Blessed (Psalm 1)
Summary
What if the secret to happiness isn't what most of us are chasing? Opening a summer series in the Psalms, Dominic Jackson starts where the collection does—Psalm 1—and the question it puts on the table: what does it actually mean to be blessed? Along the way, the sermon moves from that question into a deeper one about formation: not just what we read, but what we chew on. What we consume shapes who we become, and Psalm 1 offers a clear-eyed theory of the difference between a life that's rooted and one that's just drifting. And as a bonus: a working definition of biblical meditation that involves cows.
Questions for reflection
When you picture a "blessed" person, what's the first image that comes to mind? What does that instinct reveal about what you actually believe happiness is made of?
Dominic traces a progression in verse 1: walk, stand, sit. Where do you notice that kind of slow drift happening in your own life right now, in any direction?
Biblical meditation is described as chewing rather than skimming. What's something—a song, a story, a conversation—that you've actually chewed on recently? What would it look like to bring that same attention to Scripture?
The sermon suggests we're all meditating on something. What are you actually consuming most? And what is it forming in you?
Dominic closes with an image from Matthew 11: a tree versus a reed shaken by the wind. Which one better describes your life right now — and what do you think is behind that?
-
This morning, we kick off a brand new series, and I am genuinely excited about it. We're going to be spending the summer in the Psalms — and there are quite a few of them, so we'll have plenty to work with.
The hope for this series is simple: that these ancient writings will give us a fuller, more robust, more accurate, and more beautiful picture of God. With dozens of writers — a third of the Psalms are actually anonymous, we don't even know who wrote them — spanning over a thousand years, there is a remarkable amount of variety here. Different backgrounds, different locations, different faith journeys, very different writing styles, all describing the same God. The Psalms work something like a diamond: turn it and you see different aspects, different elements of beauty, different characteristics of our creator.
But there's another subject the Psalms illuminate. They don't just give us a fuller picture of God — they also give us a picture of the person reading them. Walter Brueggemann, one of my favorite writers, described the Psalms as an articulation of all the secrets of the human heart. John Calvin — not someone I quote often, but I will today — compared the Psalms to a mirror, saying they contain every human emotion possible: wandering into mystery and majesty, wrestling through doubt and deconstruction, juggling animosity and anger, experiencing sorrow and lament, celebrating with joy and thanksgiving. The Psalms always point toward God while at the same time reminding us what it means to be human.
Before we get into our text, I've asked one of our own — Kendra — to read a poem she wrote. Around here, we see art and creativity as gifts and opportunities for worship. I asked her to read something not about the Psalms written a thousand years ago, but about the psalms we write ourselves every single day.
A Psalm Is
by KendraA psalm is down on your knees in the bathroom, shower on so the kids can't hear your sobs.
A psalm is screaming that song at the top of your lungs, windows down on the freeway.
A psalm is that shaky deep breath reminding yourself this is just a job, and not your worth.
A psalm is a laugh so deep and loud your kids poke their heads up wondering what happened.
A psalm is the sun on your skin and the wind in your face flying down the bike path like a carefree kid again.
A psalm is a deep sigh of relief when you join in the worship on Sunday and it feels like home.
A psalm is life — messy, scary, heartbreaking, but always hopeful.The reason I asked her to share that is this: as we read these ancient writings, it's easy to forget — at least it is for me — what Kendra's poem was expressing. That on the other side of these passages are very human authors. Guided by the Spirit of God, absolutely. But still human hands, led by human hearts, experiencing human emotions, who sometimes write lyrics questioning God (Psalm 73, Psalm 77), sometimes write out of terror (Psalm 27, Psalm 34), sometimes out of depression — Psalm 88 ends with the line darkness is my only companion. Some psalms are written by someone hiding in a cave on the run for their life (Psalm 57, Psalm 63). Some by someone staring at the majesty of creation in pure wonder (Psalm 8, Psalm 19). And some by someone I can only describe as in the middle of an existential crisis (Psalm 90, and most of Psalm 13).
But every time, regardless of what is happening to the human author — whatever the circumstance, whatever the emotion — they take what they're carrying and turn to God with it. That's the hope for this series.
Let's pray, and then we'll look at our psalm.
Lord, we seek you now — in our studies, in our worship, in the songs we sing, the passages we reflect on, in our giving, our laughing, our tears, our disappointments, and our joy. In all things, we desire more of you. Spirit of the Living God, use this series for each one of us. Use the speakers, use the readers, but most importantly use the listeners, and use our time together to reveal more of yourself to us. And I'll add, Lord — I believe this series is also an opportunity to reveal more about ourselves. The complicated vastness of emotions and experiences we all face. How each one of those can be its own psalm we invite you into. Help us to see ourselves the way that you see us. In Jesus' name, amen.
What Do You Actually Want?
We're in Psalm 1, and we're not going in order — there are 150 of them, this will not be a 150-week series, though it would make sermon planning a lot easier. But Psalm 1 feels like the right place to start.
Here's a question to hold as we move through the text: if you asked a hundred people on the street what they want most in life, I think the majority would say some version of I just want to be happy. Maybe you feel that way too. I often do. Given the choice between a hard life and a happy one, I'll take the happy one.
And yet: a recent Gallup poll found that 76% of Americans reported being unhappy with their jobs or professions. A New York research team asked not about work specifically but about overall outlook on life, and 64% of Americans said they were unhappy with their lives. More than half. That should trouble us.
Now, I don't know who was polled. But I can imagine that most of them have a picture of what would change that answer. And I think most of us do too. A new job. A bigger house. A longer vacation. More money. If I could just marry that person. Or if I hadn't married that person. The truth is we all want to be happy — we just have very different theories about how to get there.
Psalm 1 has a theory too. And spoiler: it isn't about the lottery, or a full head of hair, or a bigger bank account.
Blessed
Let's read it one more time and then move through it.
Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers, but whose delight is in the law of the Lord and who meditates on his law day and night. That person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither — whatever they do prospers. Not so with the wicked. They are like chaff that the wind blows away. Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous. For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked leads to destruction.
Notice how this psalm opens. The word is blessed. In Hebrew, esher — true contentment, happiness, fulfillment. Though Psalm 1 is typically described as a wisdom psalm, at its heart is also a remedy for discovering what we actually mean when we say we want to be happy.
Take a second and think: who is the most blessed person you know?
Here's what I've noticed about how most of us answer that. When we describe someone as blessed, what we usually mean is: they have something we don't. The friend with my dream job who worked half my hours and made three times my salary — and what did he do? He got paid to review records. That guy was blessed, at least in my college-era estimation.
But according to this psalm, the markers of blessing aren't a cool job, a large following, a great physique, or a thriving bank account. So what is it? Verses 1 and 2: Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked... but whose delight is in the law of the Lord.
To be blessed — to be wise, content, to see things more clearly and more truly — is not to follow the way of the wicked, but to turn to God instead.
Walk, Stand, Sit
Before we get to what that turning looks like, notice something in the movement of verse 1. The path away from blessing isn't static — it progresses. Walk. Stand. Sit. Formation rarely happens in a moment. It happens in a direction. And in this case, it's not just formation by God, but formation by the world.
Walk in the council of the wicked. There is no shortage of counsel out there. Just go online. Every time I'm on Reddit or Threads, I find some of the worst advice imaginable — dating advice, parenting advice, financial advice, the occasional pyramid scheme. There are two paths, and they're both moving, but they're heading in opposite directions. Psalm 119:24 says, your statutes are my delight; they are my counselors. To be blessed is to walk with God — which means walking away from the counsel of the world and toward the wisdom of God.
So how? Verse 2: whose delight is in the law of the Lord and who meditates on his law day and night.
What Meditation Actually Is
Let's talk about meditation for a moment — starting with what it isn't.
In many traditions, the ideal of meditation is to empty the mind. Sit still, clear your thoughts, become quiet, become nothing. Biblical meditation is essentially the opposite. It isn't about emptying yourself. It's about filling yourself with something.
Joshua 1:7–8 — we catch Joshua right after Moses has died. God has just handed him responsibility for three million people. No pressure. And here's how God prepares him: Be strong and very courageous. Be careful to obey all the law my servant Moses gave you. Do not turn from it to the right or to the left, that you may be successful wherever you go. Keep this book of the law always on your lips. Meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful.
Notice the connection between meditating and keeping the words on your lips. What's God's plan for making Joshua an effective leader? Keep the law in his mouth. Say it. Repeat it. Let it become the language of his inner life.
In Hebrew, there are two words for meditation. The first is haggah, which means to murmur or mutter. I think about this word from a memory I have as a young Christian. I grew up in Long Beach, and one rule in our house was to be home before the streetlights came on. There were two ways to get home from the park where my friends and I would spend our days. The normal route: about twenty minutes. The shortcut: six and a half minutes through the sketchiest nature trail in the city — a place that was in the news often. On the days I lost track of time and the lights were about to come on, I had to take that trail. And every single time, terrified, I would mutter Psalm 23 to myself the entire way. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Over and over, all six minutes, until I came out the other side. Then I was a cool, tough teenager again.
But as I got older, I stopped finding myself in situations like that. And I stopped using the practice. I graduated, in my own head, beyond needing the comfort of Scripture in ordinary moments. And I think many of us do the same thing.
We approach Scripture like a fax machine. You remember fax machines. You get the fax, you read it, you deal with it, and you throw it away. That's how a lot of us treat Bible reading — even devout Bible reading. We read a passage. We think, great point, I concur, somebody should put that on a bumper sticker. And then we turn back to the podcast, check the score, move on with the to-do list.
But to meditate on a text is not to read it like a fax. It's to read it like a love letter. You didn't read those once and throw them away. You read them over and over, looking for what was underneath the words, trying to understand the person behind them.
I remember from years ago, people creating entire blogs dedicated to dissecting Taylor Swift lyrics — trying to decode which boyfriend each song was about, hunting for hidden clues in the phrasing. Listening to the albums over and over and over, not just to hear the songs, but to understand the mind behind them. Some of us, haggah, keep words on our lips much more faithfully with pop lyrics than with the Word of God. I don't say that to shame anyone. I say it to notice the difference in how we engage.
That's the first word for meditation. The second comes from Isaiah: gerah. It translates literally as to chew the cud. I had to look this up because I am not a farmer. But here's what it means: a cow chewing cud swallows what it's chewing, then regurgitates it and chews again — over and over, until the food is fully absorbed and becomes part of the animal. That's the picture the biblical authors reach for when describing what it means to meditate on Scripture. Not to read it and discard it. To chew on it, swallow it, return to it, chew again, until it becomes part of you.
Eugene Peterson wrote in Eat This Book: Christians feed on Scripture. Holy Scripture nurtures the holy community as food nurtures the human body. Christians don't simply learn or study or use Scripture. We assimilate it, take it into our lives in such a way that it gets metabolized into acts of love, cups of cold water, missions into all the world, healing and evangelism and justice in Jesus' name.
All of us are meditating all the time. This isn't a uniquely Christian practice — it's a human one. The question is what we're consuming. Fox News. CNN. Joe Rogan. Netflix. Our fears. Our anxieties. The stories our families told us about what success looks like. We are all chewing on something. Psalm 1 asks: what if we chewed on the Word?
Lectio Divina
One ancient practice that has been helpful to me is called Lectio Divina — Latin for "divine reading" or spiritual reading. In the monastic tradition, monks and nuns would take a passage of Scripture into the quiet, turning it over and over, listening for God's voice. There are four parts, and they form less of a ladder than a circle.
The first is read — slowly, repeatedly, forward and backward. Often something will surface that you've never noticed before. If you've ever known someone who has walked with Jesus for seventy years and is still discovering things in the same passages they've read a thousand times, this is why.
The second is meditate — say the text, memorize it, chew on it. Take it with you through your day.
The third is pray — use the words of the passage to talk to God. Pray for insight, for wisdom, for understanding. James tells us: if you want wisdom, ask God. It's that direct.
And the fourth is contemplate — what do I do with this? This is where most sermons land. You've been reading about loving your enemies. Now: who in your life are you struggling to love, and how might you show them grace this week? The path is word to page, page to head, head to heart, heart to hands.
What We Become
Proverbs 23:7 says that what we keep in our hearts is what we become. If we meditate constantly on what we think will make us happy — the better job, the different partner, the bigger number in the account — that is what we become. Not necessarily in success. We won't always get those things. But in what we believe success actually is.
However, according to Psalm 1, if we meditate on God — if we chew on the Word, if we desire godliness — the proverb still holds. This is also what we become.
Back to verse 3: That person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither — whatever they do prospers.
I think about how Jesus describes John the Baptist in Matthew 11. His disciples ask about John — this wild prophet living in the desert, eating locusts — and Jesus says, What did you go out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken by the wind? No. John was a tree. Solid. Rooted. Unmoved by every cultural gust.
I want someone to say that about me someday. That Dominic was the opposite of a reed swaying in the wind. That he was rooted in his faith, in his trust, in the fruit of the Spirit — that his leaf didn't wither. Put that on my tombstone. That's a successful life.
And according to Psalm 1, the path to that kind of life is this: walk away from the counsel of the world and meditate on the Word of God, day and night.
Our Invitation This Summer
Here's the homework, and it's simple.
Read a psalm a day. Most of them take about three minutes. You don't have to go in order. Just read one. Whether you're a lifelong daily Bible reader or this is the only time all week you open the Scriptures — join me this summer in reading one psalm a day and just see what happens.
Then meditate on it. Take it with you. Say it throughout your day. Chew on it.
Then pray it. Use the ancient language of the Psalms to talk to God.
And then ask: what do I do with this? Sometimes the psalm you read won't be for you — it'll make you think of someone else in a dark season you could reach out to. Sometimes it'll be about the beauty of creation and you'll ask yourself when you last actually stopped to be in it. Sometimes it'll be about trust and you'll notice where you're not trusting God right now.
My prayer for this series is that we learn more about God — that we see new aspects of who he is, how others have experienced him, and grow closer to him in the process. But also that in that search, while we're spending time meditating on his Word, we find that we're learning more about how God sees us. And more about what it means to be human.