A Confession About My Van
My family has had car trouble pretty much all year. Transmission issues, wiring issues, everything in between. For the last month we've been a one-vehicle family, trading the truck and the van back and forth to the mechanic — the truck goes in for a thermostat, and while it's gone the van's windshield randomly cracks. The van comes back, the truck's check engine light comes on. Last Sunday, driving home from church, every light on the van's dash turned on at once. I want to confess to you: my response was not gracious. I complained. I got angry. I grumbled to my wife the whole way home.
And then this week I sat down to work on Psalm 107 — a psalm about thankfulness — and it was, needless to say, very convicting.
It's easy to forget how much we've been saved from. It's easy to forget how blessed we are and slide into grumbling, stiff-necked like Israel in the wilderness. We've been learning together in this series how to pray the psalms — prayers of adoration, prayers of confession, prayers through sorrow. Psalm 107 shows us the proper response of a people who have been washed in the steadfast love of the Father: thanksgiving.
O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever. Let the redeemed of the Lord say so. Psalm 107:1-2
One Story, Told Four Times
After its opening call to give thanks, the psalm moves through four scenes: wanderers lost in the desert, prisoners bound in darkness for their rebellion, fools brought near death by their own sin, and sailors caught in a storm at sea. Each scene follows the identical shape — crisis, a cry to the Lord, rescue, and then the same refrain of thanks, repeated word for word in verses 8, 15, 21, and 31.
It's tempting to read these as four different groups of people. But in the Hebrew, the parallel structure suggests something else: these are four metaphorical pictures of the same people — God's people in exile, described from every angle. And what began as a psalm about Israel's rescue from Egypt or Babylon becomes, in the light of the New Testament, a prophecy of the church.
The echoes are remarkable once you see them. "He satisfies the longing soul and the hungry soul he fills with good things" (v.9) is nearly the same language Mary sings in Luke 1 about her son. "To give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death" — Zechariah's words about Jesus in Luke 1 — echo this psalm's second scene almost exactly. And verse 29 — "he made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed" — you would know that's about Jesus even without being told. The freeing of prisoners echoes the liberation of Peter, Paul, and Silas in Acts. The gathering of God's people "from the east and the west, the north and the south" points forward to the great gathering Jesus describes for the kingdom feast in Matthew 8. This psalm's four rescues are one Redeemer's work, and they find their fullness in Christ.
Gratitude Is Not Natural — Discontent Is
God doesn't waste his words. He repeats this refrain four times because we need to hear it four times. If you're honest with yourself, you probably already know: gratitude is not our default. Discontent is. A flat tire doesn't just ruin the morning, it ruins the week. We can't handle the wait in the grocery line. We open a full refrigerator and say there's nothing to eat.
Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18
Scripture doesn't merely suggest thanksgiving — it commands it, over and over. "In everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be known to God" (Philippians 4:6). "Enter his gates with thanksgiving" (Psalm 100:4). "Give thanks always and for everything" (Ephesians 5:20). Notice the words — everything, always. Not just the days that go well.
Thankful for the Gifts, or Thankful for the Giver?
Most of us, when we hear the command to give thanks, start by thanking God for the good things in our lives — family, provision, health, a church that preaches the gospel. Those are good prayers, and Scripture calls for them. But if that's the whole of your thanksgiving, you're missing something.
John Piper put it this way years ago: "When was the last time an American, African, or Asian ever said, 'Jesus is all-satisfying,' because you drove a BMW? Never. They'll say, 'Did Jesus give you that? Well, I'll take Jesus.' That's idolatry — that's elevating gifts above the giver." What makes Jesus look beautiful, Piper said, is when you smash your car and your little girl lands dead in the street and you say, through the deepest possible pain, "God is enough. He will satisfy us."
Most of us, when we hear the command to give thanks, start by thanking God for the good things in our lives — family, provision, health, a church that preaches the gospel.
What do you give thanks for when, by every human measure, there's nothing left to be thankful for? When the good gifts get taken away — when loved ones are lost, when the money runs out, when the blessings turn to ashes in your mouth? One of our men gave a praise report in Sunday school recently: he'd hit a deer with his car. How does a Christian have that response?
Three Shifts in Perspective
Here are three practical steps — from least helpful to most helpful — for praying thankfully in the middle of loss, not just after it.
First, remember the blessings that remain. When a toilet breaks and you don't have the money to fix it, remember how many people in history have never had indoor plumbing at all. When you name the blessings you've overlooked — running water, a warm bed, a church that prays — your frustration loses its grip. Even in loss, God has not stopped caring for you.
Second, pray with a perspective of sanctification. Romans 8:28 doesn't say some things work together for good — it says all things. When one of our members was fighting serious health issues this year, he didn't ask us to pray for healing. He asked that his faith would be strengthened and God would be magnified through the trial. That's what it looks like to actually believe all things — even the diagnosis, even the broken van — are being worked for your good.
This light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. 2 Corinthians 4:17-18
Third, and most helpful of all, remember that our present sufferings are small next to our eternal reward. Pulling a splinter from a child's finger is like this — the child panics at the sting and can't imagine anything good coming from it, but the brief pain prevents days of infection. Our trials are real, and they don't feel light. But compared to the glory that Christ has secured for us, they're momentary.
Two Ways to Respond
The psalm closes with two contrasting responses: "The upright see it and are glad... whoever is wise, let him attend to these things and consider the steadfast love of the Lord" (vv. 42-43). The wicked, who don't repent, simply shut their mouths — of course they aren't thankful, because they have no eyes to see what Christ has done. But the redeemed see it, and they're glad.
Let the redeemed of the Lord say so.
That's the question this psalm leaves with us. God cries out, God rescues, God gathers — and our right response is thanksgiving, not just for the gifts, but for the Giver. Take this psalm into your week. Pray through it daily. Ask the Lord to give you eyes to see his hand in your past, his mercy in your present, and his promise for your future. Thank him for what he's given you. Thank him for what he's taken away. Thank him most of all for the cross that has saved you.