Light in Darkness
Do you ever try to walk through a dark room without turning on the light? Maybe you don’t want to wake up your spouse, or you’re trying to prove you know your house layout like the back of your hand. And then boom, your pinky toe finds the coffee table you forgot was there. Suddenly, you’re hopping like a kangaroo, your life flashes before your eyes, and you start to see a bright light.
We laugh about it, but life feels like that sometimes, doesn’t it? Like we’re just stumbling around in the dark, trying to figure out where we’re going, trying not to get hurt, hoping we don’t mess everything up. And when we do get hurt, when we trip, when we fall, we wonder if there’s anything steady to grab onto. That’s what makes Psalm 119 so beautiful. It’s not written by someone who had it all figured out. It’s written by someone who’s been bruised by the dark. Someone who knows what it’s like to be afflicted, hunted, misunderstood, overwhelmed. But instead of giving up or giving in, he clings to something that never fails. Something that never flickers or fades. He clings to the Word of God.
So if you’ve been limping in the dark, wondering if there’s something you can trust, look down. There’s a lamp in your hand. Let’s learn to walk by its light.
God’s Word illuminates our steps, so follow its glow. (105–106)
“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (105). This is one of the most well-known verses in the entire Bible. It’s on bookmarks, coffee mugs, bumper stickers. But don’t let the familiarity dull the weight of it. This is not a Hobby Lobby decorative phrase. This is written by someone who’s been walking through darkness, not skipping through sunshine.
When do you need light? Why does this stanza start this way? Because the psalmist is engulfed in darkness. If I shine a flashlight during when the sun is shining, what is it going to do? You won’t notice it. The psalmist is engulfed in darkness, so he needs light.
Think about the way this light is described. The psalmist doesn’t say God’s Word is a floodlight that beams across the whole trail or high beams from a vehicle with LED lights (which if you’re like me, you think should be banished from all roads. It’s like you’re getting an X-Ray every time one of those vehicles pass you on the road). He says it’s a lamp. Lamps in those days were essentially clay pots with oil and a wick. It gave off light much like a lighter would do nowadays. This is a small, steady, flickering flame in the dark. It doesn’t show you the end of the road. But it gives you enough light to take the next step. And that’s all you need when you’re in the dark.
We want Google Maps for our soul, with a little voice saying, “In 500 feet, avoid a midlife crisis.” But the Bible doesn’t work like that. Life doesn’t often come with blueprints and floor plans. More often than not, it’s a walk through fog. But God’s Word is the light that cuts through fog. As James Montgomery Boice said, “The Bible doesn’t just clarify itself. It clarifies everything else by its light.” God’s Word doesn’t just show you which way to go. It shows you what you need as you go.
God’s Word applies to every miniscule area of our lives. God’s Word as a lamp is more like Deuteronomy 6:5 telling you to love God with all your heart when your coworker’s passive-aggressive email makes you want to love nobody. It’s Proverbs 15:1 reminding you a gentle answer turns away wrath when your kid’s meltdown in Target is testing your sanctification. God’s Word is practical application for everyday obedience.
Verse 106 takes the next step: “I have sworn an oath and confirmed it, to keep your righteous rules.” This is a promise. It’s a line in the sand. The psalmist doesn’t just say he loves the Word. He vows to live by it. And he confirms it. That’s double commitment. This isn’t like saying, “I’ll read more Bible this year,” and then quitting somewhere in Leviticus (by the way, that’s where we’re currently at in our Hope for Every day reading plan). No, he uses covenant language. Like a knight pledging his loyalty to the king.
Let’s be honest though. We’ve all sworn some oaths before. I swore off carbs once…well twice…well, actually I’ve lost count how many times. I told my wife. Told myself. Told the Lord. Then I smelled pizza and remembered the Lord is gracious and merciful. But the psalmist isn’t talking about a casual New Year’s resolution. He’s talking about a heart-level resolve. He resolves, swears, confirms, to keep God’s Word. To live by the light.
Spurgeon writes, “The Word is a lamp by night, a light by day, and a delight at all times. It is good for babes, useful to men, and suitable to the aged. It never misleads. It never lies. It never changes.” That’s what the psalmist is clinging to. Not a flashlight. Not a map. A lamp. A daily, dependable light.
God’s Word sustains us in storms, so trust its power. (107–108)
Sometimes life doesn’t just feel dark. It feels like a F5 tornado. Verse 107 says, “I am severely afflicted. Give me life, O Lord, according to your word.” This isn’t “I had a bad day” afflicted. This is “I’m barely breathing” afflicted. Like when you lose your job and the bills keep coming. Or when the doctor’s report isn’t what you prayed for. Or when your family’s falling apart, and you’re wondering if God’s even listening. Over and over in Psalms 119 we see the psalmist face affliction, but this is the first time he uses the first person present tense… “I am severely afflicted.” It’s personal. It’s real.
But notice what he reaches for. He doesn’t reach for revenge or distraction. He doesn’t post about it, vent about it, or scroll through reels to numb the ache. He cries out for God to revive him through His Word. That’s faith. That’s someone who’s learned where life and help really comes from.
Storms reveal what you’re tied to. Have you ever see those videos of people boarding up for a hurricane, boarding up their windows like that’s going to stop a 150-mph wind? That’s us, trying to duct-tape our lives together with distractions or hustle. But the psalmist anchors to something that doesn’t budge. It’s like he’s got a storm shelter built on Scripture, and he’s running to it.
Then verse 108 almost feels out of place: “Accept my freewill offerings of praise, O Lord, and teach me your rules.” You’d expect him to say, “I’m severely afflicted. Give me life… and maybe give me a break, Lord.” But instead, he offers…praise? Not out of duty, but out of desire. He’s saying, “Even in the pain, I want You. Even when life doesn’t make sense, I still choose to worship.” That’s not surface-level religion. That’s deep, rooted trust.
It reminds me of when one of my kids hands me a drawing that’s just a blob with googly eyes. “It’s you, Dad!” they say, proud as Picasso. It’s not Louvre-worthy, but it’s everything because it’s from their heart. That’s what this praise is…raw, real, not polished, but precious to God. In a culture that only claps for success, praising through pain is countercultural. It’s saying, “I don’t get it, but I trust You’re good.”
The psalmist teaches us that storms are not the enemy of worship. They’re the classroom for it.
So when life hits hard, don’t just grit your teeth and say, “I’ll get through this.” Open your Bible. Cry out to God. Pray like your life depends on it, because sometimes it does. Praise Him not because everything’s okay, but because God’s still God and God’s still good. Trust the power of the Word to carry you when your own strength has run out. Because the storm might still be raging. But the Word hasn’t lost an ounce of its power to give you life.
God’s Word shields us from snares, so cling to its wisdom. (109–110)
Life’s not just dark or stormy…it’s also tricky. Life can feel like walking through a minefield. You’re not sure what’s going to set things off. One wrong text. One harsh word. One sudden temptation. The psalmist says in verse 109, “I hold my life in my hand continually, but I do not forget your law.” This phrase is a Hebrew idiom for living in constant danger. It brings about the image of a traveler holding onto a valuable treasure. While he’s traveling, he’s vulnerable to thieves waiting to pounce and steal the treasure. The psalmist lived with this type of risk, aware that each day could bring death.
This verse makes me think of the game of Jenga. Life is shaky, unpredictable, and it could fall over at any second…and yet, what is the psalmist doing? He is clinging to God’s Word. The psalmist is showing us that when life feels out of control, you don’t need more control. You need more truth. You don’t grip harder to your plans. You cling tighter to God’s Word.
Then verse 110 turns up the heat. “The wicked have laid a snare for me, but I do not stray from your precepts.” He’s not only dealing with instability. He’s being targeted. People are trying to take him down. He’s navigating a maze of traps. And yet he doesn’t lose his footing. The psalmist sees the traps because Scripture’s lighting his way. He’s not out here stepping on rakes like a cartoon character. He stays on the path.
Walking without the Word is like walking barefoot through a room full of Legos. At first it seems fine. Then one wrong step and you’re on the floor questioning your entire life. That’s what life is like when you don’t have Scripture stored in your heart. You don’t know what to avoid. You don’t know where to step. But when the Word becomes your path, you start seeing the dangers for what they are. The traps don’t go away, but they lose their power. You see them and step over them. You recognize the lie and walk around it.
God’s Word is our prize, so cherish it with joy. (111–112)
Some people treat the Bible like a spiritual antique. Something to be admired, but not touched. A fragile thing to display on a shelf or crack open only on holidays. But the psalmist doesn’t see it that way. He says, “Your testimonies are my heritage forever, for they are the joy of my heart” (111). This isn’t a hand-me-down sweater from grandma. This is a priceless inheritance. An unshakable treasure. A source of joy that doesn’t fade when the day gets hard or the headlines get worse.
He calls the Word his “heritage.” That means it’s not just something he stumbled into. It’s something he receives and cherishes and plans to pass on. I have a couple of Bibles that have been passed down to me. One from each of my grandfathers. They mean a lot to me. But also, in a way, they’re useless. Just sitting there, you know what they do? They collect dust. The real heritage is this Word opened. It’s my grandparents opening his home to 48 foster kids. It’s seeing the love of Christ lived out. The heritage isn’t these Bibles on display. It’s these words embodied. Lived out. Modeled. Shared. Taught. Proclaimed. Now, that’s a heritage.
The world offers so many things to inherit—money, land, names, reputations. But none of it lasts. Even the best of it fades. But the psalmist has found something that outlives death. Something Isaiah already declared: “The word of our God will stand forever” (Isaiah 40:8). That’s what he’s clinging to. That’s what fills him with joy. Not because life is easy, but because God’s truth is enduring.
Then verse 112 brings it home: “I incline my heart to perform your statutes forever, to the end.” He doesn’t just feel a certain way about the Word. He bends his whole life toward it. He makes a decision. He points his feet. He turns, not toward comfort or convenience, but toward obedience. Towards God’s Word. He doesn’t wait for his heart to get in line. He steers it toward God. That’s not legalism. That’s love. That’s what it looks like when your joy is rooted in truth. It’s not perfect performance. It’s determined affection.
And listen, I get it. Some days it’s easier to incline your heart to Netflix than to God’s statutes. We’ve all had those days. But the psalmist isn’t talking about feelings. He’s talking about faithfulness. He’s not saying, “I feel like it.” He’s saying, “I choose it.” Because he knows there’s joy on the other side of surrender.
And that joy isn’t just a vague emotion. It’s a person. Listen where the Bible tells us we are to turn our feet and set our eyes towards:
Hebrews 12:2 – …looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.
The Word of God that the psalmist treasures, He has a name. His name is Jesus. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. And He didn’t just give us commandments. He gave us Himself. He came not only to teach us the way, but to be the way. He lived in perfect obedience. He died in our place. And He rose so that we could not only know the truth, but be set free by it. Jesus is the light that shines in the darkness, and you know what? The darkness has not overcome Him. That’s the love of God. Entering into your darkness.
So what do you do with that kind of love? You don’t just admire it from a distance. You don’t treat it like a spiritual keepsake. You receive it. You respond to it. If your heart has been cold, ask Him to warm it. If your joy feels faint, ask Him to fill it. If you’ve never truly trusted Jesus, today is the day to surrender your life to Him. Don’t leave here clinging to something that can’t last when He’s offering you a treasure that never fades.
The joy the psalmist longed for is available to you right now. And it’s not found in trying harder. It’s found in trusting Jesus. So come to Him. Rest in Him. Give Him your heart. And find your joy in the One who gave everything for you to have life and light.
