Humanity’s uneasy relationship with the body is a tale as old as time. For thousands of years, God’s people have sought King David’s wisdom from Psalm 139 to inform their view of the body. Today, the ancient hymn still speaks. Whatever your particular struggle with your body, Psalm 139 addresses it by revealing the glory, finitude, and purpose of God’s design.

Glorious Through and Through

Why does the post-labor mother marvel at her newborn? Why admire every toe, survey each nail, note birthmarks and the shape of the ears, and delight at every quiver of the chin? Because she was not privy to the secret processes that brought this child, with all of his unique traits, into her arms.

So, David in Psalm 139 marvels at the miracle of God’s handiwork in crafting his body and soul. The ruddy, handsome king with beautiful eyes (1 Samuel 16:12) isn’t impressed simply with human beauty and strength, as well he might be. Instead, as he contemplates God’s work from embryonic stage to the knitting and weaving together of his frame, personality, and inward parts, his heart overflows in worship to God: “I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well” (Psalm 139:13–16). David rightly senses that he — body and soul — is a work of the Master Craftsman.

And so too are you. Your body, as much as your soul, is one of God’s glorious works. It bears the unmistakable signature of the divine artist so that, like creation, your body “declare[s] the glory of God” (Psalm 19:1). When was the last time meditating on your body elicited worship?

Sadly, many men and women who meditate on their bodies compare themselves to cultural ideals and then turn on their bodies with disgust, denigrating them by body-shaming themselves and others. Psalm 139 is here for such a time as this. Not only does it reframe our thoughts about our bodies, teaching us to see them for the glorious works of God that they are, but it trains our hearts to worship God for his artistry.

Finite from Beginning to End

Though the human body has a certain kind of glory, it is undeniably a fading glory. And so, after worshiping God for his glorious origin, David transitions to sing of his own finitude. He describes God’s secret act of creation as occurring in the hidden “depths of the earth” (Psalm 139:15), reminding us that our bodies — glorious as they are — began and now end with the dust of the earth. They are only finite bodies after all: “In your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them” (verse 16). As God numbered David’s days, so he has numbered yours, establishing their finite number from conception to the grave.

“If you delight in being known by God, your body is doubly his.”

For now, your glorious body is earthly and corruptible. Each day hastens death. Aging is inevitable; youth unpreservable. Strength diminishes and beauty fades. If “by reason of strength,” some outlive the average lifespan, it is only because God himself planned it so (Psalm 90:10).

God’s sovereignty over lifespans is an unwelcome truth for those who have never given up the quest to find the fountain of youth or for those who “rage against the dying of the light.” Yet it liberates those who, like David, know God and are known by him.

Set free from futile attempts to lengthen their years, God’s people rage instead against the idolatry of body-obsession. They carefully evaluate all expenditures meant to conform their bodies to current beauty standards, delay the withering effects of age, or escape the ravages of disease. While they nurture and strengthen their bodies in the face of inevitable decline, they do so not in fruitless attempts to prolong their days, but in the hopes of honoring God with every day he gives them.

Purposed by Him and for Him

Far from flinching at his finitude, David perceives an eternal purpose for his finite body. Verse 18 hints at resurrection: “I awake, and I am still with you.” For those who know God and are known by him, the sleep of death will give way to eternal life when they shed their temporary, corruptible bodies and wake in the presence of their Maker.

Until that day, God furnishes each finite body with sufficient strength to endure its numbered days. Your body will persevere until you pass through the veil into God’s presence, where he will transform your body, far more glorious than before. That body will be incorruptible. “Age will not wither” it. And unfading in strength and beauty, it will endure throughout eternity.

But beyond the task of carrying him through his numbered days on earth, David implies a greater purpose for his body and soul: to be searched and known by the God who expertly knitted him together (Psalm 139:1, 23–24). David delights in God’s intimate knowledge of him. He opens himself up to God’s searching with the hopes of belonging — body and soul — to him.

So you also belong to God. Your body is his because he carefully crafted it at conception. And if you delight in being known by God, your body is doubly his because he redeemed it at great personal cost, at the cost of another body, a body God secretly wove together for his precious Son, a body whose days were formed before birth, and a body that was broken and poured out in death to purchase you and make you his own.

To such a glorious truth, we can hardly utter, “My body, my choice.” Neither can we indulge lust and fancy or live for worldly pleasure or praise. From start to finish, we are God’s: gloriously created, gloriously sustained, gloriously redeemed, gloriously purposed in this life, and gloriously recreated in the future.

Your Body, His Service

These ancient truths ought to silence both disparaging remarks and vain boasting about the body. Has God strengthened your body to do many good works? Praise him for it! Do not flinch at the toll it requires. Rejoice that he has sustained you thus far.

Has he sidelined you with affliction? Even so, your body is accomplishing God’s glorious, if mysterious, purposes for it.

Has God gifted you with an unusual measure of beauty or strength? Offer these in service to him, attracting others to his unparalleled divine beauty.

Are you stooped from many years of load-bearing? Are your knuckles gnarled with arthritis? Your time may be drawing to its close, but God will grant your body sufficient strength to walk in good works until the end. This is why he made you!

Until that day when you wake in the presence of your Maker, serve God with the strength he supplies. Like Jesus, offer your body in service to those entrusted to your care. Invest your strength in carrying on the work of the One who sacrificed his body for you. Fellowship with Jesus in his life, in his work, in his death; share in his delight of knowing and obeying God. And like Jesus, lay down your body in eager expectation of taking it up again, this time glorified and imperishable.

I had read the account of the woman at the well countless times before, but never had it spoken so powerfully to a quiet pain I have often felt: loneliness.

I had always focused on the needs of the woman while reading John 4, but this time the needs of her Savior arrested my attention. In the familiar account, a weary and thirsty Jesus sits down beside the well of Sychar while his disciples, hungry after an exhausting journey, venture into the Samaritan town to buy food (John 4:6–8). In the next scene, a woman arrives to draw water from the well. Jesus asks her for a drink, and then he offers her a drink of another kind — a soul-satisfying draft of living water (John 4:13–14).

Presumably, Jesus drinks the water the Samaritan woman draws from the well, but after his disciples return with food, hungry as he almost certainly is, he does not eat. Instead, in another play on words, he tells his disciples, “I have food to eat that you do not know about” (John 4:32). The bewildered disciples conclude that someone else had given him food. Knowing their confusion, Jesus explains, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me” (John 4:34). Jesus had feasted on a spiritual harvest that day; so spiritually full was he that his physical hunger diminished.

Food for Lonely Hearts

Rereading this account was a hunger-diminishing experience for me. I was weary and thirsty from a journey of my own — another out-of-state move. If T.S. Eliot’s Prufrock “measured out [his] life with coffee spoons,” I could measure mine out with these moves, each one bringing fresh feelings of loneliness as I once again took on the identity of an outsider. I was hungry for friendship and belonging.

Jesus’s example at the well of Sychar gave me a plan for dealing with my loneliness-hunger. Jesus modeled the joyful obedience that suppresses lesser appetites. I learned that busying myself with the good works God had given me could fill me spiritually such that my hunger for belonging would recede into its proper place.

Just as Jesus experienced fullness through faithful obedience to God, I have learned to find joy and satisfaction in faithfully completing the work God gives me each day, whether preparing another meal, writing sample sentences for grammar class, responding to emails, arbitrating my children’s disputes, greeting a neighbor, sending up prayers of confession and pleas for help, or even cleaning a spill in the refrigerator. Each small act of faithfulness begins to fill my soul, much like the first bite each morning begins to fill my stomach.

Best and Dearest Friend

I am hardly alone in my loneliness. About one in four adults across the world suffers from a similar hunger. Bankrupt of any long-term solutions, the world suggests increased human interactions to alleviate the suffering. But for all our digital connectedness, the loneliness epidemic persists and grows.

Only in Jesus do we find a solution to the growing problem. He offers the hunger-suppressing plan of faithful obedience. But he also offers so much more. Jesus offers the presence of a sympathetic friend. If, as C.S. Lewis observes, friendship begins when one person says to another, “What! You too? I thought I was the only one” (The Four Loves, 78), then in Jesus we find the best and dearest friend. He fully “sympathize[s] with our weaknesses” and has experienced the pain of their accompanying temptations, “yet without sin” (Hebrews 4:14–16).

Acquainted with Loneliness

Jesus is a friend who, just like us, is intimately acquainted with hunger, thirst, exhaustion, and, yes, even loneliness.

Has anyone been more misunderstood than Jesus, whose divine proclamations of truth were met with ignorance and doubt? “We brought no bread” (Matthew 16:7). “He is out of his mind” (Mark 3:21). Who can forget the derision of his fellow Galileans after he authoritatively taught and powerfully performed miracles among them? “Is not this the carpenter’s son?” (Matthew 13:55). How about Peter’s brazen rebuke when Jesus revealed the wisdom of God’s salvation plan? “This shall never happen!” (Matthew 16:22).

Has anyone been more alone than Jesus, who “set his face to go to Jerusalem” (Luke 9:51)? While his friends and brothers carried on with their lives, he single-mindedly pursued the task his Father had given him. He wasn’t granted the gift of human marriage or children or property, as so many others had been. Instead, his was the lonely path to Golgotha. Who has been more alone than the one who, in his greatest hour of need, fell on his face, prayed, wept, and bled, only to find those dearest to him sleeping, unable to help shoulder his burden? “Could you not watch with me [for] one hour”?! (Matthew 26:40).

Has anyone endured more hatred than Jesus, whose bloodied body and anguished cries from the cross provoked the jeering of the violent mob who had gathered to satisfy their bloodlust? There, Jesus endured the lonely lash of public mockery: “He saved others; he cannot save himself. . . . Let God deliver him now, if he desires him. For he said, ‘I am the Son of God’” (Matthew 27:41–43).

Nor was Jesus a stranger to the loneliness of bereavement, likely having mourned his (adopted) father Joseph’s death. Matthew 14:13 also records his withdrawal “to a desolate place” after hearing the news of his cousin John’s beheading in prison. See his lament over the coming judgment on Jerusalem or his tears at the tomb of Lazarus (Matthew 23:37–24:2; John 11:33–36). Jesus knew and grieved the separation of death.

Misunderstood by family and friends, rejected by his countrymen, despised by the religious leaders, forsaken and betrayed by his disciples, Jesus understood loneliness. No one was more of an outsider, and no one could be more of a friend. To our own lonely hearts, the ever-present Jesus whispers the comforting words, “Me too. You are not alone.”

Glorious Through Loneliness

But more than offering the presence of a friend in loneliness, and more than offering a plan for alleviating the loneliness, Jesus offers purpose to the suffering of loneliness. If Jesus was perfected through suffering (Hebrews 2:10), will we not also be perfected through our own suffering? Loneliness is another of those “various trials” that may grieve us throughout our lives (1 Peter 1:6). But as we embrace the affliction, as we resist the temptations it brings, and as we pursue joy by faithfully doing the work God has given us, our faith is refined like gold, becoming more and more precious as the impurities melt away (1 Peter 1:7).

One of the purposes of loneliness — and indeed, one of the main purposes for every kind of suffering — is for God to make us glorious through it. And as we all in varying degrees share the sufferings of Jesus, so shall we also share in his glory.

Not Alone

Maybe yours is the loneliness of bereavement, or of being the outsider, or of being misunderstood or cynically judged. Maybe your life circumstances distinguish you, though not in the way you would prefer. Maybe you endure chronic snubbing in your neighborhood or chronic ridicule at school for being a Christian. Whatever the nature of your suffering, take heart, lonely soul! You are not alone. Jesus is with you.

Feast, as he did, on the “food” God has given you to eat. Be filled with “the peaceful fruit of righteousness” that enduring loneliness produces in this life (Hebrews 12:11). And wait in the company of your dearest friend for the coming glory, where his faithfulness has earned for you a share of his inheritance (Romans 8:17).

Awake, O sleeper,     and arise from the dead,and Christ will shine on you. (Ephesians 5:14)

With this poem, Paul grounds the often-quoted marriage instructions of Ephesians 5:22–33 in the transformative power of the gospel. The gospel rouses sleepers and quickens the dead. It calls those trapped in darkness into the shining light of Christ, where, for the first time, they can truly see and do what is good.

If the gospel can accomplish these feats, it can surely transform ordinary men into husbands who love their wives as Christ loved the church, and it can surely transform ordinary women into wives who respect and submit to their husbands’ leadership. But this transformation is not automatic, and it does not happen overnight. That’s why Paul offers this apostolic marriage advice: stay in the light (Ephesians 5:8–9).

While his advice applies to husbands and wives alike, this article addresses wives. Wives who want to see their marriages transformed must stay in the light, where Christ himself shines on them, revealing truths and exposing lies that shape their expectations for marriage. In particular, light-seeking wives embrace two foundational truths and reject two persistent lies about their marriages.

Truth #1: He is still a sinner.

The first expectation-shaping truth about marriage is that even though your husband is awake, alive, and in the light, he is still a sinner. And as a sinner, he will struggle in many ways common to humanity, some of which Paul warns us about in the rest of his letter to the Ephesians.

“God sees your husband’s faults more clearly than you do. His is the superior wisdom.”

At times, your husband may be proud, harsh, or impatient (Ephesians 4:2). His unique cocktail of deceitful desires will afflict him (Ephesians 4:22). He will stumble by not actively guarding his mind (Ephesians 4:25–32; 5:18). He may be tempted toward dishonesty, theft, laziness, destructive speech, resentment, selfishness, sexual immorality of various stripes, jealousies, greed, or substance abuse. In a word, he will falter in his charge to love you self-sacrificially.

As a native Texan, my mother-in-law strictly follows this rule: turn on the light during middle-of-the-night trips to the bathroom. Failing to do so might mean a surprise encounter with a cockroach (at least in Texas).

When Christ shines on a marriage, his light exposes sins so that we can see them for the stealthy, invasive, dirty, creepy, darkness-loving, Texas-sized cockroaches that they are. The light protects us from surprise over our husband’s failures because our expectations are built on this foundational truth: he is still a sinner.

Truth #2: He is growing.

The light also trains us to shape our expectations around a second foundational truth: although your husband is still a sinner, he is growing. In the light, his sin is visible. And once seen, the way forward is clear.

In the case of a cockroach, a heavy-soled shoe is the clearest way forward, but sin requires a different kind of death — one of confession and turning and walking away, further and further from sleep’s darkness and the grave, and further into the light of Christ. The way forward may not be easy, but it is brightly lit.

If your husband is awake and alive, then Christ shines on him! He will increasingly see his sin, and he will know what to do about it. Equipped with more than a thick-soled shoe, he has everything he needs to crush the sins exposed by the light. (Ephesians 6:10–18 gives a full inventory of all the offensive and defensive weapons in his arsenal.)

These two foundational truths — your husband is a sinner, but he is growing — should shape your expectations about marriage, tempering your idealism with reality and your pessimism with hope.

Lie #1: ‘I’m more righteous than he is.’

Besides revealing two foundational truths for marriage, the light of Christ exposes two persistent lies in marriage. The first is the lie of superior righteousness. All of us indulge in pride from time to time, supposing ourselves better than our husbands. But if we stay in the light, we cannot escape the equalizing effect of the cross.

The light reminds us that we need the sin-cleansing blood of Jesus every bit as much as our husbands. Alongside them, we too must grow in detecting and killing sin. We must stand on guard against the temptations that hide behind our husband’s failures. Too often, we respond to their sin with sin of our own because the lie of superior righteousness tempts us to excuse our sin when it is provoked by theirs.

On this matter, Paul is far from silent: “Be angry and do not sin . . . and give no opportunity to the devil” (Ephesians 4:26–27). Sin hurts. Anger is a natural response to pain. But the light helps us see beyond those moments of hurt and anger to the true enemy lurking behind them. Our husbands are not the enemy, but behind their failures, the devil strains to reassert his dominance over our lives. He would use our anger against us, seducing us to react in sinful ways — perhaps by lashing out with hateful words, by giving quarter to arrogance or self-righteousness, by plotting revenge, by cynically despairing, or by withholding forgiveness.

But these reactions are from the shadows, lining the path back to the grave. The way of light and life is to “be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you” (Ephesians 4:32). We should expect to find sin crouching at the door of our marital disappointments, so we proactively guard our hearts against the snare of anger by continually confessing our own sins and by cultivating a heart of forgiveness toward our husbands.

Then, when they confess their sins, we can eagerly, though not painlessly, extend all the mercy and grace to them that God has freely given us. In this way, we defend ourselves against the lie of superior righteousness that stalks us from the shadows of our husband’s failures.

Lie #2: ‘I know what’s best for him.’

Be wary also of a second persistent lie lurking in the shadows: the lie of superior wisdom. Doubtless, if you were God, you would choose a different path for your husband’s transformation than the one he is currently on. But the light of Christ breaks into our blind spots, challenging even our expectations about how our husbands should grow.

Perhaps you’d prioritize his inattentiveness or his [fill in the blank], but God sees your husband’s faults more clearly than you do. His is the superior wisdom. He exposes sin according to his curriculum and his calendar.

He may not transform your husband into the most attentive partner, but he might stir his heart to give more generously at church. Your husband may not notice a sink full of dirty dishes as much as you’d like, but he might begin to exercise more oversight when it comes to your children’s Internet access. He may continue struggling to remember what you’ve asked him to do, but over time he may grow in contentedness at work, faithfully laboring at an unsatisfying job to provide for your household.

“Stay in the light, where lies are exposed and faulty expectations transformed.”

In Christ, your husband is growing whether or not he is walking the precise path you’d prescribe. If you do not see growth in an area that is particularly grievous to you, invite Christ’s light to shine on your expectations so that you can truly see and wisely assess them. Is this trait that irks you truly sin, or could it simply be a dispositional weakness? Are you expecting your husband to do something God does not require? Stay in the light, where lies are exposed and faulty expectations transformed.

If unaddressed sin persists in your husband’s life, remember Paul’s divinely given counsel from another of his letters: rather than nagging, shaming, or despairing, “rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer” (Romans 12:12). Before you go to your husband, go to God! Recognize that God, better than anyone, can see your husband’s sin, and in his superior wisdom knows precisely what to do with it. (Even so, recognize that some patterns of sin may require outside counsel or help, especially if the sin endangers you or others.)

Let There Be Light

Stay in the light, and it will transform your marriage. Reconfigure your expectations around the truth that your husband is a sinner, and the light will protect you from surprise or disillusionment over his failures. Shape your expectations around the truth that he is growing, and the light will fill you with hope as you increasingly see your husband the way God sees him — as a dearly loved son gradually being transformed into the likeness of Christ, the only perfect husband.

And “finally . . . put on the whole armor of God” (Ephesians 6:10–11), rejecting the lies of your own superior righteousness and wisdom. Then, hand in hand with your husband, grow up together into the image of your Savior.