[Note:  This the prepared text for a sermonette given to the brethren at the Feast of Tabernacles in St. John’s, Newfoundland, on Thursday, October 1, 2026.]

Good morning, brethren.  The Feast of Tabernacles is nearly over. As much as we have enjoyed the past week, the suitcases are about to be packed, and the fellowship we enjoyed for eight days will soon give way to the long drive or flight home. Many of us feel a kind of sadness at this moment. For a week we lived in a small picture of the world to come, among people who share our hope, keeping the commanded assembly God appointed in Leviticus 23. Now we return to jobs, neighborhoods, newsfeeds, and sometimes families where that hope is not shared and where conflict seems to be the normal state of things.

We may not always realize it or review it, but scripture gives us words for this moment. I would like to look at two psalms that speak to each other across the Book of Psalms: Psalm 120, which opens the Psalms of Ascents, and Psalm 140, a psalm of David that takes up many of the same images. Read together, they show us the difference between how we felt going up to the Feast and how we ought to feel coming down from it.

Psalm 120: The Cry of the Sojourner

The Psalms of Ascents, Psalms 120 through 134, were sung by Israelites going up to Jerusalem for the festivals. It is striking that the very first song of the journey does not begin in Jerusalem, or on the road, or even with joy. It begins in distress. Let’s turn to Psalm 120 and start from the beginning of the Psalm.  Psalm 120:1-2 reads:

“In my distress I cried unto the LORD, and he heard me. Deliver my soul, O LORD, from lying lips, and from a deceitful tongue” (Psalm 120:1-2).

The pilgrim’s first problem is not the length of the road but the tongues around him. He lives among liars. He asks what shall be given to the deceitful tongue, and the answer is “sharp arrows of the mighty, with coals of juniper” (verse 4). Juniper, or broom tree, burned hot and long. Lying words wound like arrows and smolder like coals that refuse to go out.

Then comes the lament: “Woe is me, that I sojourn in Mesech, that I dwell in the tents of Kedar! My soul has long dwelt with him that hates peace. I am for peace: but when I speak, they are for war” (verses 5-7).

Meshech was a son of Japheth (Genesis 10:2), associated with lands far to the north with Gog and Magog. Kedar was a son of Ishmael (Genesis 25:13), associated with the desert peoples to the east and south like Yemen. The psalmist cannot literally live in both places at once. He is describing his condition. Wherever he turns, he is surrounded by people who are not his own, who do not share his God, and who answer his peace with hostility. Notice the word “tents.” The man who dwells in the tents of Kedar is about to go up to Jerusalem, where Israel dwelt in booths to remember that God brought them out of Egypt (Leviticus 23:42-43). He is trading tents of hostility for tents of worship.

That is the attitude of the pilgrim going up. He is weary. He has had enough. He wants to get away from the lying lips and the warmongers and stand in the house of the LORD. Many of us came to this Feast with exactly that feeling.

Psalm 140: The Prayer of One Who Has Been in God’s Presence

Now turn twenty psalms later. Psalm 140 is not one of the Songs of Degrees, but it reads like an answer to Psalm 120. The same enemies are there. The same weapons are there. What has changed is the man who faces them.  Let us now turn to Psalm 140 and read it from the beginning.  Psalm 140:1-2 reads:

“Deliver me, O LORD, from the evil man: preserve me from the violent man; which imagine mischiefs in their heart; continually are they gathered together for war” (Psalm 140:1-2).

Psalm 120 ended with “they are for war.” Psalm 140 opens with men “continually gathered together for war.” The world has not changed. The tongue is still the weapon: “They have sharpened their tongues like a serpent; adders’ poison is under their lips” (verse 3). The arrows of Psalm 120 have become serpent’s fangs.

And then David adds something that should catch the attention of anyone traveling home: “The proud have hid a snare for me, and cords; they have spread a net by the wayside; they have set gins for me” (verse 5). The traps are laid by the wayside, along the road. The dangers are not only in Meshech and Kedar; they wait along the path itself. Those of us who have driven home from the Feast know how quickly the peace of the Last Great Day can be tested by a traffic jam, a harsh word in the car, or a phone full of messages we ignored for a week.

But here is the turn. In Psalm 120 the psalmist cries out, “Woe is me.” In Psalm 140 David says something different in verses six and seven: “I said unto the LORD, Thou art my God: hear the voice of my supplications, O LORD. O GOD the Lord, the strength of my salvation, thou hast covered my head in the day of battle” (verses 6-7).

The first psalm is the lament of a man who feels surrounded. The second is the confession of a man who knows he is covered. He does not deny the battle. He expects it. But he has a helmet, and God is the one who put it on him.

The Coals Change Direction

There is one more parallel worth noticing. In Psalm 120, the coals of juniper belong to the lying tongue; they are the burning harm done to the righteous. In Psalm 140, David prays, “Let burning coals fall upon them” (verse 10). The coals now fall on the wicked. David is not taking revenge into his own hands. He is placing judgment where it belongs, with God. He declares, “I know that the LORD will maintain the cause of the afflicted, and the right of the poor” (verse 12).

This is what the Feast is supposed to teach us. For eight days we rehearsed a world in which Jesus Christ reigns, the nations come up to Jerusalem to keep this very Feast (Zechariah 14:16), and the evil speaker is no longer established in the earth (Psalm 140:11). We did not go home with that world in our hands. We went home with that world in our hearts, and with the certainty that it is coming.

Going Down With an Ascending Heart

So what attitude should we carry as we return to Meshech and Kedar and other hostile places?

First, we should expect conflict and not be shocked by it. Both psalms assume that the righteous live among people who are for war. Paul tells us, “If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men” (Romans 12:18). That qualifier admits that sometimes it is not possible. We can still be “for peace,” as the psalmist was, even when others are not.

Second, we should watch the wayside. The snares are set along the road. The week after the Feast is often a week of testing, and we are wise to guard our words and our tempers before the traps are sprung.

Third, we should remember who covers our heads. We do not face the world alone or unarmed. The God who met us at His Feast goes home with us.

Finally, we should remember how Psalm 140 ends: “Surely the righteous shall give thanks unto thy name: the upright shall dwell in thy presence” (verse 13). The pilgrim of Psalm 120 lived in the tents of Kedar. The upright of Psalm 140 will dwell in the presence of God. Like Abraham, who dwelt in tabernacles and “looked for a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God” (Hebrews 11:9-10), we leave our booths behind, but not our destination.

We are going home to a hostile world. But we are not going home the same people who left it. Let us go down from the Feast with the heart of those who are still ascending.