Psalms 108:12

Give us help from trouble: for vain is the help of man.

Help in trouble

I. A very common experience. “Trouble.”

1. Bodily.

2. Family.

3. Church.

4. Heath.

II. A very certain resource. Betaking ourselves to God in prayer.

1. The resource itself. God. He knows all our troubles. He is ever graciously disposed to help and comfort His people.

2. How the resource is available. By prayer. It may be very short--a mere fragment. But it must be the prayer of conscious need, and of believing supplication.

III. A very evident truth. “For vain is the help of man.” Good men may give us wise counsel, and they may sympathize sincerely and tenderly, and they may pray for us, and thus be instrumental of good to our souls; but they can neither sustain us in trouble, nor sanctify our sorrows, nor deliver us out of our afflictions.

1. They cannot control our circumstances. But God can; He alone disposes of the conditions of men--raiseth up, or casteth down--enriches, or impoverishes--sends prosperity, or adversity--joy, or grief.

2. They cannot drive back our enemies. Either those in the world, or our spiritual ones; but God can; He can enable us effectually to resist both, and to triumph over them.

3. They cannot turn our afflictions into a blessing. But God can; He is able “out of the eater to bring forth meat, and out of the strong to bring forth sweetness.”

4. They cannot deliver us from our troubles. Look at Abraham on the mount with Isaac! Jacob meeting Esau! Israelites on way to Red Seal Daniel in den of lions! Hebrews in the fiery furnace! Peter in prison--Paul in the stocks! In all these cases vain would have been the skill and power of man; but God did deliver each and all of them; and He will deliver those who pub their trust in Him. (J. Burns, D. D.)

Human help is of no avail

About twenty years ago a fisherman on the way to his boat met his little boy, who pleaded with him to be taken on the little voyage across to the neighbouring island. The fisherman looked at the waves; they had begun to pub on their white caps of wrath, and the swell of the sea had commenced, and he hesitated; but at last he allowed his boy to go. All seemed well in the smack, till half way across a sudden squall caught the canvas and flung the father and his assistant into the deep. They caught hold of the rope that attached the little boat behind the smack, and climbed in and were saved. Looking back, they saw the smack on her beam end, filling rapidly, and a pale, white little face, the face of the little boy at the cabin window. He had been sent down below when the squall had come. The father, in desperation, flung himself on the sinking smack. One blow of his strong fist shattered the window, and the little face there still looked out, but he cannot escape: what could the father do? The window is too small. The man was nearly demented; he tried to tear the beams from the sinking vessel, but they were too strong; and the little boy, in his homely Scotch, said, “Daddy, save me, help me.” Deeper and deeper, the smack turned on her side; and the tears streamed down the little white face, and down the face of the despairing father. At last he cried, “God help thee, my laddie, I canna.” Down went the smack, with a gurgle and a foaming bubble, and that was all. That father never went to sea again. Twenty years passed, and on his death-bed it was the same cry, “God help thee, my laddie, I canna.” Dear soul, you are in greater danger than that little fisher-lad. You’re sinking! God help you, you immortal soul, you’re sinking; and I cannot help you, your father can’t, your mother can’t. God help thee (J. Robertson.)

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