JESUS IN THE BOOK OF PSALMS
The Psalms are not scattered religious poems gathered at random; they are a witness. They breathe before Bethlehem, weep before Calvary, and rejoice before the stone is rolled away. Long before the name Jesus was spoken aloud in Nazareth, the Spirit was already giving Him words—songs shaped by suffering, trust, obedience, and hope.
“Blessed is the Man who walks not in the counsel of the ungodly” (Psalm 1:1). That Man is more than an ideal; He is real. He delighted in the law of the Lord without hesitation or compromise. He stood where Adam fell, where Israel wavered, where we so often fail—and He stood in perfect faithfulness. The Psalms begin with Him because history does too.
Then the tone deepens. Psalm 22 opens a wound that only the cross can explain: “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Psalm 22:1). These are not borrowed words spoken in desperation; they are ancient words waiting for their moment. Hands pierced, feet pierced, garments divided, mockers surrounding Him (Psalm 22:16-18). David wrote them in pain; Jesus fulfilled them in blood. Yet the psalm refuses to end in despair. Praise rises. The afflicted One lives. The nations hear. Resurrection breathes between the lines (Psalm 22:22-31).
Psalm 16 whispers what the tomb would later shout: “You will not leave my soul in Sheol, nor will You allow Your Holy One to see corruption” (Psalm 16:10). Death could not keep Him. The grave could not claim Him. The Psalms already knew what Easter morning would confirm.
When we walk through Psalm 23, we are not walking alone. “The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want” (Psalm 23:1). Jesus would later speak the words plainly—“I am the good shepherd” (John 10:11)—but the Shepherd was already there, leading, restoring, staying close. He does not remove the valley; He enters it. He does not shout directions from heaven; He walks beside us, rod and staff in hand.
The Psalms also lift our eyes to a throne. “Yet I have set My King on My holy hill of Zion” (Psalm 2:6). The nations resist Him. The rulers reject Him. But heaven laughs—not in cruelty, but in certainty. Psalm 110 takes us further: “The Lord said to my Lord, ‘Sit at My right hand, till I make Your enemies Your footstool’” (Psalm 110:1). David calls Him Lord because He is more than David’s Son; He is David’s Savior.
Even the penitential psalms lean toward Christ. Psalm 51 teaches us how sinners come home—not by hiding, not by pretending, but by surrender. And though Jesus had no sin to confess, He would carry ours, so that “a broken and a contrite heart” would no longer be crushed, but restored (Psalm 51:17).
The Psalms are not merely about Jesus; they are prayed by Him and through Him. When we read them, we are borrowing His voice—lamenting without losing faith, rejoicing without denying sorrow, trusting God even when the night is long. They teach us that honest prayer is holy prayer.
Every cry, every song, every quiet line points to Him—the righteous Man, the suffering Servant, the risen Lord, the faithful Shepherd, the reigning King. The Psalms are the gospel in seed form, waiting for Christ to step into history and make every word flesh.
BDD
