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The friendship of the Lord is for those who fear him, and he makes known to them his covenant. (Psalm 25:14, ESV)
The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him; and he will shew them his covenant. (Psalm 25:14, KJV)
Through the Bible: Psalms 25, 29, 33, 36, 39
As I was listening to Tara-Leigh’s Bible Recap Podcast for Day 128 she pointed out that some translations of Psalm 25:14 read, “The friendship of the Lord is for those who fear Him,” while others read “The secrets of the Lord.”
Now, when I hear something like that, my instinct is immediate and predictable. Which is it–Friendship or secrets? Is this a discrepancy between manuscripts? Something about the Hebrew vs. the Septuagint? What’s the Hebrew behind it?
In other words, I want to solve the problem.
But this isn’t where Tara-Leigh went. She didn’t try to resolve the tension at all. Instead, she said, “I want both. I want the friendship and the secrets. After all, friends share their secrets.”
I remember thinking, almost in real time, I would not have gotten there on my own.
That doesn’t make one approach right and the other wrong. It reveals something deeper.
One instinct seeks precision. The other seeks presence.
One asks, “What does this mean?”
The other asks, “What does this reveal about Him?”
Scripture was given for both.
The Hebrew word behind Psalm 25:14 (sod) actually holds that tension together. It can mean confidential counsel—the inner circle, the shared secret—but it also carries the sense of intimate fellowship. God doesn’t just disclose information. He invites relationship.
If we flatten that into one category or the other, we don’t become more faithful readers of Scripture. We become narrower ones.
Here’s where it gets personal for me: If I only ever listened to voices that approach Scripture the way I do, I might come away with a richer understanding of Hebrew scripture, and a poorer understanding of God’s covenant relationship with His people. Because there are angles of the text I am simply less likely to see on my own.
In my experience, many men (myself included) tend to move quickly toward analysis—defining terms, resolving tension, landing the plane. And many women I’ve learned from tend to linger a little longer in the relational space—holding tension, savoring nuance, letting the text speak before systematizing it.
Not always. Not universally. But often enough that it’s worth paying attention.
And once you see that, you start to see it everywhere.
A believer in the developing world reads Scripture with an instinctive awareness of dependence on God that many of us in the West have to work hard to recover. An Asian theologian may notice communal dynamics that a Western individualist might miss entirely. A European reader might trace historical threads that others overlook.
Even within the same culture, perspective shapes perception.
A parent hears passages about God’s fatherly love and feels them in their bones in a way I didn’t before I had children. At the same time, someone without children may notice things about calling, identity, or spiritual family that a busy parent might rush past. A person who has been adopted may grasp what it means to be chosen by God with a depth that those of us who grew up in biological families have to learn more slowly.
None of those perspectives are the perspective. But each one helps us see more of what’s actually there.
Which brings me, gently but honestly, to a tension much closer to home.
In the Southern Baptist Convention right now, one of the central questions we’re asking is about who has the authority to teach and minister in the life of the church. That’s an important question, and it deserves careful, biblical, and humble consideration.
But I do wonder if, somewhere along the way, we’ve started asking a question that’s too small.
Not just, “What roles are permitted?”
But, “What voices are we willing to hear?”
Because if we come to the place where we refuse to listen to a woman’s voice—not weigh it, not test it, not discern it, but simply refuse to hear it—we will not become more faithful.
We will become poorer.
Indescribably poorer.
We will miss insights into the character of God that He has chosen, in His wisdom, to reveal through members of His own body. We will lose angles of vision that were never ours to begin with. And we may not even realize what we’re missing, because you rarely notice the absence of something you’ve never allowed yourself to receive.
Psalm 25:14 is not a problem to solve. It’s an invitation.
God shares His counsel and His companionship. He gives His truth and He gives Himself.
And maybe part of learning to receive both… is learning to sit at the table with people who see what we don’t.
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