A Psalm for Backsliders, Bones, and the Breath of God
It was the Lord’s Day.
The pews were half full. The hearts maybe less.
A breeze stirred through the cracked window beside the pulpit, rustling a hymnal someone hadn’t opened in weeks.
I stood up to preach, Bible in hand, but the real sermon had already been written. It wasn’t mine. It was Psalm 106.
And it starts where you wouldn’t expect:
Not with lament. Not with judgment.
But with Hallelujah.
“Praise the Lord. Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever.” (Psalm 106:1)
Before the writer lists a single sin, he anchors us in the goodness of God. He points the spotlight not on the failings of man, but the faithfulness of the Lord. And that’s what makes the rest of the psalm so unbearable. Because what follows is a catalogue of forgetfulness, a funeral dirge for a nation that had everything—and traded it for idols.
We are not better than them. We are them.
And if we don’t learn this history, we will repeat it.
I. You Don’t Have to Join the Drift
Everyone around you may be walking away.
You don’t have to.
That’s how the psalm begins. In a sea of faithlessness, the writer holds fast. He praises. He remembers. He pleads.
“Remember me, Lord, when you show favor to your people… that I may share in the joy of your nation.” (Psalm 106:4–5)
The church today is covered in cold ash. The fire’s gone out in many pulpits. Prayer meetings are silent or nonexistent. The Word is barely opened, and when it is, it’s handled like a self-help manual, not a sword. And yet—you don’t have to join the decay.
This psalmist didn’t.
He delighted in God. He declared His mighty acts. He did what was right while the world spun sideways.
He reminds us: faithfulness is still possible, even when everyone else is losing their way.
Backsliding may be common. Apostasy may be rising. But they are not inevitable. Your spiritual life is not on a conveyor belt. You are not powerless. The Psalm opens with a man who’s still praying, still hoping, still refusing to give up—even if he’s the last one standing.
II. Confession Is the Cry of the Faithful
“We have sinned, even as our fathers did.” (Psalm 106:6)
The psalmist could have said, “They sinned.” But he doesn’t. He says, we.
That’s real confession.
Psalm 106 walks through five scenes of national rebellion—Egypt, the wilderness, the promised land border, Canaan, and Babylon. In each moment, the people of God forgot Him. Rejected Him. Replaced Him.
They bowed to golden cows.
They grumbled in tents instead of singing in praise.
They mingled with pagans and sacrificed their sons and daughters to demons.
They forgot the One who split the sea and gave them bread from heaven.
And yet the psalmist doesn’t excuse himself. He owns the whole history.
We must do the same.
The church today is often too quick to separate itself from the failures of other churches. “That’s the liberals.” “That’s the prosperity preachers.” “That’s the dead denominational crowd.” And while theological clarity matters, so does collective responsibility. The world sees one church. And when the church fails—when pulpits turn into TED Talks and prayer meetings become game nights—God’s reputation suffers.
The psalmist doesn’t excuse, justify, or distance himself.
He confesses.
So must we.
III. The Only Reason We’re Still Here Is Because God Is
“Yet he saved them for his name’s sake, to make his mighty power known.” (Psalm 106:8)
This verse should split us wide open.
God did not save Israel because they were worthy.
He saved them because He is merciful.
They forgot Him at the Red Sea—but He split it anyway.
They rebelled in the wilderness—but He fed them anyway.
They defiled the land—but He didn’t abandon them.
Over and over again, the people sinned, and over and over again, God relented. Why?
Because He remembered His covenant.
Because His love is not like ours.
Because He is good, even when we are not.
“He took note of their distress… and out of his great love, he relented.” (Psalm 106:44–45)
That’s the only reason the church still stands today.
Not because we’ve been faithful.
But because He has.
Across the centuries, we’ve misrepresented Him, monetized the gospel, turned cathedrals into museums, and sanctuaries into stages. And yet—here we are. Still singing. Still preaching. Still praying. Still saved.
Not because we deserve to be. But because mercy won.
IV. Revival Is Possible. But Only If We Cry Out.
“Save us, O Lord our God, and gather us from the nations.” (Psalm 106:47)
This is where it all lands. After recounting all the failure—all the compromise and idolatry and bloodshed—the psalmist still has the nerve to pray.
He asks God to gather the people. Not just for safety. Not just for peace.
But so they might “give thanks to your holy name and glory in your praise.”
This is the prayer of revival.
We don’t just need church growth. We don’t just need better sermons or bigger budgets.
We need resurrection.
We need the Spirit of God to breathe on dry bones.
We need pulpits that tremble again.
We need congregations that cry out again.
We need to be brought back to life—not polished up, not tweaked, not improved—but revived.
Revival is what turned gin-soaked towns into hymn-singing sanctuaries in 18th-century Wales.
It’s what made preachers weep over their people instead of perform.
It’s what filled chapels with farmers and fishermen who sang louder than any cathedral choir.
It’s what emptied jails because the people didn’t want to sin anymore.
That doesn’t happen through clever programs or marketing campaigns.
It happens when people pray.
Final Benediction: Let the Church Say Amen
“Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel, from everlasting to everlasting.
Let all the people say, ‘Amen!’
Praise the Lord.” (Psalm 106:48)
That’s not the conclusion of a well-organized sermon. That’s the exhale of a desperate heart.
The psalmist has looked full into the abyss of Israel’s failure. He has seen the wreckage of centuries of backsliding. He has confessed sins not his own. He has remembered the patience of God. And now, all he can do is cry out:
Save us.
Gather us.
Let us praise You again.
And so I say the same.
To the church asleep—wake up.
To the weary remnant—press on.
To the preacher standing in a near-empty sanctuary wondering if any of this still matters—yes, it does.
To the believer who’s tempted to walk away—don’t.
Let all the people say, Amen.
Let all the people say, Praise the Lord.
And let the revival begin—not in the world, but in the heart of every believer who still believes that God is worthy, and that mercy still matters.
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.
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