Vision 1: Embody the Gospel (2 Corinthians 5.17-6.13)

Every Christian church has essentially the same mission; it is the mission Christ gave his disciples at the end of his ministry: to go into all nations and make disciples, baptizing them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything he has commanded.

But every church finds itself in a different context and is filled with different people, so it is important to spell out how we, as the church that we are in the center of Paris, must do this.

So as we have done in the past, today we are going to begin a three-week mini-series on the vision of our church. This is an important reminder for those of you who have been with us for a long time, and a little introduction to the church for those of you who are new.

Here then is the vision of our church: we will take one week for each point.

Église Connexion exists to:

1. Embody the gospel for the people of Paris;

2. Train disciples who make disciples;

3. Send Christians equipped to serve the Church of Christ in France and beyond.

Today, we are going to look at the first point—our desire to embody the Gospel for the people of Paris. And to talk about this point, we will be in Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians.

Ambassadors for the Gospel (5:17–6:2)

To understand where Paul is going in this passage, we need a bit of context.

The church in the city of Corinth was deeply troubled. Paul had planted it with Priscilla and Aquila; they spent eighteen months there, then went on to Ephesus (we see this in Acts 18). At some point, Paul learned that the church in Corinth had completely gone off track—false teachings, blatant and open sins… it was a disaster.

So he wrote them a letter. We don’t have that letter—it has been lost—but Paul mentions it in 1 Corinthians 5. Apparently, the church in Corinth didn’t understand his letter at all, and their problems only got worse. So he wrote another letter, which we have in our Bible under the title of 1 Corinthians. In this letter, Paul corrected many doctrinal errors and rebuked them quite harshly for their sin.

Good news, though: many in the church were convicted of their sin. They repented, they accepted the gospel Paul was preaching to them, and they got back on track.

But some members of the church still resisted Paul, refused to accept his exhortation, and refused to repent. So Paul wrote another letter, 2 Corinthians, both to encourage those who had repented and to defend his apostolic ministry against his opponents.

Yet he does not speak only for himself; he speaks on behalf of all those who served the church in Corinth with him—people like Priscilla and Aquila. It’s very important to see that he is not giving an isolated example of what he alone did, but is describing how “we,” those who served the church in Corinth, lived.

In other words: he is describing a collective model of behavior, not just the example of one man. And he speaks of himself and his companions as ambassadors for the gospel.

Up until now, Paul has spoken of the sufferings he and his companions endured for the Gospel, and especially of the reason they do it. In chapter 4, he says that because they know where they are going—because they know that their life with Christ is not temporary—they can be in the midst of the most brutal circumstances without losing hope.

And it is on this note that he begins to speak of what motivates him and his co-workers. Chapter 5, verse 17:

17 Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. 18 All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; 19 that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. 20 Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. 21 For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

Paul tells us two essential things here.

First, he speaks about us. He says, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.” Sometimes it can be hard to believe that, or to understand what Paul means. But he says it in the verses we just read. If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation—that is: a person who is now reconciled to God. We see this several times: in v. 18, in v. 19, and in v. 20. The goal of Christ’s work was to reconcile us to God. The old has passed away: formerly, we were not reconciled to God; now we are.

Second, Paul tells us how Christ did this; he tells us the Gospel. The essence of the Gospel is summed up in v. 21: “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.”

Jesus Christ, the Son of God, came to earth as a human being, fully God and fully man, and he is the only human being in history who “knew no sin.” We have all sinned and are naturally separated from God; Jesus, though he shared our human nature, never sinned. Though he was tempted as we are, he never gave in to temptation. He was and still is perfectly innocent, perfectly righteous, perfectly holy.

And yet, God made him who knew no sin to be sin. Christ took all the rebellion of all his people throughout human history and placed that sin on himself, to such a degree that it was as if Christ himself were the sin that made us guilty before God. Christ went to the cross, carrying that sin on his shoulders, and was punished—not only, or even primarily, by men, but by God. God poured out every drop of his wrath against our sin, and he poured it out on Christ.

That is half of the equation. The other half is found in these words: “so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” Just as Christ took our sin to the point of becoming our sin, he gives us his perfect life to the point that we become his righteousness.

This is how Christ has made us new creations; this is how he has reconciled us to God.

God cannot reconcile with sin. It’s like oil and water: sin and holiness cannot coexist. So how can God reconcile with sinful men and women? He did it by killing their sin in the person of Christ, and by giving them the sinless life Christ lived.

Think about what that means. I am a sinner—I feel, like Paul, that I am the worst of sinners. But God saved me, brought me to faith, and I placed my faith in Christ. I repented of my sin. So God killed my sin in advance when he poured his wrath out on Christ. In other words, two thousand years ago, God killed all the sins I have committed over the last forty-four years, and all the sins I will commit for the rest of my life. Two thousand years ago, God killed the sin I will commit tomorrow.

In the same way, God gave us in advance the righteousness of Christ, so that we might grow in righteousness. Two thousand years ago, Christ lived the perfect life that I will show to God at my death. I will stand before him, he will examine me, he will see the perfect life of Christ that has been given to me, and he will declare me innocent and righteous—innocent because my sin is erased, and righteous because Christ has given me his righteousness.

We must understand that this is done. It is finished. In your life, you will experience many sufferings and trials. But if you have placed your faith in Christ, you will never again have to fear being punished by God for your sin. He has already done it, when he punished Christ.

And he has placed Christ’s perfect life on you, so that God sees you as perfect, and not as guilty. You are guilty before God, and so am I. But Christ is not, and it is his life that we now wear.

That is the Gospel. That is the first thing Paul tells us.

The second thing is as surprising as the first (at least to me).

If God has created a way to reconcile people to himself, then people need to know about it.

Of course, God is God. He could easily make himself known to people in a vision, or simply cause the truth to appear miraculously in our minds. Sometimes he does that: he can proclaim the message of the Gospel himself.

But most of the time, that is not how he does it. Most of the time, he entrusts this responsibility to other people. That’s what Paul says in v. 18–20: God gave us the ministry of reconciliation; he entrusted to us the message of reconciliation; he made us ambassadors for Christ; it is through us that he makes his appeal.

This is crazy. It’s so risky. I know myself, and I know that 90% of the time, I don’t speak very well. I’ve prepared this message in advance, there’s no one else talking at the same time; that I can do. But if you’ve ever had a conversation with me, you know that’s not how I normally speak; in conversation, I don’t speak well. I go in circles, I stutter, I have trouble speaking spontaneously.

And apparently (we discover later in this letter, in chapter 11, verse 6), Paul had the same problem. He says that he is “unskilled in speaking.” He was a great writer, but not a great speaker.

Yet God chooses to make people like that—people like you and me—ambassadors of the Gospel, to entrust to us all the ministry of reconciliation. Why? Because it is when we minister in our weakness that the strength of Christ is displayed. It is always amazing when an awkward and imperfect conversation about the Gospel brings faith to someone else, because we can never say that this person came to Christ because I did such a great job. No, it is clearly God’s work.

So, as imperfect as we are, we make our appeal; we beg people on behalf of Christ, “Be reconciled to God.”

And that is what we see Paul doing at the beginning of chapter 6:

Working together with him, then, we appeal to you not to receive the grace of God in vain. 2 For he says,
“In a favorable time I listened to you,
and in a day of salvation I have helped you.”
Behold, now is the favorable time; behold, now is the day of salvation.

We’ll come back to this appeal later, but this is Paul’s work as an apostle, it is Priscilla and Aquila’s work as servants of the gospel, and it is our work too. This is the mission Christ has given us: to call people to repentance and faith in Christ in order to be reconciled to God. To do that, we must share the good news of the Gospel.

Living Examples of the Gospel (6:3–10)

But one thing we constantly see in the Bible is that the proclamation of the good news rarely, if ever, comes by itself; it is accompanied by a living example of what that good news looks like. And that is where Paul moves next: he spends eight verses reminding the Corinthians how he and his companions live their lives. 6:3:

3 We put no obstacle in anyone’s way, so that no fault may be found with our ministry, 4 but as servants of God we commend ourselves in every way: by great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, calamities, 5 beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger; 6 by purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, the Holy Spirit, genuine love; 7 by truthful speech, and the power of God; with the weapons of righteousness for the right hand and for the left; 8 through honor and dishonor, through slander and praise. We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; 9 as unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold, we live; as punished, and yet not killed; 10 as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything.

In this passage, Paul gives two arguments why his opponents should listen to him. The first is in 5:20–21, which we saw before. He says: “Listen to what I say because this is what Christ says: God makes his appeal through us, and that appeal is to believe in what Christ has done for you. Listen to what I say because it is the truth.”

That should be enough. But Paul doesn’t stop there. The second argument Paul gives is the example he and his companions give in their lives. Their way of living, of serving, of suffering. His second argument is completely objective, empirical, and visible.

The Gospel of Jesus Christ changes us. He just said so. If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.

These are not just words. This is not a sentimental statement. It is literally true. If we are in Christ, we are no longer what we were.

I want to be careful here, because some of us might read what Paul says in these verses and think: “I’m not like that; so I must not be a Christian.”

That’s not what Paul is saying. Read Romans 7—Paul acknowledges that some changes in us are immediate and others take a lifetime; we must learn to observe everything Christ has commanded. It is not automatic. If you have not yet reached the level of maturity Paul describes here, don’t worry, neither have I.

But if we are in Christ, by definition, as new creations, there will be changes. And we will grow in those changes. Paul gives here the example of what mature and experienced Christians look like—or, to put it another way, what living examples of the Gospel look like.

He gives positive examples—endurance (v. 4), purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, the Holy Spirit, love (v. 6), truthful speech, the power of God, and righteousness (v. 7), in all circumstances (v. 8). This is the part of the Christian life that others will look at and say: “I want to be like that.”

I don’t know if you’ve thought about this. Many people will find problems with Christian doctrine and ethics if they want to; those are the areas where people debate, where they try to find a flaw in what we believe in order to challenge it. That’s what Paul’s opponents in Corinth were doing.

But no one can credibly speak against Christian character. No one says: “I hate patient people. I hate kind people. I hate loving people. I hate honest people.” These are traits that are almost universally admired.

And that’s normal, because every human being is made in the image of God, and we are created to respond positively to his character.

But some people will stubbornly resist having such character in themselves, because even though it is attractive, it is also costly. That’s why Paul gives negative examples—or rather examples that most of us would consider negative.

It’s easy to be patient, kind, loving, and honest when everything is going well. But the true nature of our character is revealed when the world turns against us. And that’s what Paul says—not only is their character exemplary, but it is so in the most difficult situations: in suffering, hardship, calamities (v. 4), beatings, imprisonments, riots, hard work, sleepless nights, hunger (v. 5), dishonor and slander (v. 8).

How is that possible?

Actually, it’s very simple. What we do is always determined by what we desire. If what you desire is comfort, ease, and superficial happiness, then you will lose patience at the slightest obstacle to those goals. You will not love people who are unlovable. We can really judge the value of our character when it continues in the midst of difficult circumstances.

And the reason why the Christian’s character can continue to manifest and grow in the midst of trials is that for his people, Christ transforms every circumstance into an occasion for grace.

Paul says (at the end of v. 8):

We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; 9 as unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold, we live; as punished, and yet not killed; 10 as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything.

So in part, these things are literally true—Paul and his co-workers were often condemned (Paul himself was later executed in Rome), but they knew what awaited them at their death. They were poor, but their poverty was not an obstacle to enriching others spiritually. They were often sorrowful, but they had a joy in their Lord that did not disappear in their sadness, since it did not depend on their circumstances.

They really had very little, almost nothing—they left everything to follow Christ. But in reality, they possessed everything. Everything they needed, everything that truly matters, was theirs.

If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.

If anyone is in Christ, a trial becomes a grace.

If anyone is in Christ, a failure becomes a ladder.

The Call of the Gospel (6:11–13)

And when Christ does this—when the grace of Christ allows their character to persist in every circumstance, and that can be seen—the call God gives us to make as ambassadors for Christ cannot be easily rejected. Paul says in v. 11:

11 We have spoken freely to you, Corinthians; our heart is wide open. 12 You are not restricted by us, but you are restricted in your own affections. 13 In return (I speak as to children) widen your hearts also.

Here is what he says to the unbelieving Corinthians who are listening to this letter. No matter what you may have heard from other sources, we are not weighing you down and we are not living in lies. Our heart is wide open. We are not holding you back, and the Gospel is not holding you back; what is holding you back is you.

So, just as we have opened our hearts to the Gospel and to you, open your hearts to us as well. We are the living proof that it is possible to live for Christ, in good times and bad—to be called liars and yet tell the truth, to be sorrowful and yet always rejoice, to have nothing and yet possess everything.

And if we can do it, you can do it, because it is not us who have done it—it is God who did it in us. And he can do it in you too.

At this point, the Corinthians have no credible arguments left against Paul and his companions. They can debate theology if they want, but they cannot credibly speak against Christians who are faithful.

And if what Paul says about his own character is true, is it not possible that what he says about the gospel is also true?

You see, God uses the Gospel to bring us to faith, but he does it in more than one way. Sometimes, people hear the Gospel and are entirely convinced by the Holy Spirit, right away. That happens, and it is wonderful.

Other times, though, people hear the Gospel and say: “Okaaaaaaay…” And they remain in doubt.

But over time, they see what their Christian friends’ lives look like, they see the practical application of the Gospel, and they begin to believe that what they once considered foolishness might actually be true. That too is the work of the Holy Spirit.

We cannot know which means the Holy Spirit will use. That’s why we must always have all our tools at hand.

Conclusion

And here are the tools Paul gives us here.

The first is the Gospel. We must do everything we can to know it as well as possible, we must learn to “speak Gospel fluently,” like our mother tongue. We must learn to be able to say, without even thinking: Be reconciled to God! For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

The second tool he gives us is our life. Paul’s life and that of his companions legitimized the Gospel for the Corinthians. If the Gospel produces such a change in them, in the midst of all they are suffering, isn’t that something worth digging into, worth taking seriously?

But watch out: this example of the Gospel manifesting in our lives means something that will make many of us uncomfortable. It means that we must open ourselves up to people, give them access to ourselves and to our community, in such a way that they can see the Gospel lived out in various circumstances among us. When we do things together—going to church, participating in a community group, playing football, whatever—unbelievers should be included as much as possible. Because they need not only to hear the Gospel, but also to see what it looks like.

That takes a lot of time, it’s not easy, and it’s risky, because it means being vulnerable, being able to say what Paul says to the Corinthians: our heart is wide open. We don’t always want to open our hearts to others, because that would mean letting them have access to aspects of our lives that we prefer to keep to ourselves.

But that is what an ambassador of Christ looks like. It’s risky, but it’s incredibly freeing. There is nothing more freeing than having nothing to hide. People need to see the Gospel.

And when we do that, the last tool Paul gives us here becomes really striking: of course, it is the appeal. Paul says: “We have spoken freely to you… open your hearts also.”

We must not be afraid not only to announce the gospel, but also to say afterward: “I beg you on behalf of Christ: be reconciled to God! Please, believe in him. Accept him. Put your trust in him.” No appeal you will ever make will be more important than this one.

If we live this way, if we use all the tools God gives us, will it be effective every time? No, at least not in the sense we usually mean.

But every time God saves one of his own, every time someone comes to Christ in faith and then lives a life of discipleship, that visible presence of the Gospel, manifested in the lives of his people, will be there.

We want to be a church that embodies the Gospel for the people of our city. We want the people of Paris to hear the Gospel, see the Gospel, and accept the Gospel. This is our prayer, and God is faithful.

“But You…” (Psalm 102)

You may have heard this story before. Florence Chadwick was an American swimmer who made her greatest contribution to the sport in the 1950s. In 1950, she became the first woman to swim the English Channel from France to England in both directions. In 1952, she wished to swim the 41-kilometer route between Catalina Island and the California coast. Boats made the trip with her, in case she needed to be fished out of the water because of sharks, or if she got too tired. After 15 hours of swimming, a very thick fog rolled in. Florence began to doubt her ability to go much further; she told her mother, who was in one of the boats, that she didn't think she could make it. Her mother told her she was almost there; but Florence, exhausted and blinded by the fog, couldn't believe it. She asked to be lifted into the boat. It wasn't until she was in the boat that she learned that the coast was barely two kilometers away. Indeed, she was almost there, but with no end in sight, she couldn't hold on.

I often think of this story when studying the Bible. It can be really stimulating to discover theology—there are so many incredible concepts in the Bible that spark the imagination. And that can be enough to fuel your Christian life for a while. But you will always come to a point where you have to ask what difference all this fascinating theology makes for your life. When you’ve come up against a problem that needs solving, how will the doctrine of the Trinity, or the doctrine of unconditional election, or the doctrine of justification by faith alone, help you deal with the problem you’re facing?

The Bible is filled with lessons for dealing with real-world problems; but the lesson we learn in Psalm 102 is the one that has helped me the most, the one that has been the lesson I have come back to the most often in my Christian life.

What we need to think about today is how the great biblical truths about God can be a comfort for us in suffering. So we’ll look at the psalmist’s reaction to his suffering first, and then we’ll examine the truths he clings to that enable him to respond in that way.

1) The reaction to suffering: "But you..."

The beginning of this psalm describes the mentality of someone going through very difficult suffering.

It describes emotional suffering. His heart is stricken, and he is depressed—v. 4: My heart is struck down like grass and has withered; I forget to eat my bread. V. 8: He suffers insults from his enemies—v. 9: For I eat ashes like bread and mingle tears with my drink.

He also describes physical suffering. He loses weight—v. 5-6: Because of my loud groaning my bones cling to my flesh. 6 I am like a desert owl of the wilderness, like an owl of the waste places. He can't sleep—v. 7: I lie awake; I am like a lonely sparrow on the housetop.

Like every sufferer, he's well aware of his own mortality and the fact that there's nothing he can do about it.

V. 3: For my days pass away like smoke, and my bones burn like a furnace.

V. 11: My days are like an evening shadow; I wither away like grass.

And the only explanation he gives is that God must be angry with him for a sin he has committed. V. 10: [I suffer all this] because of your indignation and anger; for you have taken me up and thrown me down. Interestingly, the psalmist gives no particular sin that might have inflamed God's wrath. Perhaps the psalmist is speaking less about the reality of his situation than about the feeling he has—and shares with almost anyone who believes in God and suffers without knowing why. The psalmist doesn't blame God—he never says that God is unjust in allowing this pain—but he simply acknowledges God's sovereignty over his suffering.

It is extreme suffering that is described: it causes mental depression, prevents sleep, causes weight loss, incites insults, makes one realize the limit of one's own days. The frankness of this psalm is astounding—sometimes we imagine that the Bible gives us an overly idealistic version of the world; we imagine that the Christian worldview is profoundly out of step with the reality of the world we live in. But this psalm should make us realize that the Bible doesn't ignore the reality of suffering at all—it tells us that the pain we may go through is real and vivid, and not to be ignored.

Most people react to suffering in the same way as the psalmist…and their reaction to suffering stops there. They suffer, they take medication, and they wait for it to pass, so that they can stop feeling the pain and get on with their lives. But the psalmist doesn't stop there. Just as we imagine him on his knees, head to the ground as he proclaims his lament, in verse 13 he looks up.

V. 11-12: My days are like an evening shadow; I wither away like grass. But you, O LORD, are enthroned forever; you are remembered throughout all generations.

If you suffer, you must be honest with God about your suffering...but you mustn't drop anchor there. The psalms in general and this psalm in particular teach us to be honest with God about our feelings and our pain...and then to look up and say, "BUT". The Bible doesn't tell us that we won't suffer; but it does say that there is always a "But". The worst mistake we can make in suffering is to forget to say: "But...".

But you, O LORD, are enthroned forever; you are remembered throughout all generations.

In almost every psalm of lament or intercession, it happens the same way. The psalmist is honest with God about his worries...then he says, "But." And then he gives a reason why he can be encouraged, a grace that God gives him that enables him to combat his negative reaction to suffering. The Bible never tells us that negative reactions aren't appropriate, but it does tell us not to drop anchor there.

In Psalm 102, the psalmist gives us two "Buts", two truths that reassure and comfort him in his predicament.

2) Future Grace: God will establish his holy city

The word "Zion" appears over 150 times in the Bible, and essentially it means "fortification"-a strong place, a stable and secure dwelling. "Zion is the city of God, the city where God dwells. In the Old Testament, Zion was synonymous with Jerusalem, where God's temple was located. God's city was Jerusalem (Isaiah 40:9). In the New Testament, "Zion" took on an even deeper meaning-the eternal dwelling place of God, the city that God would establish as His dwelling place and that of His children (1 Peter 2:6, Hebrews 12:22, Revelation 14:1). "Zion" is therefore another name for what we call paradise, the holy city, the New Jerusalem where God will forever establish his kingdom on earth.

The psalmist's first comfort is found in the promise that God will establish his holy city, and that all God's children will be able to settle and establish  themselves there, and dwell there forever.

V. 13-14 : You will arise and have pity on Zion; it is the time to favor her; the appointed time has come. For your servants hold her stones dear and have pity on her dust.

V. 28 : The children of your servants shall dwell secure; their offspring shall be established before you.

For the psalmist, there was a real link between the city God was going to build for his people and his own well-being at the time. And this attitude runs counter to everything we know today. In our world, everything has to be immediate: we can recall as many promises as we like, but it doesn't change a thing-"That's all very well, but I'm still suffering!"

Indeed, attaching oneself to God requires a radical adjustment of our worldview and priorities. The child of God has his priorities not in what happens to him now, but in what will happen one day. Last week we saw that Jesus' vision was so fixed on the future that he was able to undergo the worst suffering imaginable. Hebrews 12:2: for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.. The amazing thing is that it wasn't weightless hope that kept him going, but the promise of even greater joy. The suffering of the cross was enormous; the joy to come was far greater still-so he was able to endure.

In the same way, if we have our eyes fixed on the grace to come, we too can endure. If Florence Chadwick could have seen the approaching coast, she might well have finished her journey. Likewise, if we keep our eyes on the grace that will one day come, we'll be able to finish ours-no matter how much suffering we go through. It doesn't lessen the pain, but it allows us to live our pain the right way, for God's glory—trusting in his wisdom and sovereignty.

The promise the psalmist gives us is that God will establish his holy city, where he will dwell forever, and where his children—that is, us—will be able to strengthen themselves and live in joy for all eternity. It's a promise that gives us real comfort in our suffering—if at least we have our eyes fixed on the glorious future that awaits us, and not on our present situation.

3) Present Grace: the knowledge of God's glory

If the psalmist gives us this grace to which we can turn in suffering, he gives us yet another: the reality of God's glory, which the nations of the world will see and praise. (This word "glory" means seeing and rejoicing in the beauty and greatness and majesty of God. When we see and rejoice in God's excellencies, He is glorified).

We can see why the promise of joy to come might comfort the psalmist. But when the psalmist refers to the other great truth that relieves him in his pain, it doesn't seem to be related to himself at all. Rather than saying all that God will do for him, he speaks of God himself.

11 My days are like an evening shadow; I wither away like grass. 12 But you, O LORD, are enthroned forever; you are remembered throughout all generations.

15 Nations will fear the name of the LORD, and all the kings of the earth will fear your glory. 16 For the LORD builds up Zion; he appears in his glory…

21 …that they may declare in Zion the name of the LORD, and in Jerusalem his praise, 22 when peoples gather together, and kingdoms, to worship the LORD.

Rather than saying all that God will do for him, he speaks of God himself, as if God himself were the benefit that gave relief to the psalmist's suffering. But how is this possible? Why should the knowledge of God's power and eternity and glory be a comfort to the psalmist, what he looks up to when he's suffering?

To answer this question, we need to pause and reflect. If the psalmist finds comfort in the knowledge of God's glory, there must be a reason.

In fact, that reason can be found on every page of the Bible, from beginning to end. The Scriptures proclaim without reservation that the reason God does what He does is so that His creation can know Him, love Him and see His glory. First of all, everything God did in the Old Testament was aimed at this goal. All his law and his intervention on behalf of the people of Israel were designed to help them see God.

Isaiah 40:9:

Go on up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good news; lift up your voice with strength, O Jerusalem, herald of good news; lift it up, fear not; say to the cities of Judah,“Behold your God!”

That's the point of what he was doing in the New Testament too. God sent Jesus Christ to take our place—to live a perfect life in our place, to pay the price for our sins in our place-so that we might be reconciled to God. He did this because he loved us—but even that love is not an end in itself. While God would be just in punishing us, the love he shows us demonstrates his great mercy and compassion—when we accept the love God has shown us in the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, we give him glory. God's love and Jesus Christ's sacrifice for us glorify God. So the main reason Christ died was not primarily to save and forgive us, but that through this act of divine salvation and forgiveness, we might see and know and give glory to God.

1 Peter 3.18:

For Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God…

2 Corinthians 4.6:

For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

This is the main reason why God does everything he does from the beginning of creation—and it's his plan for us too. God does everything so that the men and women he has created will see, love, rejoice and take pleasure in that glory. When we know God's glory, we fulfill our reason for being-as Isaiah 4:6-7 says:

…bring my sons from afar and my daughters from the end of the earth, 7 everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made.”

Now we're ready to return to our question. Why would the knowledge of God's power and eternity and glory be for the psalmist a relief, what he looks up to when he's in pain?

Because he has found his greatest good not in things he can lose—his health or his family or his work or his hobbies or his relationships—but in God himself. Everything he possesses could be taken from him, but God never changes-his existence is constant, his power inexhaustible, his glory always visible.

11 My days are like an evening shadow; I wither away like grass. 12 But you, O LORD, are enthroned forever; you are remembered throughout all generations.

Verses 27-28: [Earth and heaven] will perish, but you will remain; they will all wear out like a garment. You will change them like a robe, and they will pass away, but you are the same, and your years have no end.

And since he knows that God is the only being who doesn't change, he knows that God is the only reliable source of comfort. So even if it's hard, even if his suffering has reached a level that seems unbearable, he looks up to God, for he is sovereign; he is eternal; he is trustworthy.

Application

Now the main question here is, how do we learn to do this—to respond to suffering like the psalmist does? It can seem impossible: how does someone who is going through suffering so intense that they’re not sleeping, they’re not eating, they feel like their body is wasting away… How does this person respond sincerely, like the psalmist did, and find comfort in what they’re saying?

I’m going to suggest two very practical things, and then I’ll explain why they’re so important.

First of all—and it sounds ridiculously simple—if we want to learn to respond to pain like the psalmist does, read the Bible, and go to church. The church—the body of Christ—is the main means God has given us, through his Spirit, to let the Word of God take root in our hearts and change us.

When we come to church, what do we do? We sing songs that proclaim these truths about who God is. We listen to the Word of God that proclaims who God is. We comfort one another with these truths about who God is. We need to see these truths lived out and celebrated, and we need other people who can help us stand when we no longer have the strength to do it on our own.

Secondly: if we want to learn to respond to suffering like the psalmist does, we must develop the habit of praying like this when we’re not suffering.

If we look at the second half of this psalm—basically, at everything starting at v. 12—with very few exceptions, we can pray all of these things in any and every circumstance. These things are always true.

We have two couples in the church who are getting married in less than two weeks. Their wedding day will be, for them, a wonderful, joyful day—the beginning of their life together.

And on that day, they can stop for a moment, look out at the celebration happening around them, and then can say in all honesty: “But you, O LORD, are enthroned forever; you are remembered throughout all generations… Of old you laid the foundation of the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands. They will perish, but you will remain; they will all wear out like a garment. You will change them like a robe, and they will pass away, but you are the same, and your years have no end. The children of your servants shall dwell secure; their offspring shall be established before you.”

If we develop the habit of thinking like that all the time—in good moments and in completely boring, ordinary moments—we will be ready to think that way when the storms arrive.

It’s not a quick fix; it’s a long-term plan for peace.

We so often look for easy solutions to our problems—or we look for ways to pretend our problems don't exist. Real solutions—the ones that get to the root of the problem and uproot it—are rarely quick or easy. The Bible offers real solutions to our pain—not quick fixes or ways to live in denial. They're sometimes slow, often difficult—but they're real and definitive. Anchoring our relief in God's great plan for humanity and in God's glory is the only way to find real, lasting comfort here and now.

This is exactly what the psalmist does. Even if he has to suffer now, he knows that God will accomplish His purposes for His people, and he finds happiness in that knowledge. After honestly telling God of his immediate suffering, he looks up to God's plan for mankind—the establishment of his holy city, where all his children can grow strong—and to the greatest good there is-the glory of God himself. His suffering isn't necessarily over, but at least he can see the end of the tunnel...and so he can hold on.

A month after her failure in the English Channel, Florence Chadwick tried the route again. The fog rolled in as before, and she tired as before... But this second time, she made it to the end, because she knew that even if she couldn't see the coast clearly, it was there, and it wasn't as far as it seemed.

Likewise, if we keep our eyes firmly fixed on God's plan for his people, and on God himself, we'll be able to hold on until the end—because even if everything we have is taken away from us, our God and his will cannot be taken away from us. We can find comfort in this today, as we say with the psalmist:

...you are the same, and your years have no end. The children of your servants shall dwell secure; their offspring shall be established before you (v. 27-28).

Why We Sing (Psalm 95)

I’ll be honest with you—there is a part of every church service that, all my life, has made me moderately uncomfortable. And that is the part of the service in which we sing.

It’s sort of a strange thing to do, isn’t it? Plenty of us enjoy singing, and many of us do it when we’re alone, but I’ve tried to think of other situations in ordinary life in which people sing when they’re assembled in a group, and there aren’t many. People sing “Happy Birthday” at a birthday party. People sing “We Are the Champions” or that “Oooooohh-oooohhh” chant at football games. People sing the national anthem on national holidays (or at football games). People sing along with their favorite songs at concerts or clubs.

I’m sure there are other situations in which people do this, but none of them quite resemble what we do when we gather together to worship. When we come to church, we stand, usually all facing the same direction, and we sing together. And unless you’re going to a church that is—let’s face it—more of a concert than a church, the songs we sing aren’t party songs like “We Are the Champions”—we’re not singing these songs because they’re catchy. Often the songs are slow, and old, and not particularly easy.

And the songs are always about the same thing. They’re about God, and who he is, and what he has done.

But we have other ways of talking about God, and who he is, and what he has done. We have the Bible, which we read. We have prayer, in which we speak to God by repeating what the Bible has said. We have study and discussion, in which we try to get to the bottom of what the Bible means.

The songs come in, it would seem, from two places: from the long tradition of God’s people singing about him for millennia, and from the Psalms, which is the original songbook of God’s people.

But that still doesn’t answer the question I asked myself when I was a kid: WHY do we sing? Why do we stand together and sing several songs whenever we gather?

There are a lot of answers to that question, but this psalm in particular gives us two very good ones. The first answer is quite easy to see, but the second is a little trickier. So we’re going to have one point on the first answer, and two on the second.

Why do we sing? First answer:

Reason 1: We Sing to Awaken Our Affection for God (v. 1-7).

In v. 1-7, we see essentially the same thing twice. The first is a call to worship (specifically in song), and the second is the grounds for our worship. And in the call for us to sing praises to God, the psalmist gives us particular characteristics of worship that should be there.

V. 1:

Oh come, let us sing to the LORD;
      let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation!
            2       Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving;
      let us make a joyful noise to him with songs of praise!

So the first thing we see here is that when we sing, we ought to sing with joy. Make a joyful noise, he says, to the rock of our salvation. Make a joyful noise with songs of praise.

Next he says that we should be thankful. “Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving,” he says in v. 2.

And he thirdly, the psalmist says our worship should be characterized by humility. V. 6:

6       Oh come, let us worship and bow down;
      let us kneel before the LORD, our Maker!

Why should our songs be characterized by joy, by thanksgiving, by humility? The simple answer is that those emotions are the proper response to who God is.

The psalmist goes back and forth between invitations to worship in a certain way—with joy, with thanksgiving, with humility—and the reasons why God deserves that kind of worship. He says, first of all, in v. 1, that God is “the rock of our salvation”. All of our hopes for a life of meaning, a life in which we are fulfilling the reason why we were created, an eternal life of peace and happiness and fulfillment—all of these hopes are resting on him, and he will make good on our hopes. He is the rock of our salvation, a solid foundation for our hope.

Then we see (v. 3):

3       For the LORD is a great God,
      and a great King above all gods.
4       In his hand are the depths of the earth;
      the heights of the mountains are his also.
            5       The sea is his, for he made it,
      and his hands formed the dry land.

Our great God, who is King above all authorities on earth, is the Creator and sustainer of the earth itself. From the deepest ocean trench to the highest mountain, the seas and the land are all his and all come from him. And what he created, he sustains.

Think about how many intricate things have to go right in order for us to take a breath every second. If you’re breathing in right now, if your heart is beating, it is because God is sustaining your life. And that is true of every thing on this earth; if God decides to let the earth tilt on its axis by a single degree, all life is over. All of existence is in his hand. If we’re here, we have reason for joy; we have reason to be thankful; we have reason to be humble, because we’re here—we exist. This is something everyone can say.

But the psalmist goes even further than that. Look at v. 7:

7       For he is our God,
      and we are the people of his pasture,
      and the sheep of his hand.

This is something that not everyone can say. Everyone can find reason for gratitude in God’s care for the earth he created, but not everyone can say that God is my God, and I am one of his people. He is not just the God over all the earth; he is our God, and we are his people. The psalmist calls us “the sheep of his hand”. God cares for us, the way a shepherd cares for his sheep, and far beyond.

It’s not for nothing that this description of God carried over to Jesus when he came. Jesus called himself the Good Shepherd, who lays down his life for his sheep (John 10.11). He lived the obedient life we should have lived; he took our disobedience on himself; he was punished for our sin; and he gave us his perfect life in exchange. This Shepherd’s care for his sheep goes far beyond the care of an ordinary shepherd; he takes the place of his sheep, letting the danger come to him instead of to them.

If you here have placed your faith in Christ for your salvation, then you are his people; this God is your God, and he will continue to care for you the way he already has cared for you in Christ.

We sing to express things, and to feel things, we don’t ordinarily get to express. I grew up watching Old Hollywood musicals. They’re silly, sure—but there is something satisfying about watching Gene Kelly fall in love with Debbie Reynolds, then walk outside in the rain and feel so overwhelmed with happiness at finding her that he just starts singing and dancing in the rain. Or seeing Oliver Twist mourning the absence of his mother and letting out his grief in song, in the basement of a funeral home. They let themselves do that in these musicals (and it helps that an orchestra is always with them, playing the background music). There’s a part of us that sort of wishes life works that way, that we could do the same thing—that we could express grief or joy or gratitude or humility in this emotionally-charged way.

Well, when we come together to worship, that’s essentially what we’re doing: we’re letting the reality of our situation drive us to the response that we can’t have when we’re just out walking in the streets. We think about who he is and what he has done, we lift our eyes to him…and we can sing. We’re not alone, so we don’t have to feel weird about it. And we have musicians playing along with us (like we never do in our day-to-day lives), so we won’t get lost.

We sing because he is that good; we sing because we need to feel that he is that good.

But that’s not the only reason why. But before we get to that second reason, we need to look at the next four verses, because they can be a bit disorienting.

Warning: Do Not Harden Your Hearts (v. 7b-11)

At the end of v. 7, there is a fairly dramatic change in tone. Up until now, it has been nothing but calls to worship God, and reasons why we should do so. But at the end of v. 7, there is a command, accompanied by a warning.

v. 7b:

Today, if you hear his voice,
            8       DO NOT HARDEN YOUR HEARTS, as at Meribah,
      as on the day at Massah in the wilderness,
            9       when your fathers put me to the test
      and put me to the proof, though they had seen my work.
            10       For forty years I loathed that generation
      and said, “They are a people who go astray in their heart,
      and they have not known my ways.”
            11       Therefore I swore in my wrath,
      “They shall not enter my rest.”

So this part of the psalm references something that happened to the people of Israel earlier in their history, in Exodus 17. In this passage, God has just rescued the people of Israel from slavery in Egypt; he has miraculously brought them through the Red Sea, and led them into the wilderness. At this point, he has already provided miraculous food for them, and provided water. But now they’ve moved on to a new part of the wilderness; God is still providing food, but there is no water for the people to drink.

It’s surprising how quickly desperation can take hold: even though they’ve seen God’s provision for them, and recently, the mere idea that they might go without water is enough to make them wonder whether his provision will continue. So they quarrel with Moses, saying, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and our livestock with thirst?” So God tells Moses to take his staff and go to a certain rock. Moses does what God tells him to do: he strikes the rock, and water begins to come out of it.

Moses named the place “Massah and Meribah,” because Massah, translated, means “testing,” and Meribah means “quarreling”.

So why did the people “harden their hearts” against God? Simply put, because they were thirsty (physically), and they lost sight of God’s promises of provision because of their need. That’s all. Though they had seen his work (v. 9), they doubted.

And the consequences, according to the psalm, were dire: that generation of Hebrews didn’t enter the rest of the Promised Land.

But here’s what’s interesting. This consequence, of being unable to enter the Promised Land, didn’t happen because the people doubted God at Massah and Meribah. God doesn’t say, “Because you grumbled about water, you won’t enter the Promised Land.” He doesn’t say it here, and he doesn’t say it much later in Numbers 20, when the exact same thing happens again.

But if you read the rest of the book Exodus, and Leviticus, and Numbers, and Deuteronomy—which every Israelite at the time this psalm was written would have known well—you see that the hardening of the people’s hearts at Meribah and Massah in Exodus 17 wasn’t an isolated event. This was the beginning of a pattern that continued.

We get a little closer to the root of this pattern if we look at Hebrews 3, where this psalm is extensively quoted.

Let’s just read Hebrews 3.12-19:

12 Take care, brothers, lest there be in any of you an evil, unbelieving heart, leading you to fall away from the living God. 13 But exhort one another every day, as long as it is called “today,” that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin. 14 For we have come to share in Christ, if indeed we hold our original confidence firm to the end. 15 As it is said,
                  “Today, if you hear his voice,
                  do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion.” [There’s Psalm 95.7-8.]
16 For who were those who heard and yet rebelled? Was it not all those who left Egypt led by Moses? 17 And with whom was he provoked for forty years? Was it not with those who sinned, whose bodies fell in the wilderness? 18 And to whom did he swear that they would not enter his rest, but to those who were disobedient? 19 So we see that they were unable to enter because of unbelief.

Why were they unable to enter their rest? It wasn’t because they doubted one time when they were thirsty. It’s because they came to have evil, unbelieving hearts that led them to fall away from the living God. They didn’t enter their rest because of unbelief.

So that is the warning of the second half of this psalm—don’t fall into unbelief like the Hebrews did in the wilderness. God has provided rest for his people in Christ; he is a great God, and a great King above all gods; in his hand are the depths of the earth; the heights of the mountains are his also. The sea is his, for he made it, and his hands formed the dry land. He is our God, and we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand.

So don’t be like the Hebrews. Don’t be so focused on the difficulty in front of you that your hearts become hardened to the God who has provided everything for you in Christ. Do not let yourself have an evil, unbelieving heart, leading you to fall away from the living God. Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.

Reason 2: We Sing to Protect Ourselves Against Unbelief.

So here’s the question we need to ask. What do the first half of Psalm 95 and the second half of Psalm 95 have to do with each other? Why do v. 1-7 come before this warning in v. 8-11?

And here, I think, is the answer. Remember that the psalms are songs, meant to be sung by God’s people when they are gathered together to worship. Several things happen during these assemblies—God’s people will pray; they will hear the Word of God preached; they will encourage one another; and yes, they will sing. That means that if the priests (for the Israelites) and the pastors (for the Christian church today) do their jobs, then God’s people will be constantly reminded of who he is. They will be constantly reminded of what he has done. They will be constantly be reminded of the glory he deserves.

And there will always be a right way and a wrong way to respond to what we hear.

Both the right way and the wrong way are present in this psalm. We see the wrong way described in the second half—it is unbelief. And it’s scary, how easily unbelief can creep in, without our even being aware of it. How easy is it for us to listen to a sermon, or listen to Scripture being read aloud, and barely register the words, and feel nothing? How easy is it to hear the Bible itself—the Word of God—read aloud, and in the back of our minds have a voice that says, “Yeah, I don’t know.” We’d never say it out loud, but it happens all the time.

So here is why the two halves of this psalm fit together so perfectly. I said earlier that there are two reasons why we sing. The first is that we sing because God deserves it; that’s what we saw in the first half of the psalm. The second reason why we sing is because singing together in gathered worship to God is a weapon against unbelief. That’s what we see in the second half, and that is why this warning is given.

So here’s the question: how do we protect ourselves from unbelief? How do we protect ourselves from hardness of heart?

We sing the way he told us to in v. 1-7. If you’ve got the story of Israel in the back of your minds when you read the beginning of this psalm, you see that the psalmist is reminding us of everything the Israelites forgot: that God is a great God, that he is sovereign over all creation, and that he cares for his people, as a shepherd cares for his sheep.

So there is a way to sing that feeds our faith, that feeds our affections for God, that protects us from unbelief and hardness of heart.

I thought long and hard about how to describe this way we are called to sing, but in community group this week one of our members put it perfectly: he said that this psalm is an invitation to worship actively. Most of us, when we worship, are very passive. We let the words come up on the screen, and we sing along when the people leading worship show us when to sing.

But that’s a far cry from the way the psalmist calls us to sing. He says, “Make a joyful noise to the Lord”—he doesn’t just say, “Make noise.” He says, “Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving”—he doesn’t just say, “Come into his presence.” He says, “Let us worship and bow down”—he doesn’t just say, “Get on your knees.”

He’s inviting us to make a choice: to expose ourselves to the revelation of who God is, and to remind ourselves, actively, that God should make us joyful; that we should be thankful; that we should be awed and humbled by his power.

God wants us to worship in a way that makes us feel something. A video went sort of viral a few months ago; it showed John Piper reading a prayer that was written by ChatGPT. It was a beautiful prayer, in which the gospel was elaborately laid out. After reading the prayer, he asked the crowd, “Is this worship?” And then he answered with a resounding “NO.” Why? Because computers can formulate words better than we can, but they don’t feel anything. A computer can make noise, but it can’t be joyful. It can’t be thankful. It can’t be humble.

That is the exclusive domain of creatures who were made in the image of God and who are moved to love and affection when we remind ourselves in song of who God is and why he has been so good to us.

So think about this (and I’ll close): when you sing, how do you sing? I’m not talking about how loud you are, or whether you raise your hands, or whether or not you clap; those things will vary greatly from person to person. I’m talking about what you feel when you sing. When you sing to God, do you think about what you’re singing? When you sing to God, are you aware that you’re singing to God? When a song calls you to be joyful, are you reminding yourself of why you should be joyful? Are you allowing yourself to be reminded by the song, and by your brothers and sisters around you, why you should be thankful? Why you should be humble?

We sing because we need what our corporate worship provides. We need more fuel for our souls than “Happy Birthday” or “We Are the Champions” provide. We sing together because singing together gives us the opportunity to feed right affections for God in ourselves—joy, and thankfulness, and humility, and many others. And we sing because when we expose ourselves to the truth of who God is, we strengthen our faith; we protect ourselves against unbelieving hearts that will, eventually, lead us away from him.

So let us sing actively. Let us sing consciously. Let us sing with feeling. He deserves it, and we need it.

God’s Vengeance and Discipline (Psalm 94)

Those of you who know me know that I love movies. The revenge film is a peculiar subset of cinema that I enjoy. I won’t make a list, but a good recent example is the John Wick series. At its core, it’s a simple story: a man named John Wick has just lost his wife to cancer, and just before her death she gave him a little dog. This dog is his final memory of his wife. One night, a gang comes, breaks into his house, steals his car, and in the scuffle, a member of the gang kills the little dog.

So John Wick—who happens to be an ex-professional assassin—takes his revenge.

There’s a reason why people like revenge movies: it’s quite satisfying to see someone who has been wronged get back at the people who wronged him.

But there’s always a problem in revenge movies, and that is that the revenge always goes wrong, or at least off the rails. Even if only one person killed his dog, and only four people broke into his house, John Wick ends up killing about a hundred people. These films, even though they can be satisfying on multiple levels, show why men are not able to manage vengeance well.

God, on the other hand, is more than able to handle it.

We see at the end of Psalm 93—the psalm that came just before today’s text—that “your decrees are very trustworthy, and holiness befits your house, O Lord, forevermore.” At its core, vengeance is a good thing, because it is justice rendered against an injustice committed. Men are not well-suited to render justice in the right way, because we are also unjust. That’s why we have laws and judges, to keep us from rendering justice in the wrong way. But God is a perfectly holy, perfectly just God, so when he renders justice, it is always well measured, always perfect.

It’s really important to know this, because the question of injustice is a constant in the Bible. Injustice—of any kind—is an affront against the God of the universe, a crime that takes on cosmic proportions.

With that in mind, let’s begin our reading. We don’t know exactly what situation brought on the writing of Psalm 94, but it doesn’t matter—from Genesis 3 on, the situation he describes is always current.

The Wicked Deserve Judgment (v. 1-7)

O LORD, God of vengeance,
      O God of vengeance, shine forth!
            2       Rise up, O judge of the earth;
      repay to the proud what they deserve!
            3       O LORD, how long shall the wicked,
      how long shall the wicked exult?
            4       They pour out their arrogant words;
      all the evildoers boast.
            5       They crush your people, O LORD,
      and afflict your heritage.
            6       They kill the widow and the sojourner,
      and murder the fatherless;
            7       and they say, “The LORD does not see;
      the God of Jacob does not perceive.”

In these first verses, the psalmist isn’t talking about “ordinary” sinners. He’s not talking about the guy who cheated on his taxes or had an extra-marital affair. The psalmist is talking about those people whom we would consider the “big bads”—the enemies of God’s people, the oppressors of the weak.

These people, he says, deserve God’s judgment because of their pride; because they exult in their power and pour out arrogant words.

They deserve God’s judgment because they crush God’s people.

They deserve God’s judgment because they murder people who can’t protect themselves—the widow, the foreigner, the orphan.

And throughout it all, they imagine that they can do it with impunity—they deserve God’s judgment because they don’t believe God is watching, and they mock God’s people because they seem to continue to act with no consequences. “The Lord does not see,” they say. “The God of Jacob does not perceive.”

Think of those people throughout history who have amassed power for themselves, and who, because of their power, imagine themselves above the law, imagine themselves above all authority, and who act in their own selfish interests, to the detriment of anyone in their way, because they think that no one will be able to stop them.

Of course no one’s power lasts forever. Every wicked empire sees its end eventually. But that’s little consolation to those who are oppressed by them.

So it is normal and right for the oppressed to cry out to God, and to ask him the blunt question the psalmist asks here: O Lord, how long shall the wicked exult? God, how long can this go on? How long can these wicked people continue to murder and oppress the weak?

In our day, it’s more fashionable to say that we should pray for the wicked, that God would love them—and there is a place for that. God can save whomever he likes, and if the wicked come to Christ in faith, we will be happy about that.

Even so, we have to see that that’s not all the Bible says on the matter. It is normal to ask God to rise up and judge these wicked leaders, to give them what they deserve for their wickedness.

But what’s interesting here is that after asking God to judge the wicked, the psalmist turns to speak to the wicked themselves.

God Is Watching and Acting (v. 8-11)

The first thing the psalmist says to these wicked rulers is that they’re wrong. They say, “The Lord does not see; the God of Jacob does not perceive.”

But (v. 8):

8       Understand, O dullest of the people!
      Fools, when will you be wise?
            9       He who planted the ear, does he not hear?
                  He who formed the eye, does he not see?

It is complete madness to imagine that we’re able to pull a fast one on God, the Creator of all things. A creator is, by his nature, more complex and more knowledgeable than his creation. The Creator of ears can hear—of course. The Creator of eyes can see—of course. You could ask a little child the questions in verse 9, and they’ll answer correctly.

Which is why the psalmist calls these arrogant rulers “the dullest of the people,” and “fools.” For all their perceived intelligence, they are missing the most obvious thing.

But God doesn’t just see; he doesn’t just hear. V. 10:

10       He who disciplines the nations, does he not rebuke?
                  He who teaches man knowledge—
            11       the LORD—knows the thoughts of man,
      that they are but a breath.

God rebukes the nations.

We may have a hard time seeing that when we look at it from where we are, because we only see what’s in front of us now. But if we’re able to take a step back, we can see it clearly.

Throughout Israel’s history, what do we see? We see Israel’s enemies punished in the Old Testament, and we see Israel herself disciplined when she rejects God.

And if we look further than that, we can see the same thing. The fall of the Roman Empire. The fall of the Third Reich. No evil lasts forever. God is a just God, and he rebukes the nations.

It’s really important to see what the psalmist is doing here—and I thought about saying this earlier, but I wanted to bring our attention to it at this point in the psalm, because it’s easy to get lost.

Every psalm serves multiple purposes at the same time. At their root, the psalms are songs meant to be sung in the assembly—they are songs of worship. But at the same time, they are teaching tools. Every parent knows that one of the most effective way to teach children anything is through songs—songs with repeated phrases and melodies that they can sing and memorize and remember later. That’s what’s happening here.

But the way the psalmist is going about it is interesting, because in v. 8-11, in the song he is speaking directly to these wicked rulers, telling them how foolish they are to imagine that they can continue practicing wickedness and that God won’t notice or do anything about it.

Why is the psalmist doing that? He knows that—more than likely—these wicked rulers won’t be in the assembly singing with the rest of God’s people. They’re not going to hear these things.

You see, the psalmist’s pedagogy is very creative. These words are for God’s people, to help them to see much bigger than they would see on their own. What would they see on their own? They would see the oppression that they or people they love are enduring. And in calling out the wicked here, the psalmist is lifting their eyes higher than that. He’s giving the people confidence—that God sees and God hears and God acts.

You see, the psalm is doing exactly what v. 10 tells us God does. What does he do? He “teaches men knowledge”. There is no one better suited to take on this task, because he knows the thoughts of man. Our Creator knows us better than we know ourselves. He knows what we are capable of, and he also knows what we need.

And it is to this aspect of God’s discipline—his good discipline, for the good of his people—that the psalmist turns next.

God’s Discipline Is a Blessing (v. 12-15)

So now, the focus turns away from the wicked rulers who are threatened with God’s rebuke, and onto God’s people, who are “blessed.” V. 12:

12       Blessed is the man whom you discipline, O LORD—

Stop there for just a second. This sounds like a contradiction of what came before. V. 10— “He who disciplines the nations, does he not rebuke?” And now, suddenly: “Blessed is the man whom you discipline, O Lord.”

We’ve got to be clear in our definitions, because people always ask the question. They’re going through a painful situation, and they ask me, “What did I do? Is God punishing me?”

The answer is both simple and…not so simple. Sometimes we suffer just because we live in a world that has been tainted by sin. But sometimes we suffer the consequences of things we have done, and God never promises his people that these consequences won’t come.

When we speak about “the discipline of God”, we’re talking about a consequence that comes from God because of sin that we have committed, OR a correction that comes because there is a danger of sin that we need to be prepared for.

It’s important that we see that God can do the same thing, for two very different reasons, and with different results. God’s discipline can produce different things, depending on his goal in disciplining, and the way people respond to it.

Let’s take two examples from the Bible. The first is the Pharaoh in Egypt, in the book of Exodus. When God sends Moses to call the Pharaoh to let the people go, what does the Pharaoh do? He hardens his heart. So God rebuked him—he disciplined him, sending the plagues against Egypt. In the end, the Pharaoh didn’t respond to this rebuke in the right way; he hardened his heart until the end, and ended up losing everything for it.

Now, compare that to one of my favorite stories from the Bible. We find it in the book of Daniel, chapter 4. The King of Babylon, Nebuchadnezzar, is profoundly proud of the massive and powerful kingdom he has built. He’s arrogant and prideful. And to discipline him for his pride, one day God causes the king to lose his mind. He is driven from his kingdom and lives outside like an animal for several years. 

Then one day, he lifts his eyes to heaven, and God puts a stop to it. The king’s reason comes back to him. He doesn’t forget the last several years of madness, but now he can think about it. And what does he do? He doesn’t curse God for making him go through this ordeal—he praises God. He says (Daniel 4.34-37):  

At the end of the days I, Nebuchadnezzar, lifted my eyes to heaven, and my reason returned to me, and I blessed the Most High, and praised and honored him who lives forever, 

for his dominion is an everlasting dominion, 

and his kingdom endures from generation to generation; 

35  all the inhabitants of the earth are accounted as nothing, 

and he does according to his will among the host of heaven 

and among the inhabitants of the earth; 

and none can stay his hand 

or say to him, “What have you done?” 

36 At the same time my reason returned to me, and for the glory of my kingdom, my majesty and splendor returned to me. My counselors and my lords sought me, and I was established in my kingdom, and still more greatness was added to me. 37 Now I, Nebuchadnezzar, praise and extol and honor the King of heaven, for all his works are right and his ways are just; and those who walk in pride he is able to humble. 

When the king regained his mind, he could have responded like Pharaoh—I’ll bow to no one, I’ll surrender to no one, I am my own master. But that’s not what he did. When his mind returned to him, he humbled himself before God, and declared to all of Babylon  the good authority of God.

The difference is obvious. In the Pharaoh’s case, the discipline of the Lord was judgment against him. In Nebuchadnezzar’s case, the discipline of the Lord was instruction to him, teaching him to humble himself before God.

Both of those types of discipline are described in this psalm, sometimes even overlapping. For the wicked, God is a God of vengeance against their wickedness. For his people, God is a God of instruction—his discipline blesses them rather than punishing them.

That said, let’s pick up at v. 12 again:

      12       Blessed is the man whom you discipline, O LORD,
      and whom you teach out of your law,
            13       to give him rest from days of trouble,
      until a pit is dug for the wicked.
            14       For the LORD will not forsake his people;
      he will not abandon his heritage;
            15       for justice will return to the righteous,
      and all the upright in heart will follow it.

There are several things here that are really important to understanding how God’s discipline for his people is different from the punishment the psalmist prayed for at the beginning.

First, God’s discipline to his people is given in accordance with his law: the man who is disciplined by God is taught “out of his law”. In this context that means the law of Moses, but more broadly speaking, God’s law is the revelation of his character to his people. That means that everything God tells us to do and not to do, he tells us because he wants his people to be like him. He wants his people to reflect his own character. And when his people deviate from what he tells us, and consequences come, those consequences aren’t meant to punish us, but to teach us—to show us why God’s law, God’s character, God’s ways, are better than ours.

Secondly, God’s discipline is a means of protection for his people. Blessed is the man whom you discipline, whom you teach out of your law, to give him rest from days of trouble, until a pit is dug for the wicked. So here we have both of these things coming back together: positive discipline for God’s people, catastrophic discipline for the wicked. The same righteous character that demands judgment for the wicked provides protection for God’s people. Following God’s instruction leads to rest and safety.

Thirdly—and perhaps the most reassuring—God’s people can count on this. The Lord will not forsake his people; he will not abandon his heritage (God’s people are often described as his heritage). How did the wicked rulers of the world treat God’s heritage? V. 5—they crush and afflict them. That is not how God treats them; he is faithful to them. V. 15 then: justice will return to the righteous, and all the upright in heart will follow it. If God remained inactive, then wickedness would continue totally unchecked among his people. But he is not inactive. He will provide for his people the holiness he requires.

So think about this for a minute. Look back at the earlier verses. The arrogance and the pride and the violence of the wicked are not just problems for them—the same sin that infects them infects all of us. But justice will return to the righteous, and the upright in heart will follow us.

This is a promise, and we see that promise fulfilled in a multitude of ways—but most ultimately, we see it fulfilled in Jesus Christ. When God sent Christ to live a perfect, sinless life for us, Christ lived out the justice God requires. And when he died for our sins, God poured out his perfect, just punishment against our sin—except he poured it out on Christ, instead of on us. God’s perfect justice is always, always, always fulfilled: either in the punishment of the wicked, or in his punishment of Christ in our place.

Justice has returned to us—so we, whose hearts have been made upright by God, follow it.

We Can Trust God’s Judgments (v. 16-23)

And this is where the psalmist has been bringing us this whole time. He may not have known exactly how justice would return to the righteous when he wrote this psalm, but he knew God would be faithful to do it. Which is why he ends his psalm victoriously. V. 16:

16       Who rises up for me against the wicked?
      Who stands up for me against evildoers?
            17       If the LORD had not been my help,
      my soul would soon have lived in the land of silence.
            18       When I thought, “My foot slips,”
      your steadfast love, O LORD, held me up.
            19       When the cares of my heart are many,
      your consolations cheer my soul.
            20       Can wicked rulers be allied with you,
      those who frame injustice by statute?
            21       They band together against the life of the righteous
      and condemn the innocent to death.
            22       But the LORD has become my stronghold,
      and my God the rock of my refuge.
            23       He will bring back on them their iniquity
      and wipe them out for their wickedness;
      the LORD our God will wipe them out.

I know all of this might seem hard to believe when we’re in the midst of suffering. But here’s what we need to remember: we may think things are bad, but we don’t know how bad they could be.  If the Lord hadn’t been our help, our soul would soon have lived in the land of silence. God doesn’t wantonly abandon his people, and he doesn’t condemn his people to senseless suffering. He disciplines his people for their good.

Do you see how realistic this is? The psalmist never claims that God protects his people from any and all pain. He freely admits that the cares of God’s people, especially his people living under great wickedness, are many. But what does he say? V. 19: When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul.

What exactly are the consolations God gives to his people?

His consolations are the promises that the Lord is there. He is a stronghold and a refuge for us. He will not let injustice go unanswered. He exercises perfect judgment on all sin, and he holds our feet from slipping in the meantime.

Conclusion: learning Perspective

So before we end, we need to ask ourselves: What is the goal of this psalm? The answer to that question is, perspective.

I can’t tell you the number of times newly married couples have called me, simply devastated, over a problem in their marriage. I listen to them, and I get it: the pain and disappointment we can find in a marriage are genuine, and very frightening.

The thing is, I’ve been married for twenty-two years now. I have a slightly different perspective than someone who’s been married for twenty-two weeks, or months.

The reason why these situations are so scary for them is because they’re new. They’ve never gone through anything like that before; they don’t yet know what’s normal and what isn’t, what’s manageable and what’s not.

It’s scary because it’s uncharted territory. But once you’ve lived decades of marriage, you see that it’s not unsolvable. It’s not nothing, but it’s normal. It’s a blip. Loanne and I can deal with the exact same situations today, and be a bit annoyed. But we don’t need to call anyone, and we’re not afraid. We’re fine—not because we’re wiser, but because we’ve been married for twenty-two years, and that gives us perspective, to see it for what it is. And the things that scare us today probably wouldn’t scare a couple who’s been married for fifty years.

Here’s the point: God’s people need a more elevated vision. We need perspective.

So many of us “suffer” over nothing. And others of us suffer over things that are incredible painful…but that are still finite and temporary.

In the scope of eternity, the century of difficulty we have to contend with on earth, while it is very real and very hard, is a mere blip on the timeline.

Yes, we suffer; but with that suffering comes the knowledge of everything that comes after.

With that suffering comes the knowledge of what God is doing in that suffering—that he’s disciplining us, not to punish us, but to help us grow, to make us more like him.

And with that suffering comes the knowledge of the eternal joy that we will have in Christ. Eternal joy in the presence of a holy God who will wipe away all traces of sin and its effects.

The fact that we are here, breathing, not in hell, is a sign of God’s love. It’s a sign of how good things really are. The fact that we are in this room, hearing God’s instruction from his Word, able to come into his presence without being incinerated, shows us his love. The fact that we have been given faith in Jesus Christ, and forgiveness for our sins, shows us not just how God loves us now, but how he will love us forever.

Our suffering is difficult, for sure.

But the consolations of God in Christ far outweigh anything we could suffer.

Even oppression.

Even enemies.

Even sickness.

Even sin.

Even death.

The Lord will not forsake his people; he will not abandon his heritage. When the cares of my heart are many, his consolations cheer my soul.

Fear and Joy (Psalm 97)

The well-known atheist philosopher Christopher Hitchens said:

I think it would be rather awful if [God existed]. If there was a permanent, total, round-the-clock divine supervision and invigilation of everything you did, you would never have a waking or sleeping moment when you weren’t being watched and controlled and supervised by some celestial entity from the moment of your conception to the moment of your death… It would be like living in North Korea.

Now, if we’re honest, most of us can sympathize with this. The idea of an all-powerful God watching our every move is a frightening one. And the interesting thing is, the Bible agrees with that estimation—it should be troublesome to us, at least in a certain way.

But that fear isn’t all there should be. Realizing that God is on the throne, and that he is in control, is a completely wonderful thing.

And that is what Psalm 97 is about.

Fearing His Reign (v. 1-5)

1 The Lord reigns, let the earth rejoice;

let the many coastlands be glad!

2  Clouds and thick darkness are all around him;

righteousness and justice are the foundation of his throne.

3  Fire goes before him

and burns up his adversaries all around.

4  His lightnings light up the world;

the earth sees and trembles.

5  The mountains melt like wax before the Lord,

before the Lord of all the earth.

So these are all inherently frightening images. Clouds and thick darkness surround him—clouds are often used as images of God’s glory in the Old Testament, and the darkness that surrounds him isn’t evil darkness; it speaks of the fact that God is transcendent. That on our own, man cannot see God, can’t fathom God, can’t understand God. He is completely above us, mysterious in his power.

And what is the essence of his power and authority? His righteousness and justice. God is perfectly righteous, morally pure in every way; and he is perfectly just. His righteousness and his justice are the foundation of his throne, the foundation of his reign.

And that is why (v. 3) Fire goes before him and burns up his adversaries all around. Nothing impure can stand in his presence.

God is not just good, but goodness itself. So if you are an adversary of God, you are necessarily an adversary of all that is good.

And if you are an adversary of all that is good, you don’t stand a chance against God.

I come from Florida, from a little town called Lakeland, which is (literally) the lightning capital of the world. In the summer, there are frequent, violent storms. And even indoors, in the comfort of your living room, when the lightning hits the ground just up the road from where you are, everything in the house trembles. The picture frames jitter on the walls; you can feel it in your gut.

This is the image the psalmist uses to describes God’s awesome power. 4 His lightnings light up the world; the earth sees and trembles.

An ordinary lightning strike, which can cause the walls of a house to tremble, is nothing compared to God’s power. Even the mountains tremble before him.

It’s a striking image, because mountains are, almost by definition, the strongest things the psalmist could have imagined at the time. But before God (v. 5), the mountains melt like wax. I’ve never seen a mountain melt—not literally. But people have witnessed volcanic eruptions. We were in the mountains a couple of weeks ago, and just before we got there, there was a massive storm that caused enormous mudslides that flooded the town at the bottom of the mountain, up to a meter high. They definitely felt like the mountain was melting down on top of them.

That’s the sort of image the psalmist is evoking here. The earth itself trembles before God’s mighty power.

And we should too. This feeling of powerlessness before God’s incredible power and righteousness is what the Bible means when it speaks of “the fear of the Lord”.

A couple of years ago my dad bought a new dog; even as a puppy she was already big. When we met her for the first time, I came to pet her, and she did what puppies do: she jumped up, licked my hand, then took my forearm into her mouth and gave it a playful tug, without actually biting down. I haven’t had a dog in a long time, so it was a lot of fun for me.

I let her do that, because she wasn’t going to hurt me; she’s just a puppy.

I would never have done that if she were a lion. Because a lion could have ripped me apart.

That’s what the psalmist is getting at here: God isn’t a puppy. He’s a lion. You don’t play around with a lion; you tremble before the power of a lion, even if it is sitting still and has no intention of eating you.

God is not cruel, but he is powerful—and the earth itself knows it.

Now here’s what’s interesting. One would think that being faced with a God this powerful would cause us to retreat, to hide, to want to get as far away from him as possible.

But that’s not the way the psalmist describes his reaction to God, or the people’s reaction to God.

Rather, he describes joy.

Look back at v. 1:

1 The Lord reigns, let the earth rejoice;

let the many coastlands be glad!

That is the tone for the rest of the psalm. God’s great power, and the fear we feel before him, does not drive us to cower, but to rejoice—to worship God.

Rejoicing in His Reign (v. 6-11)

6  The heavens proclaim his righteousness,

and all the peoples see his glory.

7  All worshipers of images are put to shame,

who make their boast in worthless idols;

worship him, all you gods!

Whether we know it or not, we can all see God’s glory. It’s as easy as going outside and looking up. Anyone who has seen a sunset, or the coming of a storm on the horizon, or the stars at night (not in Paris, obviously, because of light pollution—go out to the country and you’ll see it), has seen God’s glory.

So think of a sunset, and keep it in your mind for a minute. Try to picture it.

In the light of that picture, worshiping anything besides God is flat-out embarrassing.

We may not think we worship other gods, but idolatry is the biggest temptation any of us face. (You could even say that every temptation is, at its core, a temptation to idolatry.)

Idolatry is not limited to worshiping images; it is making anything else besides God the center of our lives and our desires.

And it’s surprising, the things which can take that place when we let that happen.

When I was nineteen, before I was a Christian, one of my best friends had her own apartment, and a group of us were always over at her place. We were like a little commune: we all had keys to the apartment, we all had things we left there, and at least two or three nights a week we’d end up sleeping on the floor. We spent countless hours on her balcony, eating and drinking and laughing and talking about everything and nothing.

For most of us, it was our first real taste of freedom, and it was intoxicating. Those people, and that place, became everything to me.

But no matter how much I loved them, no matter how much emotional space they took up in my heart, none of them could produce a sunset.

How easy it is for limited, finite things to become the center of all our thoughts and desires!

And it can be anything. A sports team. A TV show. A clean house. A comfortable salary. A family. A vacation. None of the things which occupy our minds and our hearts can ever be worth the space we give them.

And the skies above our heads would remind us of that fact, if only we’d look up.

Compared to the one who set the stars in place, worshiping any other god is simply ridiculous. All worshipers of images are put to shame…

That idolatry is what characterizes everyone who doesn’t know God.

But for God’s people—even though it’s still a struggle for us—it’s different. When we see God’s glory in created things, we are not put to shame. When we look at the skies, we see God’s glory, and are reminded of his reign; and for us, God’s reign is a reason for joy.

V. 8:

8  Zion hears and is glad,

and the daughters of Judah rejoice,

because of your judgments, O Lord.

9  For you, O Lord, are most high over all the earth;

you are exalted far above all gods.

There’s a lot of historical and theological weight at play here. When the psalmist talks about “Zion,” or “the daughters of Judah,” he is talking about God’s chosen people, the people of Israel. And it’s important to say it that way, because their joy was not rooted in some kind of theoretical or philosophical notions about what God might be like. Their joy was rooted in history—in what God had done for them.

Not only have they seen his glory in the natural world; they have seen his glory in person. God rescued them from slavery in Egypt. He cared for them in the wilderness. He gave them a land in which to dwell. He delivered them from their enemies. They have seen their God at work for them—they have seen his glory not only in the world, but in his very real, historical and personal goodness to them.

And we are no different.

We don’t know exactly when this psalm was written, but we know at least that it was some time during or after the time of Moses. Already, at that point in history, the people of Israel had the testimonies of their ancestors who had seen God at work for them in the past, and they could still see God at work for them in the present.

At our point in history—today, in 2025—we have the testimonies of our past brothers and sisters, who saw God come to earth in the person of Jesus Christ; and we still see Christ at work for us today in the present.

This is why it is so important to make sure our theology is never divorced from biblical history. When we talk about the gospel, we’re not just talking about big ideas, but about something which actually happened. The gospel is not a philosophy or a way of life; it is news. It is the good news of Jesus Christ, God made man, who lived our life and died our death and was raised to declare us righteous before God.

This means that every time we see God’s hand at work in anything, we should remember what he did for us. Every sunset should remind us of the gospel.

We see a sunset, and we see God’s glory there. And because we know that God is a God who acts in history, we know that the God who made that sunset is the same God who lives in me, today, by his Spirit, because of the finished and sufficient work of Jesus Christ for us.

That is how we distinguish between the one true God and the myriad of other false gods clamoring for our attention—no other replacement god we foolishly worship could ever come close to that kind of power, that kind of authority, or that kind of goodness. No other object of our worship is worthy of the adoration we give it.

Only one God created all things, maintains all things, came to earth, saved us, and lives in us still today.

And knowing that makes us glad, causes us to rejoice. For only he is most high over all the earth, exalted far above all gods.

So the question is, if that’s the underlying reality of our lives, what should those lives look like?

The answer is very simple.

10  O you who love the Lord, hate evil!

He preserves the lives of his saints;

he delivers them from the hand of the wicked.

11  Light is sown for the righteous,

and joy for the upright in heart.

12  Rejoice in the Lord, O you righteous,

and give thanks to his holy name!

Not only is everything we’ve said so far about God true; he adds to his past and present goodness to you in Christ by caring for you still today.

He preserves your life; he delivers you from evil. He saves us, and when he saves us, he keeps us—he will protect us from falling back into evil, until the very end.

There is light and joy—every good thing—for those who follow him. No child of God is ever lacking for anything. That doesn’t mean that we will always get what we want, but we will always get what is good for us.

And because we know that, we are called to rejoice. To be thankful. To become like the God we love. To learn to hate evil as he hates evil. To love righteousness as he loves righteousness.

If we see God’s glory in the sunrise, it is just unthinkable that we would not want to reflect the sun.

It’s no accident that this psalm speaks so often of God’s righteousness, and then calls us “righteous” twice in these last two verses. Those who love God, and are joyful in him, and are thankful for his grace, will progressively, but inevitably, become righteous as he is righteous.

Living for His Reign

God’s glory is the fundamental fact of life. It is the reality which undergirds all other reality. We are not ultimate. We are created beings, living under the rule of our good Creator.

Which means that our lives are going to have to undergo a pretty radical paradigm shift. Our default position in life is to love ourselves more than anything. And that doesn’t necessarily come out of arrogance, but just out of self-centered desires. By default, we construct our lives around ourselves—around our own desires, our own plans, our own self-interests. We want to build our kingdoms; we want to see our desires fulfilled.

In other words, most of us make decisions based on what we want, not based on what is true.

But what is the fundamental truth which should guide all of our desires?

V. 1: The Lord reigns, let the earth rejoice...

V. 9: For you, O Lord, are most high over all the earth; you are exalted far above all gods.

Because we are creatures, and not the Creator, we aren’t meant for everything to revolve around us. Only God can hold that place. He is the only one who can reign without being a tyrant, and only he has the power to reign with grace.

So if we know that—if we know that only he is God—what should that truth produce in us?

V. 8:  Zion hears and is glad, and the daughters of Judah rejoice, because of your judgments, O Lord.

V. 12:  Rejoice in the Lord, O you righteous, and give thanks to his holy name!

Brothers and sisters, the most freeing realization in all the world is the realization that God reigns, so I don’t have to. That God is in control, so I don’t have to be. That God preserves my life, so I don’t have to. That weight does not have to sit on my shoulders.

In God is true, free joy, so I don’t have to endlessly search for that joy in other things. If I would just pay attention, I would see that the joy I’m seeking is right here. I already have it, if I would just enjoy it.

So if the joy of God’s people truly is in acknowledging God’s reign, and in seeing his glory, the question we should ask ourselves is: What can I do to glorify God?

In any situation, how can I best prove that I am happy and thankful and confident in God’s good judgments? (And this is not posturing—it is in living to prove our joy and gratitude and trust in God that we find joy and gratitude and trust in God.)

When Loanne and I had the opportunity to move to Lagny to intern with Acts 29, with the goal of being sent out to plant a church afterwards, we honestly had no big signs from God telling us what we should do. There was one really good reason to go—we could plant a church and see the gospel preached in an area that needed it.

But there were a lot of good reasons to stay where we were. We had a comfortable home which we had just bought and renovated; we had comfortable jobs which brought in comfortable salaries. We had a three-month-old son at home, and we were just starting to build our lives to raise him. Moving meant not knowing where we were going to live, not knowing how we were going to earn a salary, not knowing if anyone would come to this future church, or if it would all just collapse around us.

What changed everything was when we started asking ourselves, “In which situation can we most glorify God? Not just in the church, but in our own lives?” Which choice will afford us more opportunities to tell others about him? to trust in him for our every need? to show in a concrete way that we were happy and thankful and at rest in his power?

It ended up being a very easy choice.

And that question—how can we glorify God, and show that we are joyful and thankful and trusting in him?—should guide every decision of our lives. It should guide the big decisions—choosing a profession, or a school for our kids, or a place to live.

And it should guide the way we go about the little, insignificant decisions we make all the time. Like, for instance, the decision to eat a mango. I went to Burkina Faso several years ago, and ate the best mangos of my life. And at one point, I remember intentionally praying before taking a bite, “God, you made this!” How much better is eating a mango when you know that taste was intentional? That it wasn’t just a happy accident of biology?

What is ordinary becomes an act of worship. Eating a mango. Having a baby. Buying a house. Or looking at a sunset.

Over all of these things—the great and the small—the Lord reigns. He reigns in power; he reigns in righteousness; he reigns in justice.

And so, in response to his great reign, be glad. Put your sin to death; worship nothing besides him. Look at his glory in the ordinary things you take for granted, and know that the same God who made the sun set came to earth to be your Savior, and lives in you.

Rejoice in the Lord, O you righteous, and give thanks to his holy name!