The Story We Keep Forgetting — Modern Paraphrase | fresh.bible
The Story We Keep Forgetting.
Psalm 78 — A history of forgetting, and a God who never does
13 min read
fresh.bible editorial
Key Takeaways
image
God's patience with people who keep failing him isn't weakness — it's a compassion rooted in who he is, not in what they deserve.
📢 Chapter 78 — The Story We Keep Forgetting 📜
This is one of the longest psalms in the Bible, and it reads like someone sitting you down and saying, "Let me tell you a story — and I need you to actually listen." The psalmist walks through centuries of history, from the in all the way to the choosing of as king. But this isn't a victory lap. It's a pattern — God does something extraordinary, the people forget, they rebel, God is patient, and the whole thing starts over again.
If you've ever caught yourself making the same mistake for the third or fourth time — forgetting what you already learned the hard way — this psalm was written for you.
A Story Worth Repeating 📖
The psalmist opens with a direct appeal. This isn't casual poetry — it's an urgent invitation. He's about to unfold a story that's been handed down through generations, and he needs the next generation to hear it. wrote:
"Listen, my people, to what I'm teaching you. Open your ears to what I have to say.
I'm going to unfold a story — an ancient one, passed down from our ancestors. Things they heard and knew, things their parents told them. We're not going to hide this from the next generation. We're going to tell our children about the glorious things the Lord has done — his power, his wonders.
He established his word in Jacob, set down a law in Israel, and commanded our ancestors to teach it to their children — so the next generation would know, and the generation after that, and the one after that. So they would put their hope in God and not forget what he's done. So they would keep his commands.
And so they wouldn't be like their ancestors — stubborn, rebellious, hearts that wouldn't stay committed, spirits that weren't faithful to God."
Here's the thing about passing down a story: you're not just preserving history. You're trying to break a cycle. The psalmist knew that every generation is one step away from forgetting everything the previous one learned. That's not ancient history — that's how families work, how cultures work, how works. If nobody tells the story, the story dies. And when the story dies, the mistakes come back.
Equipped But Retreating 🏹
Then the psalmist drops a sharp example — the tribe of . He continued:
"The Ephraimites were armed with bows — ready for battle — and they turned and ran on the day of the fight. They didn't keep God's covenant. They refused to live by his law. They forgot what he had done — the wonders he had shown them."
And then, as if to underscore how absurd that forgetting was, started listing what God had actually done:
"Right in front of their ancestors' eyes, he performed wonders in Egypt, in the region of Zoan. He split the sea and brought them through — made the water stand up like walls. He led them with a cloud during the day, with a pillar of fire all night long. He cracked open rocks in the wilderness and gave them water as abundant as the deep ocean. He made streams pour out of solid rock — rivers flowing in the desert."
Think about that. They had weapons. They had training. They had everything they needed to show up. And they still walked away. Not because they were under-equipped, but because they had forgotten who was backing them up. Ever had everything you needed to step into something — the skills, the opportunity, the support — and still held back? That's . Armed and retreating.
Fed But Never Satisfied 🍞
And it got worse. Even after all God had done, the people kept pushing. wrote:
"They sinned even more against him, rebelling against the Most High right there in the desert. They tested God in their hearts, demanding the food they were craving. They actually said, 'Can God set a table out here in the wilderness? Sure, he struck the rock and water poured out. But can he also give us bread? Can he provide meat for his people?'"
Pause on that. God had just split a sea, led them with , and made water flow from rock. And their response was, "Yeah, but what about dinner?" It's almost comical — except we do the same thing. God comes through in one area, and within days we're anxious about the next one.
"When the Lord heard this, he was furious. Fire was kindled against Jacob, and his anger burned against Israel — because they didn't believe in God. They didn't trust his power to save."
But here's what God did next:
"He commanded the skies above and opened the doors of heaven. He rained down manna for them to eat — the grain of heaven. They ate the bread of angels. He sent them more food than they could handle. He stirred up the east wind in the sky and drove in the south wind by his power. He rained meat down on them like dust — birds like sand on the seashore. He dropped them right in the middle of their camp, all around their tents. And they ate. They were completely full. He gave them exactly what they craved."
He gave them what they asked for. Every bit of it. And then:
"But before they were even done — while the food was still in their mouths — God's anger rose against them. He struck down the strongest among them and laid low the young men of Israel."
Getting what you want is not the same as being satisfied. They had full stomachs and empty hearts. There's a difference between receiving and actually trusting the provider — and God could see which one they were doing.
The Cycle That Wouldn't Break 🔄
What came next is painfully familiar — the kind of cycle you might recognize from your own life. described it:
"In spite of all this, they kept sinning. Despite his wonders, they still didn't believe. So he made their days disappear like a breath, and their years ended in terror.
When he struck them down, then they came looking for him. They turned back and searched for God. They remembered that God was their rock, that the Most High was their redeemer."
Sounds like , right? But watch:
"They flattered him with their words. They lied to him with their tongues. Their hearts weren't committed to him. They weren't faithful to his covenant."
That's the part that stings. They said all the right things — when things got bad enough. But the moment the pressure eased, the commitment evaporated. It was crisis religion. Fear-based returns that never reached the heart. We all know what this looks like. It's the frantic at 2 a.m. that fades by morning. The you make when everything is falling apart that quietly dissolve once things stabilize.
And here's what's remarkable. Asaph continued:
"Yet he, being compassionate, forgave their sin and didn't destroy them. Again and again he held back his anger. He didn't unleash the full measure of his wrath. He remembered that they were only human — a breath of wind that passes and doesn't return."
Read that again. He knew they were lying. He knew their repentance was shallow. And he held back anyway. Not because they earned it. Because of who he is. That's not weakness — that's a kind of patience most of us can barely imagine.
They Forgot What It Took ⚡
The psalmist circles back now — all the way back to . Because the people had apparently forgotten the sheer scale of what God did to rescue them in the first place. pressed the point:
"How many times they rebelled against him in the wilderness. How many times they grieved him in the desert. They tested God over and over and provoked the Holy One of Israel. They didn't remember his power — the day he rescued them from the enemy."
And then comes the full replay of the — not to celebrate violence, but to remind them what it cost to set them free:
"He performed his signs in Egypt, his wonders in the region of Zoan. He turned their rivers to blood so they couldn't drink. He sent swarms of flies that devoured them and frogs that ruined their land. He gave their crops to locusts, the fruit of their labor to swarms of destruction. He destroyed their vines with hail and their fig trees with frost. He handed their cattle over to the hail and their flocks to bolts of lightning.
He unleashed his burning anger — wrath, fury, and distress — a company of destroying angels. He cleared a path for his anger. He didn't spare them from death but gave their lives over to the plague. He struck down every firstborn in Egypt — the firstfruits of their strength in the land of Ham."
This is heavy. The psalmist isn't celebrating it — he's asking you to measure the weight of what God did to get his people out. wasn't free. It never has been. And when you forget the cost of your own rescue, you start treating the rescuer like he owes you something.
Led Like a Flock 🐑
After all of that — the , the , the devastation of an empire — came the tender part. wrote:
"Then he led his people out like sheep. He guided them through the wilderness like a flock. He led them safely — they had nothing to fear — while the sea swallowed their enemies.
He brought them to his holy land, to the mountain his own hand had won. He drove out nations before them, divided up the land as their inheritance, and settled the tribes of Israel in their new homes."
There's something beautiful about the shift here. From and plague to a quietly leading sheep to pasture. That's the full range of who God is — powerful enough to dismantle an empire, gentle enough to guide a wandering people home. Both are true at the same time. And both are easy to forget.
They Did It Again 💔
And then — almost unbelievably — they did it all over again. This section is heavy, and the psalmist doesn't soften it:
"Yet they tested and rebelled against the Most High God. They didn't keep his commands. They turned away and were as treacherous as their ancestors — as unreliable as a warped bow. They provoked him with their high places and made him jealous with their idols."
A warped bow. Think about that image. It looks like a bow. You could pick it up and expect it to work. But when you pull it back, the arrow goes somewhere you never aimed. That's what unfaithfulness looks like — something that appears reliable but fails at the moment it matters most.
"When God heard, he was filled with wrath. He utterly rejected Israel. He abandoned his dwelling at Shiloh — the tent where he had lived among his people. He let his power be captured, his glory taken by the enemy. He handed his people over to the sword and poured out his fury on his own inheritance.
Fire consumed their young men. Their young women had no wedding songs. Their priests fell by the sword, and their widows couldn't even weep."
Let that sit. God didn't just withdraw a little. He let the worst happen. The place where he had lived among them — — he walked away from it. Not because he stopped caring, but because they had so thoroughly abandoned him that his presence among them had become a contradiction. This is what it looks like when you push past every limit — not that God runs out of , but that the relationship becomes so one-sided that even staying starts to enable the destruction.
Then God Chose a Shepherd 👑
But the psalm doesn't end in the wreckage. It can't. Because that's not who God is. wrote:
"Then the Lord woke up as if from sleep, like a warrior shaking off the effects of wine. He drove his enemies back and put them to permanent shame."
And then came the unexpected turn:
"He rejected the tent of Joseph. He didn't choose the tribe of Ephraim. Instead, he chose the tribe of Judah — Mount Zion, which he loves. He built his sanctuary like the heights of heaven, like the earth he established to last forever.
He chose David, his servant, and took him from the sheepfolds. From tending nursing ewes, he brought him to shepherd Jacob — his people, Israel — his inheritance. And David shepherded them with an upright heart and guided them with a skillful hand."
After seventy verses of failure, rebellion, shallow , and devastating consequences — the psalm ends with a . Not a general. Not a politician. Not the tribe everyone expected. God chose a kid watching sheep — someone whose qualifications looked like nothing on paper — and made him the answer to centuries of broken leadership.
That's the whole arc of 78. Humanity keeps forgetting. God keeps being faithful. And when everything falls apart, he doesn't start over with a perfect candidate. He picks a shepherd from a field and says, "This one. I'll work with this one." And somehow, that's enough.