God. They're saying, "Where is this eternal throne? Where is this everlasting kingdom? Your God couldn't even protect His chosen ones!"
And then, almost inexplicably, the psalm ends with praise: "Blessed be the LORD forever! Amen and Amen" (Ps. 89:52).
This isn't resolution. This isn't an answer. This is faith holding on by its fingernails, choosing to bless God even when everything seems to contradict His character. It's saying, "I don't understand, I can't explain it, but I still choose to say You are blessed."
Part IV: Historical Fulfillment of the Crisis (2 Kings 25)
To understand the depth of this lament, we need to see what actually happened historically. Second Kings 25 reads like a horror story for anyone who believed in the Davidic covenant.
"And in the ninth year of his reign, in the tenth month, on the tenth day of the month, Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came with all his army against Jerusalem and laid siege to it" (2 Kings 25:1).
The siege lasted almost two years. Can you imagine? Two years of slowly starving, watching your children waste away, eating leather and rats and eventually things too horrible to mention. Jeremiah tells us that mothers ate their own children during this siege (Lam. 2:20, 4:10). That's how desperate it became.
"On the ninth day of the fourth month the famine was so severe in the city that there was no food for the people of the land" (2 Kings 25:3).
When the walls were finally breached, King Zedekiah – David's descendant, the one sitting on David's throne – tried to flee. But they caught him on the plains of Jericho. And what happened next is almost too cruel to comprehend:
"They captured the king and brought him up to the king of Babylon at Riblah, and they passed sentence on him. They slaughtered the sons of Zedekiah before his eyes, and put out the eyes of Zedekiah and bound him in chains and took him to Babylon" (2 Kings 25:6-7).
The last thing the last Davidic king saw was his sons being murdered. Then darkness. Then chains. Then exile. How's that for an eternal throne?
But it gets worse: "And he burned the house of the LORD and the king's house and all the houses of Jerusalem; every great house he burned down" (2 Kings 25:9).
The temple – God's dwelling place, the symbol of His presence with His people – reduced to ashes. The palace – David's house, the seat of the eternal throne – nothing but rubble. Jerusalem – the city of God, the place where He said He would put His name forever – a smoking ruin.
"So Judah was taken into exile out of its land" (2 Kings 25:21).
The promised land – gone. The promised throne – empty. The promised line – apparently severed. Everything God swore to David appears to have failed catastrophically.
But then, at the very end of 2 Kings, we get this strange little postscript. Thirty-seven years into the exile, the king of Babylon shows favor to Jehoiachin, one of the exiled Davidic kings:
"And in the thirty-seventh year of the exile of Jehoiachin king of Judah, in the twelfth month, on the twenty-seventh day of the month, Evil-merodach king of Babylon, in the year that he began to reign, graciously freed Jehoiachin king of Judah from prison. And he spoke kindly to him and gave him a seat above the seats of the kings who were with him in Babylon" (2 Kings 25:27-28).
It's such a small detail, but it's like a tiny candle in an ocean of darkness. A son of David is still alive. He's eating at a king's table. He's receiving honor. The line isn't completely dead. It's barely breathing, but it's not dead.
Part V: Prophetic Hope in Exile
Even as Jerusalem burned, even as the people were marched into exile, God's prophets were speaking impossible words of hope. They weren't denying the disaster – they were looking through it to something beyond.
Jeremiah, who witnessed the destruction firsthand, who wrote the book of Lamentations weeping over Jerusalem's fall, also wrote these words: "Behold, the days are coming, declares the LORD, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David, and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land" (Jer. 33:14-15).
A Branch from David's line. Not just another king who might fail like all the others, but a righteous Branch. And Jeremiah doubles down on the covenant promise:
"For thus says the LORD: David shall never lack a man to sit on the throne of the house of Israel... If you can break my covenant with the day and my covenant with the night, so that day and night will not come at their appointed time, then also my covenant with David my servant may be broken" (Jer. 33:17, 20-21).
God is saying, "Look outside. Is it still getting light in the morning and dark at night? Then My covenant with David still stands."
Isaiah, writing even before the exile, saw even further. He looked at David's family tree and saw it cut down to a stump. But from that stump:
"There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch from his roots shall bear fruit. And the Spirit of the LORD shall rest upon him, the Spirit of wisdom and understanding, the Spirit of counsel and might, the Spirit of knowledge and the fear of the LORD" (Isa. 11:1-2).
This isn't just another Davidic king. This is a Spirit-filled king, a king with divine attributes, a king who will bring about something unprecedented:
"The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat... They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the sea" (Isa. 11:6, 9).
This is cosmic restoration. This is new creation. This is a kingdom that transcends anything David or Solomon ever imagined.
Ezekiel, prophesying from exile, adds another layer: "And I will set up over them one shepherd, my servant David, and he shall feed them: he shall feed them and be their shepherd. And I, the LORD, will be their God, and my servant David shall be prince among them" (Ezek. 34:23-24).
Wait – David? David's been dead for centuries. This is either metaphorical language for a Davidic descendant, or it's pointing to something even more mysterious – a resurrection hope, a return of David himself, or someone who embodies everything David was meant to be but infinitely more.
Part VI: Theological Reflections
Let's step back and think about what's happening theologically here. We need to consider this from three angles that biblical scholars use to understand texts like these.
Historical-Grammatical Perspective
First, we need to understand what this meant to its original audience. Psalm 89 was probably written either during or shortly after the Babylonian exile. Imagine being an Israelite in Babylon. Everything you believed about God, every promise you built your life on, seems to have failed. You're living in a foreign land, serving foreign gods (whether you want to or not), speaking a foreign language.
And then you hear this psalm in your worship gathering. It starts by rehearsing all God's promises – yes, you think, that's what we believed! That's what God said! And then it turns to lament – yes, that's exactly how we feel! God seems to have abandoned us!
But notice what the psalm doesn't do. It doesn't conclude that God doesn't exist. It doesn't conclude that the covenant was a lie. Instead, it holds these two realities in tension: God made promises, and those promises appear to have failed. The psalm refuses to resolve this tension with easy answers.
This is crucial for us to understand. Biblical faith isn't about having all the answers. Sometimes it's about holding on to God's promises when everything seems to contradict them. Sometimes the most faithful thing you can do is what the psalmist does – bring your confusion and pain directly to God.
Canonical Perspective
Second, we need to see how this fits into the larger story of Scripture. The failure of the Davidic kingdom isn't a mistake in God's plan – it's part of it. Without the exile, without the apparent failure of the covenant, we would never have looked for a greater fulfillment.
Think about it: If Solomon's kingdom had lasted forever, if his descendants had ruled righteously generation after generation, would we have looked for a Messiah? Probably not. We would have been satisfied with human kings on earthly thrones.
But the failure of every Davidic king points us to our need for something more. We need a king who won't fail. We need a kingdom that can't be destroyed. We need a throne that truly is eternal.
The Old Testament ends with this tension unresolved. The last book, Malachi, is still looking forward: "Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and awesome day of the LORD comes" (Mal. 4:5). The Old Testament ends with anticipation, with hope, with longing for resolution.
Redemptive-Historical Perspective
Third, we need to see how this points to Christ. The exile didn't destroy the Davidic covenant – it transformed it. Through the crushing experience of defeat and displacement, Israel's hope evolved from a political kingdom to a spiritual one, from a national messiah to a cosmic savior.
Every failed king made the profile of the coming King clearer. He couldn't just be mighty like David or wise like Solomon – He had to be perfectly righteous. He couldn't just defeat Israel's enemies – He had to defeat sin and death itself. He couldn't just rule from Jerusalem – He had to rule the cosmos.
The exile, paradoxically, expanded Israel's vision of what God's promises meant. And that expanded vision prepared them (and us) to recognize Jesus when He came.
Part VII: Deep Covenant Insights
Let’s look at some areas of this passage that might change how you think about faith and suffering.
Psalm 89 as a Model for Prayer
First, Psalm 89 teaches us how to pray when God's promises seem to fail. Notice the structure: worship, lament, questions, but ending with worship again. The psalmist doesn't pretend everything is okay. He doesn't suppress his doubts or anger. He brings them directly to God.
But – and this is crucial – he brings them to God within the context of covenant relationship. He's not questioning whether God exists or whether the covenant was real. He's saying, "I know You're real, I know Your promises are real, so how do You explain this?"
This is what I call covenant protest. It's like a child saying to their parent, "But you promised!" It actually demonstrates deep faith – you don't argue with someone who doesn't exist, and you don't appeal to promises you don't believe in.
Some of you need to hear this: God can handle your hardest questions. He can handle your anger, your disappointment, your confusion. What He wants is for you to bring them to Him, not to pretend they don't exist or to walk away from Him because of them.
The Jehoiachin Detail
Second, let's talk about that strange ending to 2 Kings with Jehoiachin eating at the Babylonian king's table. It seems like such a minor detail, but theologically it's massive.
Remember, God promised David that he would never lack a descendant on the throne. Well, there's no throne in Jerusalem anymore – it's been destroyed. But there's a son of David eating at a king's table, being honored above other kings, receiving royal treatment.
It's like God is saying, "Even in exile, even in judgment, I haven't forgotten My promise. The line of David lives. The covenant stands."
This is how God often works in our lives. When everything seems lost, He preserves a remnant. When all hope seems gone, He maintains a thin thread of promise. It might not look like much – Jehoiachin isn't ruling, he's not in Jerusalem, he's essentially a privileged prisoner – but he's alive. The line continues. The promise endures.
Messianic Hope Through Crisis
Third, and perhaps most importantly, the exile intensified and clarified messianic hope. Before the exile, Israel might have been content with a good king, a strong king, a king like David. But the exile proved that no merely human king would be enough.
The prophetic visions during and after exile aren't just about restoration to the way things were. They're about transformation into something infinitely greater. Isaiah's branch from Jesse's stump has the Spirit of the LORD resting on Him in a way no previous king did. Ezekiel's shepherd-king brings about changes that are clearly supernatural. Jeremiah's righteous Branch executes perfect justice and righteousness.
The exile forced Israel to dream bigger, to hope for more than just another David. They began to hope for the son of David who would also be the Son of God.
Part VIII: New Testament Fulfillment
This is where the story gets beautiful. When the New Testament opens, it's been 400 years since the last Old Testament prophet. The Davidic line has been dormant for six centuries. And then:
"The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham" (Matt. 1:1).
Matthew opens his Gospel with a declaration: The waiting is over. The son of David has come. But this son of David is unlike any who came before.
When the angel Gabriel appears to Mary, he says: "He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end" (Luke 1:32-33).
Every promise from Psalm 89 is being claimed for Jesus. Throne of David? Check. Reign forever? Check. Kingdom without end? Check.
But here's where it gets interesting. Jesus fulfills the Davidic covenant in a completely unexpected way. He doesn't raise an army to overthrow Rome. He doesn't rebuild the temple. He doesn't even stay in Jerusalem. Instead:
He's crowned with thorns, not gold. His throne is a cross, not a royal seat. His kingdom inauguration involves His death, not His enemies' defeat. He conquers not by killing but by dying. He establishes His reign not through violence but through sacrifice.
This is why the religious leaders missed it. They were looking for a political messiah, a military deliverer, someone who would make Israel great again. But Jesus came to do something infinitely greater – to establish a kingdom not of this world, to defeat not Rome but sin and death, to offer not just political freedom but spiritual transformation.
Part IX: Living in the Already/Not Yet
So where does this leave us? We live in a unique moment in redemptive history. The Messiah has come, but the kingdom isn't fully realized. Jesus reigns, but we still suffer. The covenant is fulfilled, but we're still waiting for the consummation.
We live in what theologians call the "already/not yet." Already, Jesus is King. Not yet do we see all things subjected to Him. Already, we are citizens of His kingdom. Not yet do we experience its fullness. Already, the covenant promises are ours in Christ. Not yet do we see them completely manifested.
This means we can relate to Psalm 89 in a unique way. Like the psalmist, we sometimes look around and wonder where God's promises are. We see suffering, injustice, death – all things that shouldn't exist if Jesus is really King. We cry out, "How long, O Lord?"
But unlike the psalmist, we know the answer to the tension. We know that the son of David has come. We know that He conquered through suffering. We know that He rose from the dead and reigns at the Father's right hand. We know He's coming again to complete what He started.
Part X: Practical Applications
Here are some practical ways to apply this to your life today.
When God's Promises Seem to Fail
First, when you're in a season where God's promises seem to fail, remember Psalm 89. You're allowed to wrestle. You're allowed to question. You're allowed to bring your disappointment to God. Don't pretend everything is fine when it's not. Don't put on a spiritual mask. Be honest with God about your struggles.
But – and this is important – wrestle within the covenant, not outside it. The psalmist never abandons his faith; he argues from it. He holds God to His own words. You can do the same. Remind God of His promises. Not because He's forgotten, but because it strengthens your faith to rehearse them.
The Purpose of Waiting
Second, understand that waiting isn't wasted. The 600 years between the last Davidic king and Jesus weren't empty years. They were preparation years. They were years when hope was refined, when expectations were purified, when hearts were prepared to receive something greater than they had imagined.
Your waiting isn't wasted either. That job that hasn't come, that healing that hasn't happened, that relationship that hasn't been restored – God is working in the waiting. He's preparing you for something. He's preparing something for you. The waiting is part of the plan, not a deviation from it.
Finding Hope in Small Mercies
Third, look for the "Jehoiachin moments" in your life. When everything seems dark, God often preserves small signs of hope. They might not look like much – a kind word from a friend, an unexpected provision, a moment of peace in the storm – but they're reminders that God hasn't abandoned His promises.
Jehoiachin eating at the king's table wasn't the fulfillment of the Davidic covenant, but it was a sign that the covenant still stood. Look for those signs in your life. They're there if you have eyes to see them.
Living as Exile Citizens
Fourth, recognize that in some sense, we're all in exile. We're citizens of heaven living in a foreign land. The kingdom of God has broken into this world, but this world isn't yet fully the kingdom of God. We're displaced people longing for home.
This should shape how we live. We don't get too comfortable here because this isn't our final destination. But we also don't disengage, because we're ambassadors of the coming kingdom. We live with hope, knowing that our King reigns and is making all things new.
The Power of Lament
Fifth, recover the practice of lament. Modern Christianity often lacks a vocabulary for suffering. We jump too quickly to resolution, to victory, to praise. But the Bible gives us permission – even encouragement – to lament.
Lament isn't doubt; it's faith expressing pain. Lament isn't giving up; it's holding on through tears. Lament isn't accusing God; it's appealing to Him. Jesus Himself lamented: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matt. 27:46). If the Son of God can lament, so can we.
Community in Crisis
Sixth, remember that covenant faith is communal. Psalm 89 wasn't written for private devotion; it was written for corporate worship. The exiles didn't suffer alone; they suffered together. And in their shared suffering, they found strength.
Don't go through your crises alone. Share your struggles with your faith community. Let others lament with you, hope with you, wait with you. The covenant people of God are meant to bear one another's burdens.
Part XI: The Ultimate Resolution
As we wrap up, I want to bring us back to the ultimate resolution of Psalm 89's tension. The psalm ends with unresolved questions, but we don't have to. We know how the story ends.
In Revelation 5, John sees a vision of the heavenly throne room. There's a scroll that needs to be opened – the scroll of history, of judgment, of redemption. But no one is worthy to open it. John weeps because it seems like the story of redemption is stuck.
But then: "Weep no more; behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals" (Rev. 5:5).
The Root of David! The Davidic covenant finds its fulfillment in heaven's throne room. But when John looks, he doesn't see a lion – he sees a Lamb, standing as though it had been slain (Rev. 5:6). The son of David conquers not through strength but through sacrifice.
And then all heaven erupts in worship: "Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!" (Rev. 5:12).
Every promise to David, every hope of the exiles, every prophetic vision finds its "Yes" and "Amen" in Jesus Christ. The throne is established – not in earthly Jerusalem but in the heavenly places. The kingdom is eternal – not because it's protected from enemies but because the King has defeated death itself. The covenant stands firm – not because of human faithfulness but because of divine faithfulness incarnated in Jesus.
Part XII: Final Reflections and Challenge
As we close, I want to leave you with three final thoughts.
First, your story isn't over. If you're in Psalm 89:38-45 right now – in that place where all of God's promises seem to have failed – remember that the psalm doesn't end there. And neither does your story. The God who preserved David's line through exile, who raised Jesus from the dead, who turns crosses into thrones and tombs into doorways is still writing your story. Don't close the book in chapter 89. Wait for the revelation.
Second, your suffering has meaning. The exile wasn't meaningless suffering – it was preparatory suffering. It prepared Israel to receive a Messiah greater than they imagined. Your suffering isn't meaningless either. God is using it to prepare you for something, to prepare something for you, to work something in you that couldn't be worked any other way.
As Paul says, "For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison" (2 Cor. 4:17). Your Psalm 89 moment is preparing you for your Revelation 5 moment.
Third, your King is faithful. The ultimate answer to Psalm 89 isn't an explanation – it's a person. Jesus Christ, the son of David, the Son of God, the faithful covenant keeper. He doesn't always answer our questions, but He always keeps His promises.
The throne of David is occupied right now. Not in Jerusalem but at the Father's right hand. The son of David reigns right now. Not over a small middle eastern nation but over all creation. The covenant is in force right now. Not written on stone tablets but on human hearts by the Spirit.
The Question That Changes Everything
We started by asking, "What do you do when it feels like God has let you down?" Now I want to ask a different question: "What if God's apparent absence is actually preparing you for His greater presence?"
What if the exile moments in your life aren't God abandoning His promises but God preparing to fulfill them in ways that exceed your imagination? What if the throne that seems empty is about to be filled by a King greater than you dared hope for?
The Israelites in exile couldn't have imagined that their suffering was preparing the way for the Messiah. They couldn't have known that the son of David they were waiting for would also be the Son of God. They couldn't have guessed that the kingdom they longed for would encompass not just Palestine but the entire cosmos.
You can't see what God is preparing through your exile either. But you can trust the One who kept His promise to David in the most unexpected way possible – through a crucified and risen Messiah. The God who turned the ultimate covenant crisis (the death of the Messiah) into the ultimate covenant fulfillment (the resurrection of the King) is working in your crisis too.
So here's my challenge as we close: Will you trust Him in the "But now" moments? Will you hold on to the promises when you can't see their fulfillment? Will you bless the LORD even when the crown is in the dust?
The story of the Davidic covenant teaches us that God's delays are not denials. His silence is not absence. His hiddenness is not abandonment. The covenant that seemed to fail in exile
