Commentary on Psalms 120

Psalm 120 opens the Songs of Ascents, a collection of fifteen psalms (120–134) sung by pilgrims traveling to Jerusalem for the feasts. This first song is a lament from a believer living among hostile, deceitful people in a foreign land—likely a picture of exile or sojourning. The psalmist cries out to the Lord for deliverance from lying lips and a deceitful tongue, then reflects on the painful contrast between his own longing for peace and the warlike posture of his neighbors. It is a raw, honest prayer that names the tension of living as God’s people in a world that does not share their values.

Historical context

Psalm 120 is the first of the fifteen Songs of Ascents (Shir Hama'alot), a title that likely refers to the pilgrimage journey up to Jerusalem for the three annual feasts (Exod 23:14-17). Jerusalem sits on Mount Zion, so every approach was an ascent, both physically and spiritually. These psalms were sung by Israelites traveling from their villages to the temple, often through hostile territory controlled by foreign peoples like the Edomites, Moabites, and Ishmaelites (v. 5).

The psalmist’s location among “those who hate peace” (v. 6) suggests a setting of exile or diaspora—perhaps the post-exilic period when many Jews remained scattered among hostile neighbors. The specific mention of Meshech and Kedar (v. 5) evokes distant, warlike peoples: Meshech was a tribe in Asia Minor (Gen 10:2), and Kedar was a nomadic Arab tribe (Gen 25:13). The psalmist uses them metaphorically to describe the alienating experience of living among people whose values are fundamentally opposed to God’s peace. This is not a tourist’s complaint but a believer’s cry of dislocation.

Verse by verse

• 1:

  The psalmist begins with a testimony: “In my distress I called to the Lord, and he answered me.” This is not a request but a declaration of past faithfulness. The Hebrew word for distress (tsarah) implies a narrow, tight place—the feeling of being trapped. The psalmist has already experienced God’s deliverance, and this memory becomes the foundation for his present plea. It is a pattern we see throughout the Psalms: prayer begins with remembering what God has done.

• 2:

  “Deliver me, O Lord, from lying lips, from a deceitful tongue.” The specific enemy here is not physical violence but verbal treachery. In the ancient Near East, words carried immense power—they could bless or curse, build up or destroy. The psalmist is surrounded by people who use speech as a weapon: slander, broken promises, false accusations. This is a deeply personal cry, but it also echoes the broader biblical theme that the tongue is a fire (Jas 3:6) and that God hates a lying tongue (Prov 6:17).

• 3:

  “What shall be given to you, and what more shall be done to you, you deceitful tongue?” The psalmist turns from prayer to a rhetorical question directed at his enemies. It is a prophetic oracle of judgment, though the exact punishment is left open. The implied answer is that God will repay the deceiver in kind—the very weapons they use will turn against them. This is not personal vengeance but a plea for divine justice, echoing the principle of the lex talionis (Exod 21:23-25).

• 4:

  “A warrior’s sharp arrows, with glowing coals of the broom tree!” The answer to verse 3: the deceitful tongue will be met with God’s judgment, pictured as arrows and burning coals. The broom tree (rotem) was a desert shrub whose roots made exceptionally hot coals. The imagery is vivid: the liar’s weapon (the tongue) is like a sharp arrow (Ps 64:3), and God’s response is an even sharper arrow. The psalmist is not calling down fire from heaven; he is trusting that God’s justice is more precise and more devastating than any human retaliation.

• 5:

  “Woe to me, that I sojourn in Meshech, that I dwell among the tents of Kedar!” This is the emotional center of the psalm. The psalmist names his pain: he is a sojourner, a temporary resident among hostile peoples. Meshech and Kedar are not literal neighbors but symbolic representatives of a world that is violent, nomadic, and opposed to God’s order. The lament is not just about physical danger but about spiritual alienation—the loneliness of being a stranger in a strange land. This verse resonates with every believer who has felt out of place in a culture that does not honor God.

• 6:

  “Too long have I had my dwelling among those who hate peace.” The psalmist’s sojourn has become protracted. The Hebrew word for “too long” (rabah) suggests an excess, a burden that has become unbearable. The key word here is “peace” (shalom)—the comprehensive well-being that comes from right relationship with God and others. The psalmist longs for shalom, but his neighbors hate it. This is the fundamental conflict of the Christian life: we are peacemakers living among those who prefer conflict (Matt 5:9).

• 7:

  “I am for peace, but when I speak, they are for war!” The final verse captures the tragedy of the psalmist’s situation. He is a man of peace, but his words are met with hostility. The Hebrew construction is emphatic: “I—peace!” The psalmist’s identity is bound up with shalom, yet his environment is defined by war. This is not a call to retreat or to passive resignation; it is an honest acknowledgment that faithfulness to God often means being misunderstood and opposed. The psalm ends without resolution, leaving the reader in the tension between the psalmist’s longing and the reality of his circumstances.

Key themes

• The pain of living among the deceitful
• God as the deliverer from verbal oppression
• The longing for shalom in a hostile world
• The sojourner’s identity and alienation
• Divine justice against the lying tongue

Application

Psalm 120 gives voice to a experience every Christian knows but few know how to name: the exhaustion of living among people who do not share your values. The psalmist does not pretend that everything is fine or that he is above the pain. He cries out honestly, naming his enemies and his longing for peace. This is not a lack of faith; it is the raw material of faith.

For the believer today, this psalm is permission to lament. It is not unspiritual to feel the weight of living in a culture that mocks your convictions, breaks its promises, and loves conflict. The gospel does not promise that we will be comfortable in this world; it promises that we are citizens of another kingdom (Phil 3:20). The psalmist’s cry is ultimately answered in Christ, who was himself a man of peace surrounded by those who were for war (Isa 53:7). He bore the arrows of God’s judgment so that we might receive the peace that passes understanding. Our sojourn is temporary; our home is secure.

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