Unless the Lord Builds the House

Psalm 127 was sung by people walking toward a city they couldn't see yet

Families sang Psalm 127 on the road, a few miles at a time.

It's one of fifteen psalms with the heading "A Song of Ascents," Psalms 120 through 134, and most scholars think these were the songs households sang as they walked up to Jerusalem for the feasts. Picture whole households on that road. Grandparents, toddlers on somebody's shoulders, a donkey carrying everything they'd need for the week, and a climb ahead of them that would take days. Nobody on that road could see the city yet. They sang their way toward it.

And this particular song has another line in its heading. Of Solomon. The richest builder in Israel's history, the man who built the temple and then spent thirteen years on his own house, wrote this:

Unless the Lord builds the house, They labor in vain who build it; Unless the Lord guards the city, The watchman stays awake in vain. (Psalm 127:1)

Solomon knew more about building than anyone singing that song. He knew about stone and cedar and payroll. And he says all of it is in vain unless Someone else is doing the building.

The Living Room at 9:20

They signed the papers this morning. Now it's Friday night and everything they own is in boxes. The lamp has no shade yet, so it sits on a box with its bare bulb, next to the new keys and a folder of closing documents. Three paint swatches are taped to the wall by the window. The mattress is leaning against the other wall where the movers left it, and there are pillows and a quilt on the floor, because nobody has the energy to set up a bed tonight.

They're sharing a pizza on two moving boxes. She's tired and happy. He's talking about Monday. And underneath the happy is a number neither of them has said out loud yet, the one that comes out of the checking account on the first of every month for the next thirty years.

The word mortgage comes from an old French phrase that means a dead pledge, the same root that gives us mortuary. Till death do us part. That's what the bank wants you to know. It's a good joke until 9:20 on the first night.

"Be Anxious for Nothing"

If you love Jesus and you're lying awake doing math, there's a verse that can make it worse.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6-7)

Read as a rule, the first four words turn your worry into a failure. Now you're anxious about the payment and guilty about being anxious.

But who wrote it, and from where? Paul wrote Philippians in chains (Philippians 1:13). He wasn't a man with a paid-off house lecturing people with a mortgage. And look at what he does with the anxiety. Instead of telling you to stop feeling it, he tells you where to put it, and then he makes a promise. The peace of God will guard your heart. Paul puts the guarding on God. You bring the request, and He stands watch.

That's Solomon's watchman again. You can stay up all night guarding the city, and if the Lord isn't guarding it, your staying up didn't add anything.

Let's be realistic. Tomorrow is going to happen, and you're going to be a little worried about Tuesday at some point. Not because you don't love God. Because you're still a human. Jesus knew that too, which is why He said, Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble (Matthew 6:34). He didn't promise there'd be no trouble. He said today has enough of it, and you only have to live today.

Who Holds the House Up

Look at what Psalm 127 doesn't say. It doesn't tell anybody to put down their tools. Somebody still hauls the stone and sets the beams. The watchman still walks the wall at night. What the psalm takes off their shoulders is the idea that the house stands or falls on them.

Think about those families on the road again. They packed what they could carry, they walked for days, and they still couldn't see Jerusalem from where they were. They sang anyway, because the song was about who they were walking toward, not about how much road was left. That's what faith is, by the way. It isn't a force you build up until the future obeys you. It's trust in a Person who's already standing in next year.

So trusting God with what comes next doesn't mean nothing will break. The payment comes out on the first whether you slept or not, and the furnace is going to make a noise you don't recognize yet. Trust means you aren't the one holding the house up. When you wake up worried, try praying it this way: Lord, it's not tomorrow, it's today. And today I'm right with You because of what Jesus did, and You're the one building.

Tonight, in the Living Room

The lampshade is in one of those boxes. They'll find it next week, along with the forks and the shower curtain and the thing they were sure they packed.

Tonight they finish the pizza, pull the quilt across the floor, and leave the bare bulb on a little longer than they need to, singing their way up the road like everybody else who couldn't see the city yet.