Psalm

God chooses to draw near—and to draw us out of ourselves.

No one and nothing escapes Psalm 148’s exhortation.

We have become a society of people who cannot prevent our own children from being killed in their classrooms—and who do not much mind the killing of other people’s children by weapons of war.

When the Spirit moved among us, we heard the tongues of angels.

There is no one who does not need God’s mercy and no one who may not have it.

In meditating on the words of scripture, I discover a Word who meditates on me.

The psalmist is bossy: “Sing to the Lord a new song.”

Fruitful ministry becomes sustainable when it is shared, person to person and generation to generation.

This familiar text takes on new dimensions when read in tandem with this week’s epistle and gospel texts.

A dead shepherd isn’t helpful to anyone, least of all to the sheep left behind.

Lament psalms typically move to trust at some point, but reading only those verses feels strange in Lent.

Simeon and Anna echo the worship material of ancient Israel.

The God of exiles, refugees, and migrants still shines light amid today’s present darkness.

Psalm 34 is like balm to the weary spirit and nourishment to the hungry soul.

Before Satan, there was the biblical sea monster Leviathan.

Before Satan, there was the biblical sea monster Leviathan.

Before Satan, there was the biblical sea monster Leviathan.

Where is the psalmist’s own voice in this communal confession and appeal?

How do we wade through the vast morass of different teachings and beliefs about the God of the Bible?

In an uncertain, murky time, God gives the people a gift: ten laws.