How lovely God is Pt 31: Your love reaches

Psalm 36:5-10                         5Your love, LORD, reaches to the heavens, your faithfulness to the skies.  6Your righteousness is like the highest mountains, your justice like the great deep.  You, LORD, preserve both people and animals.  7How priceless is your unfailing love, O God!  People take refuge in the shadow of your wings.  8They feast on the abundance of your house; you give them drink from your river of delights.  9For with you is the fountain of life; in your light we see light.  10Continue your love to those who know you, your righteousness to the upright in heart.

On the heels of our discussion about Psalm 19, after realizing the extent of God’s power and righteousness, it seems appropriate to consider the extent of God’s love.  Psalm 36 is one of those passages that feels like stepping out of a dark alley into open sunlight.  The psalm begins with a bleak picture of human wickedness—self-flattery, deception, and disregard for God.  But suddenly, in verse 5, everything changes.  David lifts his eyes.  The scene widens.  Instead of looking at sin, he looks at God.  And when he looks up, what he sees stretches farther than the sky.

“Your love, LORD, reaches to the heavens, your faithfulness to the skies” (Ps 36:5).

That shift matters.  When we stare too long at the brokenness of the world—or even our own hearts—we shrink back.  But when we look at the character of God, we breathe again.  Psalm 36:5–10 is David’s deep breath.  It is worship born from perspective.

Your love is everywhere

David begins with language that refuses smallness:

“Your love, LORD, reaches to the heavens,
your faithfulness to the skies.
Your righteousness is like the highest mountains,
your justice like the great deep.”

Notice the scale.  He piles up the largest things he can imagine—heavens, skies, mountains, oceans.  It’s as if David is saying, “I don’t have big enough words, so I’ll borrow the universe.”

God’s love is covenant love—loyal, stubborn, promise-keeping love.  Not the kind that fades when we fail.  Not the kind that depends on our performance.  This love reaches.  It reaches farther than our rebellion; farther than our doubts; farther than our worst days.  Sometimes we imagine God’s love as fragile, easily offended, always on the verge of withdrawing.  But Scripture paints the opposite picture.  His love is cosmic in scope.

Jeremiah says His mercies are “new every morning” (Lamentations 3:23).  Paul says nothing “in all creation” can separate us from Christ’s love (Romans 8:38–39).  John says simply, “God is love” (1 John 4:8).

When anxiety tightens around us, we tend to think: What if God has had enough of me?  Psalm 36 answers gently: Look up.  If the sky is still above you, His love still surrounds you.  You cannot step outside of it any more than you can step outside the atmosphere.  Even in seasons of spiritual dryness, the love of God hasn’t thinned out.  It’s as present as the air you breathe.

You make everything right

David continues:

“Your righteousness is like the highest mountains,
your justice like the great deep.
You, LORD, preserve both people and animals.”³

We often separate the ideas of love and justice.  Love feels warm.  Justice feels severe.  But in God, they belong together.  His righteousness is stable like mountains.  Mountains don’t wobble.  They don’t negotiate.  They stand.  That means God’s moral order is not random.  History is not chaos.  Evil does not have the last word.  This matters deeply because injustice wears us down.  We see cruelty go unpunished.  We watch the wicked prosper.  We experience losses that make no sense.  And sometimes we wonder: Does God even notice?

Psalm 36 says yes—He sees deeper than the ocean trenches.  The “great deep” suggests mystery.  God’s justice isn’t always immediately visible.  Sometimes it is hidden below the surface.  But depth does not mean absence.  Throughout Scripture, God consistently moves toward restoration.  He rescues Noah.  He defends Israel.  He raises up the oppressed.  Ultimately, He sends Christ—the perfect union of mercy and justice.

At the cross, righteousness and love meet.  Sin is judged.  Sinners are saved.  That is the ultimate proof that God makes things right.  When life feels unfair, this passage invites patience rather than despair.  We don’t need to take vengeance.  We don’t need to panic.  God is not wringing His hands in heaven.  His justice is steady as granite.  Even when we don’t see immediate outcomes, we can rest in His character.

Trust grows not from explanations, but from knowing who God is.

And Your people rejoice

David has been describing God’s vast character, but now he moves closer—almost like stepping under a shelter:

“How priceless is your unfailing love, O God!
People take refuge in the shadow of your wings.
They feast on the abundance of your house;
you give them drink from your river of delights.”⁶

Now the language turns intimate.  The God who fills the heavens also provides a hiding place.  When a mother chicken notices a predator nearby, or in the air, she will cluck loudly to her chicks.  Upon hearing that warning they all immediately run under her outstretched wings which then close in on the chicks.  That action is tender, protective, and personal.  The image is clear: We don’t just observe God’s love—we live inside it.

David even uses banquet imagery: feast, abundance, river, delights.  God isn’t stingy with His goodness.  He doesn’t ration grace like leftovers.  He invites us to a table.  This reminds us that the believing life is not merely survival.  It’s not “hold on until heaven.”  It’s joy now.  Jesus echoes this when He says, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10).  Joy is not naïve denial of hardship.  It’s confidence that God’s presence outweighs it.

Many believers live like spiritual orphans—saved but not secure, forgiven but not joyful.  Psalm 36 gently corrects that mindset.  You are not barely tolerated in God’s house.  You are welcomed.  You are not a guest hoping not to overstay.  You are family.  So rejoice.  Worship loudly.  Rest deeply.  Believing joy isn’t forced cheerfulness—it’s the quiet satisfaction of being held by Someone stronger than the storm.

Because You are the fountain of life

Finally, David reaches the heart of it all:

“For with you is the fountain of life;
in your light we see light.
Continue your love to those who know you,
your righteousness to the upright in heart.”

This is the climax.  God doesn’t merely give life.  He is its source.  A fountain doesn’t borrow water—it generates it.  Everything else is downstream.  That means every joy, every breath, every moment of beauty ultimately flows from Him.  And “in your light we see light” means clarity comes from relationship with God.  Without Him, we misread everything—ourselves, others, the world.

Jesus later claims this language directly:
“I am the light of the world” (John 8:12).
“I am the resurrection and the life” (John 11:25).

Psalm 36 quietly anticipates Christ.  He is the fountain.  We are thirsty.  And He invites us to drink.  So many of us search for life in cracked cisterns—success, approval, distraction, control.  But these never satisfy.  Only God sustains.  Practically, that means daily returning to Him—through prayer,  Scripture, worship, community. Not out of obligation, but thirst.  We don’t come to God because we are strong.  We come because we are dry.  And every time, He refreshes us.

What about me?

We learn here something simple but life-changing:  When evil feels overwhelming, don’t stare at the darkness.  Look up.  Look at the heavens.  Look at the mountains.  Look at the depths.  Then remember: God’s love is bigger than all of it.

His justice stands firm.
His shelter is near.
His joy is abundant.
His life is endless.

And suddenly, like David, we breathe again.  Because His love truly reaches to the heavens.