Within Jesus' Reach--November 28, 2025

Within Jesus' Reach--November 28, 2025

One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding [Jesus] and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come in your kingdom.” He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” (Luke 23:39-43)

He has nothing to offer or bargain with.  He has no status, influence, or leverage.  And while he freely admits he has committed some crime that has led to his death sentence, there's no actual evidence of him saying he is sorry, showing "repentance," or turning over a new leaf.  He doesn't pray the "sinner's prayer" or recite the Creed to establish he has adequately orthodox faith.  We don't even know his name. He is simply a desperate man, praying for an impossible hope: "Jesus, remember me when you come in your kingdom."  And Jesus promises him everything.

How about that.

For this final devotion in our year spent with "Life on the Edge," that's a good place to land.  The beginning and the end of our faith is our confidence in a God who not only choose to meet us in the pain and suffering of death with us, but who promises life beyond the grip of the grave as a free gift with no conditions, strings, or prerequisite accomplishments to earn it.  This is how Jesus reigns; this is the sort of king he is.

History has been marked with plenty of powerbrokers, presidents, and potentates who were willing to grant favors for those who promised a little something in return, or who weaponized the machinery of government against those who wouldn't fall in line.  But Jesus' kingship is different. He promises Paradise to the random stranger crucified beside him without requiring proof of life-change, a show of proper remorse, or devotion in return.  It's all grace. It always has been.

On the days when it feels like we have nothing but empty hands... on the days when our best attempts have crumbled to ash... on the days when we can't outrun the memories of our mess-ups, failures, and worst moments, we are still within Jesus' reach. Jesus' outstretched arms are open for us as well, the same as they were for this unnamed and condemned criminal, bleeding to death beside Jesus on crosses outside Jerusalem on another Friday long ago. There has never been anything we had to do, say, or know to earn our acceptance into his mercy; it has always been the reach of his grace that has mattered.  And if he can promise Paradise to the criminal on the cross with nothing more than a pleading, "Remember me," then he can give us the same assurance with whatever baggage we bring to this day.

Wherever you are right now in your life, whatever troubles are weighing you down, and whatever heartaches are pulling at you, you... and I, and the thief at Jesus' side, and a whole world full of us, too... are still within Jesus' reach.  His promise is for you, as a free gift. And there is no amount of messing it up, getting it wrong, or letting him down that will negate or nullify Jesus' promise.  The most we can do is trust the promise has been made to us.  

Today, as our wider culture gorges on "Black Friday" consumption with sales and purchases and the relentless need for "more," we have enough--exactly, perfectly, and completely enough.  We have been given the promise of life beyond the grip of death, even when all we bring to Jesus are empty hands.  He will remember us--not only that, he will walk through this day with us and promises to bring us to be with him in resurrection life. That promise is enough to get us through whatever else this day brings... and whatever tomorrows we get until we see him face to face.

Lord Jesus, remember us in your kingdom according to your powerful grace.

No Bulletproof Glass--November 27, 2025

No Bulletproof Glass--November 27, 2025

When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” And they cast lots to divide his clothing. And the people stood by watching, but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.” (Luke 23:33-38)

We have been taught to look for important people behind bulletproof glass or bodyguards. Conventional wisdom says they need to be protected, not only to a greater degree than other people's lives, but even with other people's lives.  Jesus, once again, turns the tables on conventional wisdom from the cross.

We heard these words, many of us, back this past Sunday in worship as part of the blessedly counterintuitive Gospel reading for "Christ the King" Sunday.  That's actually one of the things I love about the way the Revised Common Lectionary frames this final Sunday of the church's year.  On a day when we might expect "ra-ra" triumphalism or picture Jesus as some Celestial Conqueror zapping his enemies, because he's, you know, "king," we are brought instead to the story of Jesus' crucifixion at the hands of the powers of the day, who have decided to execute this itinerant rabbi because they deem him an enemy of the state and a threat to their power.  That by itself turns the usual ways we think of "important people" on its head.  Jesus has no bulletproof glass or security bunker to stay out of danger.

This is the scandal of the Gospel, which is also what makes it Good News: when the powers of the day call for Jesus' execution for seditious words and actions (talking about an alternative "kingdom" that is coming will always sound like a threat to the current regime), Jesus responds to them not with his own calls for violent retribution or revenge, but a request for mercy.  Even though the Empire thinks is in control, Jesus in fact is the one who remains calm and collected, praying, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." 

That turns our usual expectations upside-down, doesn't it? While we are used saying that the kings, the emperors, the presidents, and the prime ministers should be kept safe and out of harm's way, even to the point of Secret Service agents who would take a bullet for the "important person, Jesus turns the tables on that mindset.  He not only goes into trouble--all the way to death--but even there on a cross, seeks to protect others, including those who are responsible for putting him to death. While we are used to a culture in which powerful figures publicly wish for harm and defeat for their opponents, Jesus actively prays for forgiveness for those who are in the act of killing him.  It is a completely different understanding of power from what we are used to--and that's what makes Jesus so compelling.

When Christians say that Christ is "king," it is not in the sense of just replacing one self-absorbed tyrant with another one who happens to have a halo.  We mean that Jesus' way of being king completely undermines those old understandings of power.  Jesus never says, "I'm king, so my life is more important than yours," but rather, even to his dying breath says, "I'm king, so I will lay down my life for the sake of yours," even to people who have made themselves his enemies. That kind of servant-leadership will always upset the established empires of the day, because they cannot understand a use of power that doesn't seek its own interest.  Jesus' way will always seem subversive--and, yes, the powers of the day might even think it is seditious--precisely because it calls into question every king, kingdom, and regime that operates by "Me and My Group's Interests First" thinking.  This is the One to whom we pledge our allegiance--because he has even sought forgiveness for us when we were the ones with the hammer in our hands, complicit in Jesus' death.

There are a lot of things to be thankful for this Thanksgiving, to be sure, no matter what else you have going on in your life or what else is going on in the world.  But today is a day to remember, too, alongside the abundance of food and the gift of shelter from the cold, the way Jesus, our King, turns kingship upside-down.  Even at our worst, Jesus is at his best.  And even when we would expect the one in power to be shielded from danger, Jesus keeps putting himself in harm's way for our sake and uses his authority to seek our forgiveness.

Lord Jesus, we give you thanks for your different way of being king.  Let your surprising reign transform all of our lives.

Nothing Held Back--November 26, 2025

Nothing Held Back--November 26, 2025

"[Christ] is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross." [Colossians 1:18-20]

It was God who went to a cross, got buried in a borrowed grave, broke open the powers of hell, and came out the other side alive. It is none other and no less than God who wears the nail-scars like trophies of triumph now.

This is a pretty big deal, if you think about it. And it's why the early church fought very hard and wrestled for a very long time to make sure they were clear on what they believed about Jesus, the one in whom "all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell," as we heard from this passage this past Sunday in worship.  And the conclusion of all that debating, arguing, writing, sweating, and praying, was the conclusion that in Christ Jesus, we don't simply have a divine press secretary, a heavenly placeholder, or a celestial vice-president of human affairs: we have none other than "the fullness of God" embodied in the particular human body of a homeless rabbi from the backwater of the empire.

Other splinter groups, both in the early centuries and still today, got squirmy with the idea of a God who comes that close. They would be willing to say that Jesus is God's first and best creation, or that Jesus is empowered to speak for God, or that Jesus is the earthly messiah who had been promised by the prophets--but passages like this one insisted that wasn't enough. It's not enough to say that God wanted to reconcile with humanity and so sent a very, very good diplomat to broker a peace treaty or negotiate a deal on God's behalf. It's not enough to say that God appointed Jesus to be the divine representative, law-giver, religious teacher, spiritual coach, or heavenly proxy. The scandalous thing about the New Testament is its insistence, over and over again, that you lose something vital to the Christian faith if we don't recognize God's own face in the crucified Christ, and see God having taken on death in the risen body of Jesus.

And the difference is in the lengths God to which will go in order to rescue us. If you need to be picked up at the airport, and I tell you I'm too busy, but I'll ask another mutual acquaintance to go meet you, I'm kind of telling you that I think my other business is more important than you are. Maybe it's the hassle, or the need to have to go out of my way all the way to the airport, or maybe the roads are dangerous (if it's wintertime) and I just don't want to risk it myself. But whatever the reason, I'm sending the message that I'd rather do my other work, or keep myself safe, rather than go to the trouble of picking you up at the airport. But if you need a ride and, despite everything else on my to-do list, I come myself to get you, well then, it's clear, there are no lengths I won't go to. It's clear that you must be pretty important to me.

Well, if the Christian story is simply that God appointed the assistant to the regional manager to come rescue humanity while God minded the store, that tells you what God really values most. But if Jesus really is the fullness of God in a human life, well, that means that God doesn't hold any chips back, but goes all in for you and for me. It says that God wasn't more afraid of death than God was in love with you. It says that God was willing to be permanently scarred for our sake, rather than to be without us--and, to hear Colossians tell it, that "us" includes all things in creation--in the risen body of Jesus of Nazareth.

I have to tell you, in all honesty--that's why I keep on in this faith of ours, instead of giving up or looking for another religion. That's why I dare to believe it is good news that Jesus is risen: not simply the idea of someone coming back to life after death (which happens in the stories of a lot of other religions, too), but that the One who went through death and hell and resurrection is none other than the fullness of God in the flesh. The Greeks and Romans and Vikings all had plenty of mythological gods and goddesses and demigods and heroes who had brushes with death and then came to life. The ancient near East was full of them, too, from Mithras to Persephone to a long list of dying and rising sun gods. Resurrection stories were a dime a dozen in the ancient world. And to be honest there are lots of things that are frustrations and heartaches about the institution we call Church today, too--we get fussy over things Jesus didn't seem to care about, and we overlook the things Jesus said were essential; we get cranky when we don't get our way or feel inconvenienced; and we can end up divided over the things that were meant to unify us. There are lots of reasons one could cite for giving up on the ungainly hippopotamus that is the church (as T.S. Eliot called it once), and still find another religious story that involved an afterlife.

The thing that keeps pulling me back to this story, this Gospel, and to this messy and frustrating community called Church, is the news that none other than God entered into the mess all the way down to death--a real, human death--and raises that scarred, tortured body into life again, forever marking God's own being with the wounds. If the Christian message were just that God sent Jesus to fix things, but that God in God's own being didn't go through that death and resurrection, I wouldn't be able to be a Christian. It just isn't worth it if God says at some point, "I love you, but there's a length I won't go to for you, and in those instances, I send a substitute." But if the one we call Christ really is the "image of the invisible God," then there are no lengths God will not go to, and there are no boundaries or limits to the reach of God's love. And that, of course, is why the writer of Colossians can say that in the risen Christ, God has reconciled with "all things." No limits. Nothing held back. God goes all in.

Look, I don't mean to disrespect the sects and spin-off groups (I don't think I need to name names here) that talk about Jesus but can't bring themselves to confess with Colossians here that in Christ we have the fullness of God in a human life, but as I look at the mess of this world, the only hope I can see is if God really says there are no limits to how far God will go, how deep into our pain God will dive, or how much God will endure to reconcile with all things. If there are limits we are all doomed, because we are sure to push the boundaries and cross them one day or another.

But if we can dare to trust the vision of Colossians, then God really has put all the chips on the table, as it were, and has risked it all... for all of us. And that is news that will let me work up the nerve to put my feet on the floor another day. That is hope enough, even on days when the shadow of death is lurking painfully close.

Lord God, let us dare to believe it is true, that you have completely taken on our life and our death in Christ, and that there are no limits to the power or reach of your love.

The Music Is Still Playing--November 25, 2025

 

The Music Is Still Playing--November 25, 2025

"[Christ] is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation, for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers—all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together." (Colossians 1:15-17)

If you want to make music, you need more than notes on a page.  Even great composers, once they have finished the written score of their great symphonies or operas, don't really have music--not until you, or somebody else, or an orchestra of somebodies, start pulling bows across strings, playing keys on a piano, or blowing air into trumpets, flutes, and clarinets.  And all of those actions take sustained effort.  They require the continued labor of exertion, breath, and motion.  Without those, the music stops, even if the whole score is printed on the page.  In other words, if you want to have music--at least live music, you need more than just a creative mind who first comes up with the melodies and harmonies in the beginning.  You need the ongoing commitment of actual musicians who make the music happen in real time. So long as the band keeps playing, the music continues; when they stop for intermission, the music does, too.

I mention this because I've found it a helpful reminder about our own existence and our ongoing dependence on God--in particular the God we have come to know in Christ Jesus.  We depend on God for our existence, not simply in the sense that God created the universe a long, long time ago and we are a part of that universe, but in the sense that God continues to sustain the universe's existence at every moment.  That is to say, our lives are like music--they need not only the original creative act of writing the notes on paper, but the ongoing action of producing the sounds.  God continues to keep the universe going, at every point of our existence, like a flute player choosing to continue to blow air over the mouthpiece, like a cellist committing to pulling the bow across the string to make a sound, or like a pianist hammering out chords and arpeggios, which would all go silent if the fingers stopped moving.  The letter to the Colossians says the same thing about the entire cosmos, as many of us heard this past Sunday when these verses were read.  In Christ, the writer says, "all things hold together."  That is to say, it is an ongoing action and choice on God's part that the world keeps existing.  If God no longer committed to keeping the world going, it would cease to exist just as surely as the aria ceases when the soprano closes her mouth and stops singing.

We Christians don't only believe that God "invented" the universe in the sense of coming up with the idea or first writing a melody down.  We believe that this God in Christ keeps the music going, so to speak, by continuing to sustain the universe at every moment.  Unlike, say, a painting by Van Gogh or a sculpture by Rodin, which are still very much on display long after their creating artists have shuffled off this mortal coil, the universe is like live music: it continues to exist only insofar as God the Musician continues to pluck, breathe, and play the notes.  At every instant of our lives--both our best and most holy moments as well as our cruelest and crudest--God has graciously continued to keep the universe in existence and keep our lives going.

Now, if the letter to the Colossians is right about this (and I would insist it is), consider what that means about you, about me, about every other person who has ever lived or will ever live, as well as about every rock, tree, sea slug, stinkbug, squirrel, and giant squid. God has brought all of it into existence and has continued to sustain all of it.  God has continued to keep you and me in existence even at our worst moments and even when we have been turned completely away from God in utter rejection and rebellion.  God has continued to keep this whole world continuing, all the way down to you and me, even in the times we most ferociously turn our backs on God and actively break God's heart. A lesser deity would snap us out of existence for the sake of sheer spite (or relief).  A lesser god would decide to stop playing the music if there were sour notes.  If you or I were in God's place, I suspect we would have given up on the whole world long ago.  But God chooses at every moment--or perhaps we should say, from outside of the concept of linear time, God has forever chosen--to keep the universe going and to sustain our existence, apart from whether we have deserved it, whether we have prayed piously enough, whether we have followed the rules adequately, or whether we have believed the correct facts about God.  God's love in Christ holds all things together, even when we are actively trying to splinter things apart or rebel against that love.

That really does change the way we view our lives, or the world at large, doesn't it?  It can be tempting to assume that there are some people God doesn't really love, some places that are godforsaken, or some creatures that don't have any value or purpose.  But their sheer existence is evidence, Colossians says, that they are beloved of God--beloved enough for God to keep holding in being like a trumpet player sustaining a long note.  The existence of the world, even when we don't like some of the parts or people within the world, is itself the evidence that God loves the lot of us.  In other words, we can't say, "Well, God doesn't really care about So-and-So, but they already exist and God just doesn't interfere with the world anymore now that it's going on its own." Rather, even the people we think are least lovable, even the ones who we might think contribute the least to the value of the world, and even the people who are turned completely away from God are still beloved by God such that God actively wills to sustain them and the world in which they live.  The fact that the music is still playing is evidence that God continues to love this melody enough to keep breathing out the notes.  And there is no one--not a one--whom you will ever meet, who is not so beloved.

Let that truth sink in and change the way you see the world today... and let's see what happens.

Lord God, allow us to see our own existence--and that of the whole world--as signs of your faithful and sustaining love.

What Sort of King?--November 24, 2025

What Sort of King?--November 24, 2025

"May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, so that you may have all endurance and patience, joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light. He has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins." (Colossians 1:11-14)

The right question to ask is, "What sort of king reigns in the kingdom where I belong?"  Different kinds of rulers have different ways of ruling, after all.  So, to what sort of king, and what sort of kingdom, do we give our allegiance?

There's this moment of levity in one of the Marvel Avengers movies where a group of the heroes seek the help of T'Challa, also known as the hero Black Panther, who is king of the fictional Afro-futurist nation of Wakanda.  And as the visiting Avengers get off of their jet to meet him, Bruce Banner (the Hulk) turns and asks a fellow hero (Rhodey), "Are we supposed to bow?" Rhodey implies the answer is yes, because, after all, T'Challa is a king.  So Banner bows, only to have the king himself stop him and say, simply, "We don't do that here." In other words, this isn't that sort of kingdom, and I am not that sort of king. And with that, off the heroes go to plan their defense of the world from a hostile alien threat.

It is a sort of throwaway moment as a joke, but the theology of it is poking at me. It's a moment that reminds me how often we import baggage from our assumptions about how rulers, kingdoms, and power works--and those may have very little to do with the way God actually reigns, or the kind of king Jesus actually turns out to be.  We are used to stories of self-absorbed kings surrounded in gaudy gold-plated opulence who boast about their own greatness, and we might assume that Jesus is just one more insecure narcissist with a crown like them.  But the New Testament says differently: Jesus is a different kind of king, and "We don't do that here" in Jesus' kingdom.  Jesus reigns with the basin and the towel for washing feet, with the bread and fish for feeding the hungry, and with the thorns and cross of self-giving love.  The kind of king we have means we belong to a different kind of kingdom.

That's important to remember as we reflect on these words from Colossians, which many of us heard this past Sunday in worship for Christ the King Sunday.  The writer of Colossians says that God "has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins."  There is the sense that Jesus' kind of kingdom works differently from the ways of the world's kingdoms, powers, and empires.  There is the sense, in other words, that in response to a great many of the assumptions we bring, Jesus will say to us, graciously but firmly, "We don't do that here."

For one, the writer to the Colossians says that we have forgiveness of sins.  In the reign of Jesus, we don't endlessly keep track of who has wronged us and how we intend to get back at them; neither do we have to worry that God is still keeping tally of our mess-ups and failures until some future date when we'll get zapped.  We don't do that here.  For another thing, in the reign of Jesus, greatness isn't measured by putting yourself above other people or lording your position over them, but rather in serving.  In the reign of Jesus, we commit to showing love even to our enemies, because that is how God has loved us first--even while we were enemies of God.  In the reign of Jesus, we don't need to hoard our stuff, because we trust that God will provide for our needs, and so we can share so that others can have their daily bread as well.  We don't need to bully, belittle, or intimidate other people, because that's not how Jesus does things in his kingdom.  We have already been transferred from whatever other protocols and systems we had been stuck in, and we are now free to live under Jesus' gracious and gentle rule where justice and mercy are at home.

All of this puts an end the old insistence that we have to act the way everybody else does because "It's just how the world works." Others will insist that getting even is just the nature of things, or that you've got to step on other people in order to get ahead, because that's just "how things get done." But we can respond differently--we don't have to be obligated to do things the way "everybody else does it," because we have been transferred into a different kingdom.  And in Jesus' community, simply, "We don't do that here."  We don't have to go elsewhere, like up to heaven, or inside your local church sanctuary, or to go find a "Christian nation" (because that's not how Jesus operates).  Rather, right here, right where we are, we can begin already to live following Jesus' way, seeing the world from Jesus' perspective.  We can live right now, in this place and this time, from the vantage point of God--from the edge of eternity.

How might your day or your week change when you start to see things from the perspective of Jesus?  What old habits can we be done with?  What new possibilities might be opened up?   How will we interact with other people given the way Jesus treats them?  Let's see where those questions take us today.

Lord Jesus, free us from the baggage of the old powers and orders we have lived under, so that we can live fully and freely in your reign.

We Are Not the Only Ones Singing--November 21, 2025

We Are Not the Only Ones Singing--November 21, 2025

"Let the sea roar, and all that fills it,
  the world and those who dwell therein.
 Let the rivers clap their hands,
  and let the hills ring out with joy before the Lord, who comes to judge the earth.
 The Lord will judge the world with righteousness
  and the peoples with equity." (Psalm 98:7-9)

There really is a different feel to watching a game in person compared to watching it on a screen from the comfort and relative quiet of your living room.  The energy is almost electric when you are at a ballpark, stadium, or arena and you get to watch your team play.  Sitting at home to watch is certainly convenient (and you don't have to pay for parking), but it doesn't feel the same, right? There is something both humbling and exhilarating about cheering alongside hundreds, thousands, or even tens of thousands of other people, rooting for the same players you care about, roaring at an impressive play, or celebrating a victory. It changes your perspective, doesn't it? Being there in person reminds you that you are a part of something bigger than yourself... and also that there are others who are just as excited as you are when the home team wins. 

I get that same feeling from these verses at the end of Psalm 98, which many would have heard, read, or sung in worship this past Sunday.  It's a reminder that we humans are not the only ones in awe over the goodness of God. Even if we don't realize it most of the time, all of creation--including seas, rivers, and hills--rejoices in God.  In particular, this passage from the psalms even suggests that the whole world, from the soil and rock of the mountains to the waters of the ocean, celebrates the justice, equity, and righteousness of God.  All of creation is cheering for God, celebrating in God's victory, and singing in praise to God.

The psalmist is great at imagining that with his faithful imagination: the sound of the rushing river is like the clapping of hands in thunderous applause or rhythmic percussion; the seas are roaring, too.  The hills are not merely inanimate, here in the poetic view--they are joyful about God, glad to see God setting things right.  It's like the change of perspective that happens when you walk into the stadium or the ballpark and see that you are not the only one who has been cheering for your team--you are surrounded by so many more who are all as jubilant as you are.  To read (or sing) Psalm 98 is to see that we are not alone in being swept up in praise, thanks, and awe toward God.  We have a place in the crowd, but we are not the only ones.  The trees and the flowers, the rain and the sun, the fish and the birds, all of them are part of the cheering congregation of the universe, praising God by being what God has called us each to be. It's like that beautiful line of Nikos Kazantzakis, "I said to the almond tree, 'Sister, speak to me of God.' And the almond tree blossomed."  All of creation, all living things, as well as, apparently, things we usually think of as inanimate, like rivers, seas, and hills, all of it is overjoyed at the goodness of God.  We humans have a particular perspective, since we can see and know and appreciate things with our unique senses, intellect, and capacities.  But we are not the only ones singing.  

For a very long time in what we have often dubbed "advanced" Western society, conventional wisdom has treated the world as merely a pile of raw materials to be consumed and exploited.  We have forgotten what the Scriptures keep saying: all of creation is in relationship with God and rejoices over God's goodness.  We are not separate from that chorus, or "above" it; we are a part of it.  Taking that seriously will change not only the way we relate to God (maybe a little humbler, maybe a little more appreciation of our connectedness), but it will also change the way we treat the world in which we live.  If you are in a choir, you don't start eyeing the tenor section to pilfer its music or plotting to take over the seats of the sopranos--they are a part of the same ensemble to which you belong, and you share a common calling to sing together.  Similarly, if you are at a stadium cheering for your team, you know it doesn't help the team at all to take the big foam finger of the fans sitting next to you so you can use it to cheer.  You are both on the same "side" wanting your team to win, after all.  Maybe listening to the psalmist here will help us to see the rest of creation as our fellow singers, and we will learn to listen to their voices alongside our own.

O God, with all creation and the whole cosmos we praise you--not just for your greatness, but for your goodness.

Why We Need New Songs--November 20, 2025

Why We Need New Songs--November 20, 2025

" Sing a new song to the Lord, who has done marvelous things,
  whose right hand and holy arm have won the victory.
  O Lord, you have made known your victory,
  you have revealed your righteousness in the sight of the nations.
  You remember your steadfast love and faithfulness to the house of Israel;
  all the ends of the earth have seen the victory of our God." (Psalm 98:1-3)

If you hang around a church for very long, at some point, you will hear someone grousing about the music--especially if involves change. "Why are they printing new hymnals? What was wrong with the old ones?"  "Do they really expect us to shell out the money for buying more song books for our pews?"  "What if they get rid of my favorite hymn?"  "Why should we have to learn new songs if God is still the same as always?"  And that's before we even get to the knock-down drag-out fights that erupt over style and instrumentation: guitars or organs, screens or the printed page, "contemporary" or "traditional," praise-chorus or four-verse hymns in four-part harmony? We church folk can be an ornery bunch when it comes to having to learn a new song.

So, let's dare to ask it: why should we have to learn new songs--especially if God is the same as always? Can't we just stick with the songs we already know? Can't we just listen to the psalms that are already in our Bibles?

Well, that's just it.  Sometimes the psalms that are already in the Bible are the very voices telling us, quite literally, to "sing a new song."  These words from Psalm 98, which many would have heard or sung in worship this past Sunday, are a case in point.  Here we have a song from the Bible telling us, "Don't let these be the last words to be sung!  Keep coming up with new songs!  Keep bringing new praises!  Keep writing lyrics--sing a new song to the Lord!"

Why would we need a new song? Or beyond that, why will we keep needing new songs for the rest of our lives and into eternity?  To hear the words of Psalm 98 tell it, there's a two-fold reason: for one, God keeps doing marvelous things, which are just begging to be sung about for their sheer awesomeness... and for a second, so that more and more people will come to know both the greatness and the goodness of God.  We sing new songs, in other words, because God keeps doing things that need to sung about, and because the world keeps needing to hear about who God is.  So it's not that God changes and we have to keep reworking our lyrics to keep up with the latest version of the divine, like installing software updates for your phone or laptop.  It's that God's constant, faithful, steadfast love keeps acting through history, and we want the world to know, hear, and see it.  The whole idea, the psalmist says, is that God's righteousness--God's fundamental goodness--will be revealed among "the nations."  That is to say, the Gentiles.  Yeah--THOSE people.

I can't help but hear that as a boundary-pushing sort of welcome and invitation to outsiders.  That's a big deal.  The psalmist doesn't say, "We have to keep our God a secret because God is our private personal possession and nobody else can find out about God's steadfast love or those foreigners will want some, too, and there won't be enough to go around!" Rather, the poet says, "We had better keep writing and singing new songs about God's faithfulness, so that everyone will want to hear about it--especially all the nations beyond our borders!"  The Scriptures themselves--here in the words of this psalm--are directing our attention beyond the bounds of these set words keep looking outward at the new things God keeps doing in the world and the people we haven't met yet who are waiting to hear about the goodness of God!  The Bible itself keeps pointing us beyond its own pages to see the God to whom it witnesses and offers psalms of praise, acting and moving in marvelous and new ways.  That's why we are called to "sing a new song"--the Bible itself is calling us to do just that.

But, just to be clear here, if we do keep writing and singing new songs to God, it will change us.  Our perspective will shift, such that we will start to keep our eyes open to recognize how God is moving in the world.  We will no longer picture God as a relic of the past--the hero of past legends who has since retired and hung up the ol' divine spurs--but rather we will see God still doing marvelous things and wonders we had not expected.  And when that happens to our vision, we might just find that we are spurred to be a part of what God is up to as well, rather than just sitting on our hands telling stories wistfully about the "good old days." That might change our lives in ways we cannot even fathom yet.

So, I suppose, take this as a word of warning: if we dare to follow the Scriptures' lead and "sing a new song" of God's wondrous love and marvelous goodness, we will not only be pointed outward to reach out to people we had never thought about before, but we will likely be pulled to join in the work God is doing in the world around us.

Where will the next new song lead us?

Lord God, we praise you for your new movements in the world and your marvelous love--strengthen our voices to join in the new song of your goodness.