Which of the following situations is most likely to bring you delight?

A) You discover that the shoes you want to buy are 90 percent off.
B) A close relative is marrying someone you really like.
C) You find out your favorite dessert is now fat free and sugar free, and still has all the taste.
D) You see a highway sign that says, “Speed Limit 55.”

If you answered “D,” you’re an unusual American, but you’d make a good psalm writer!

Most of us tend not to notice how strange some parts of the Old Testament are because we’ve grown so accustomed to them. But surely the delight the Jewish psalmists had in God’s law is not what we would expect. Respect for the law, yes. Obedience to it, certainly. But delight? It seems an unusual reaction to a set of regulations.

Perhaps you’re not convinced that delight is a strange reaction to legal boundaries. Let’s look at some Jewish expressions of pleasure in the law from a famous Psalm, the 119th, and imagine some contemporary equivalents:

Psalm 119:20: “My soul is consumed with longing for your laws at all times.”

Equivalent: My soul is consumed with longing for speed limits at all times.

Psalm 119:62: “At midnight I rise to give you thanks for your righteous laws.”

Equivalent: At midnight I rise to give you thanks for IRS regulations.

Psalm 119:72: “The law from your mouth is more precious to me than thousands of pieces of silver and gold.”

Equivalent: Bills passed by Congress are more precious to me than thousands of pieces of silver and gold.

See what I mean? OK, I’ll admit the comparison between God and Congress made the last one a bit far-fetched. Still, it’s unusual for people to be so incredibly grateful for laws and regulations. Why were the Jews (or at least their psalm writers) so pleased to have commands given to them? I think we can understand the reason for their gratitude if we first consider what life was like for ancient people who didn’t have heavenly commands.

As a university English professor, I begin my World Literature 1 course each semester by having the students read the ancient Greek play Oedipus Rex. At the beginning, the town of Thebes is being destroyed by a plague. The citizens figure they have done something to upset the gods and are being punished. The problem at the opening of the play is that they don’t know what they’ve done wrong. During class discussion I ask the question, “If you were around someone really powerful who also has a temper, what would be something you would want to know?” And my students, who are no dummies, respond, “I’d want to know what things make him mad so I don’t do them.” That, of course, was the chief religious dilemma of the ancient Greeks: They had no guidebook to let them know what pleased the gods and what didn’t.

The Jews faced a similar situation: They lived in a world with a powerful Creator who would sometimes send a flood, fire or earthquake. But one of the nicest things their Creator ever did for them was to give them a list of what He didn’t like. Is that actually something to delight in? Well, suppose a man bursts into your house and says, “You need to say a 10-word sentence in the next 30 seconds or I’ll brand you with this hot iron. But there’s one letter of the alphabet that I just hate. If you start a word with that letter, I’ll brand you anyway.” Wouldn’t you want to know that letter?

Thus, the Jews delighted in studying and knowing God’s regulations. From the law, they could learn how to avoid punishment from their Father. But what does all this have to do with us Christians today? As Paul points out in 2 Corinthians 3:6, we live under a “new covenant — not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.” From where does our delight come?

Another analogy will help. I love my dear wife, Nancy, very much. Suppose as a little term of endearment, I decide to start calling her “Nan” for short. But the second time I do she says, “Marv, I’d like you to stop calling me ‘Nan.’ I had a nasty boyfriend in college who called me that, and hearing it brings back painful memories.” I’m glad to know about the “rule” against saying “Nan” so Nancy can be happier with me.

Or we can look at it this way. Suppose that instead of prohibitions against certain words — words that could upset your spouse or leave you branded — you had a close relative full of insights about life that most people do not know. This aunt provides you with flawless advice on the stock market, child rearing, job success, excellent health — in short, she knows about everything. Wouldn’t you feel exceedingly fortunate to know this woman personally and have such a close relationship with her?

And that, of course, is the difference between the law and the Spirit. Both protect and guide us, one by restricting life, the other by expanding it. One is a set of regulations; the other is a personal counselor who shows us how to live full and satisfying lives. Continuing his thoughts in 2 Corinthians 3:7-8, Paul says, “Now if the ministry that brought death, which was engraved in letters on stone, came with glory … will not the ministry of the Spirit be even more glorious?” If the Israelites delighted so much in a written law that showed how to avoid death, shouldn’t we take time right now to delight in a Spirit who shows us how to have life?