There comes a moment in every believer’s life when the illusion shatters. The world, once a familiar and comfortable place, twists into something foreign—hostile, even. The air thickens.
The roads that once felt safe now seem lined with unseen dangers. And the soul, awakening with a start, realizes: I do not belong here.
That’s when the pilgrimage begins.
Psalm 120, the first of the Songs of Ascents, opens with a cry from a man who has seen too much, suffered too long, and can no longer stomach the lies of the world:
“In my distress I cried unto the LORD, and He heard me. Deliver my soul, O LORD, from lying lips and a deceitful tongue.” (Psalm 120:1-2)
He is a man drowning in falsehood. He has breathed in the poisoned air of a world content with shadows and deception. And now, he cannot bear it. Can you?
Or have you made peace with Babylon? Have you come to terms with the lies?
The Pilgrim’s Awakening
The road to Zion does not begin with joy. It begins with anguish. A gut-wrenching, soul-stripping realization that this world is not home and never will be.
Psalm 120 does not sing—it groans. It is the cry of a man who has lived too long among enemies.
“Woe is me, that I sojourn in Mesech, that I dwell in the tents of Kedar!” (Psalm 120:5)
Mesech. Kedar. Distant, pagan lands—places of violence, treachery, and war. But the psalmist isn’t lamenting a geographical location. He is grieving a spiritual exile, a life spent surrounded by those who hate peace.
Christian, do you feel this exile?
Or have you settled?
Most never leave. Most grow accustomed to the air, dulling their senses to the taste of deceit. They laugh at the jokes, nod along with the culture, sing the world’s songs until the lyrics lodge so deeply in their bones that they mistake them for their own thoughts.
They have no distress because they have no clarity. They do not cry out because they no longer realize they are drowning.
But the true pilgrim? He feels it. He knows it. And he cannot stay.
The Dangerous Road Ahead
It is one thing to cry out. It is another to move.
Psalm 121 begins with the first step, and with it, the immediate terror of the unknown:
“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth.” (Psalm 121:1-2)
The hills are not just scenery; they are a battleground.
In ancient Israel, the hills were places of ambush. Robbers and enemies lurked in the heights, waiting for travelers to pass through the mountain roads. To set out for Zion meant stepping into danger.
Following Christ has never been safe. The enemy does not mind a stagnant Christian, but he hates a moving one.
The moment you take that first step toward Zion, the attacks begin. Doubt. Fear. Isolation. Betrayal. The whispers: Turn back. You imagined it all. The old ways were easier.
The psalmist does not deny the threats. He does not claim there are no robbers, no dangers, no exhaustion. But he lifts his eyes higher. Above the hills. Above the enemies. To the One who stands guard over his soul.
And though the hills rise steep and the shadows lengthen, remember, pilgrim, it is not by your own strength you climb, but by the very hand that formed those hills, a hand that lifts and carries when your own falter.
The Pilgrim’s Keeper
“He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: He that keepeth thee will not slumber.” (Psalm 121:3)
The journey is perilous, but the Keeper does not sleep.
Every step, every heartbreak, every silent night filled with doubt—He watches. Not from a distance, but near. Near enough to catch you when you stumble. Near enough to shield you when the arrows fly. Near enough to whisper when the road grows dark: Keep walking.
And so the pilgrim presses on.
The City That Calls Us Home
After the cries of Psalm 120 and the perils of Psalm 121, Psalm 122 bursts open like the dawn.
“I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the LORD. Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem.” (Psalm 122:1-2)
The journey is not aimless. The pain is not wasted. The road has an end, and that end is home.
Jerusalem. Zion. The city of God. The place where peace is not just a fleeting moment but the very air we breathe. The place where justice is not a longing but a reality. The place where the lies are stripped away, and the world is right.
But here’s the truth few will tell you: Most will never make it. Not because the road is impassable, but because they never truly leave.
They cry out in Psalm 120, but never step into Psalm 121. They awaken to the lies, but they do not move toward the truth. They hate Babylon, but they do not love Zion.
And so they remain, trapped in an endless cycle of frustration, anger, and despair—longing for a kingdom they will never reach because they refuse to walk the road that leads there.
The Question That Remains
You feel it, don’t you? That restless ache. That hunger for something more real, more true.
You have sung the songs of this world, and they have left you empty. You have played by its rules, and it has broken you. You have chased its peace, and found only war.
You are awake now.
So the question is not: Do you see the lies? The question is: Will you walk toward the truth?
The road is open. The hills are waiting. The city is calling.
But you must decide.
Will you stay?
Or will you go?
Recommended Resource: If you’re studying the Psalms, you won’t want to miss my in-depth review of The Treasury of David by Charles Spurgeon. This timeless masterpiece unpacks the Psalms with rich theological insight, making it essential for devotion, sermon prep, or deep Bible study. Read the full review here.
Psalm 23 devotion here
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