Life as a Musical: Tuning our Hearts to Sing God's Grace

Life as a Musical: Tuning Our Hearts to Sing God’s Grace

April 27, 2025 - Hymn Sing Sunday
Colossians 3:15-17

The word of Christ must live in you richly. Teach and warn each other with all wisdom by singing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs. Sing to God with gratitude in your hearts.  Whatever you do, whether in speech or action, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus and give thanks to God the Father through him.                

 Colossians 3:16-17

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John Wesley and his brother Charles were prolific hymn writers who believed singing was central to the ministry of the gospel. They produced multiple hymn collections, including Wesley Hymns and the Collection of Psalms and Hymns, which were widely distributed among early Methodists. Wesley strongly encouraged every home to have a hymnal, envisioning singing not just as part of Sunday worship, but as a way to maintain a spiritual rhythm throughout the week.

“Sing all, sing heartily and with good courage,” Wesley wrote. “Lift up your voice with strength. Be no more afraid of your voice now, nor more ashamed of its being heard, than when you sang the songs of Satan” (first published in Sacred Harmony, 1781). For Wesley, music was not about performance, but about presence — offering one’s whole self to God through song.

A worship leader I knew in college once told a story about a piano that had one horribly out-of-tune key. It drove him crazy, until he sensed God asking, “What if that note is the only one in tune, and the rest of the piano is off?” Of course, the whole piano wasn’t out of tune, but the question lingered. What if what we assume to be “off” is actually the voice of the Spirit, trying to get our attention?

Sometimes, our lives of faith can drift out of tune, off key from God’s purposes, out of rhythm with God’s grace. Singing together helps bring us back, grounding us in truth and harmony with the Spirit. As Paul wrote to the Colossians, we are called to “teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit… and whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus.”

Life is a bit like a musical — one person starts singing, and somehow, everyone else joins in, singing and dancing as if they’ve always known the song. It defies logic but reveals something deeply true: music has the power to draw us into something larger than ourselves. In the same way, as we join our voices with others in worship, we are drawn into something greater,  becoming more fully part of one another and the body of Christ. Music weaves our individual stories into a shared narrative of grace, hope, and redemption.

“Above all, sing spiritually,” Wesley urged. “Have an eye to God in every word you sing… see that your heart is not carried away with the sound, but offered to God continually.”  May our singing today not only fill this space, but draw us more fully into the Spirit’s harmony, tuning our lives to God and to one another.


Come Thou fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace
Streams of mercy never ceasing
Call for songs of loudest praise!

 

Feel free to join us in our Celebration of Music below:

Everything [in] between Grief & Hope

Everything [in] between Grief & Hope

Everything [in] between: Part 7
Series based on the Narrative Lectionary & Sanctified Art
April 13, 2025 - Easter Sunday
John 20:11-18, Luke 24:1-12

Very early in the morning on the first day of the week, the women went to the tomb, bringing the fragrant spices they had prepared.  They found the stone rolled away from the tomb,  but when they went in, they didn’t find the body of the Lord Jesus.  They didn’t know what to make of this. Suddenly, two men were standing beside them in gleaming bright clothing.  The women were frightened and bowed their faces toward the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?  He isn’t here, but has been raised. Remember what he told you while he was still in Galilee,  that the Human One must be handed over to sinners, be crucified, and on the third day rise again.”  Then they remembered his words.  When they returned from the tomb, they reported all these things to the eleven and all the others.  It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told these things to the apostles.  Their words struck the apostles as nonsense, and they didn’t believe the women.  But Peter ran to the tomb. When he bent over to look inside, he saw only the linen cloth. Then he returned home, wondering what had happened.

Luke 24:1-12 (CEB)

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Reflections written by Rev. Jeff Chu

Grief is liminal, not terminal

    

What makes an ember of hope flare up into a revivifying fire?

Sometimes it’s a memory.

Then they remembered his words, Luke says of the women who had brought burial spices to Jesus’ tomb. It took outside help, in the form of two angels, and it wasn’t instantaneous. First there was terror, because it’s not every day that otherworldly visitors come calling. But then they received a gentle word: Remember.

Sometimes it’s a testimony.

The spark of the women’s story gave Peter just enough hope to get up, run to the tomb, and seek more for himself.

Sometimes neither memory nor testimony will feel sufficient. The cold cloak of grief may still be too thick, as it was for Jesus’ other friends. To them, the women’s story was λῆρος (leros). My Bible translates that Greek word as “an idle tale,” but I think that lacks oomph. Really, it might be better rendered “nonsense” or “the mutterings of the delirious.”

The other apostles’ incredulity feels so relatable to me, especially in the context of our contemporary lives. In a world beset by so much sorrow, so much suffering, and so much heartbreak, a glimmer of good news can have such a hard time breaking my gloom. A glimpse of beauty, a flash of loveliness, can feel like foolishness amidst so much bad news.

This isn’t to say, of course, that it’s wrong to sit with grief. Our grief deserves our attention, because mourning is a bittersweet memento of love. We need not rank our griefs either. Even when it comes to the pettiest, tiniest things, we need to grieve so that we can make room for the better.

There’s the key, though: our grief cannot become our everything. With memory, testimony, and time, we can recognize that grief is liminal, not terminal. And it need not crowd out other truths: that we have loved and been loved. That we are not alone. That there is still hope in the land of the living. 


A New Space for Reflection

Over the years, this blog has become a place to share sermons and scriptural reflections — glimpses of the ongoing work God is doing in me and, I hope, through me. It is a joy to connect with so many of you through these weekly messages.

Lately, though, I’ve felt a pull to create something alongside this space. A quieter place. A space not just for preaching, but for pondering. For wrestling. For slowing down.

That’s why I’ve launched a new Substack newsletter called Reflections of Something. It’s a companion to this blog, but with a slightly different purpose: to invite deeper thinking and inner transformation. To offer fresh perspectives on scripture, spiritual formation, and the complexity of life and faith in today’s world.

At Reflections of Something, you will find:

  • Honest reflections on faith and spiritual formation.

  • Thought-provoking discussions on the intersection of faith and culture.

  • Insights into church life, ministry, and discipleship.

  • Personal stories and reflections that invite deeper conversations.

I’ll continue to post sermons here, but if you’re interested in occasional, more personal reflections, I’d love for you to subscribe and follow along.

You can find Reflections of Something here:
👉 https://reflectionsofsomething.substack.com

The welcome post is already up, and I’ll begin sharing new pieces twice a month starting in May.

No pressure, of course. Just an invitation—if you find yourself craving a little more space to reflect.

Grace and peace,
Craig

Everything [in] between Shouting & Silence

Everything [in] between Shouting & Silence

Everything [in] between: Part 6
Series based on the Narrative Lectionary & Sanctified Art
April 13, 2025
Luke 19:29-40

As Jesus approached the road leading down from the Mount of Olives, the whole throng of his disciples began rejoicing. They praised God with a loud voice because of all the mighty things they had seen.  They said,

“Blessings on the king who comes in the name of the Lord.
    Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heavens.”

Some of the Pharisees from the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, scold your disciples! Tell them to stop!”

He answered, “I tell you, if they were silent, the stones would shout.”

Luke 19:37-40 (CEB)

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Reflections written by Dr. Mindy McGarrah Sharp

Stones have seen a thing or two. Grabbed in rage, they’ve absorbed the shock of violence. Balanced in meditative towers, they’ve marked graves and birthed centering peace.

In an Arizona courthouse, I wasn’t thinking about stones. I was thinking about students’ passionate shouts and silent death stares. We had traveled to the borderlands to listen in a place about which there is much shouting and even more silencing. A most progressive student and a most conservative student grudgingly traveled together, carrying histories of screams and silences into that courthouse.

In the pre-trial explanation, we heard that doors would open, and we would all rise. But this would be no triumphal entry, no cloak-lined path, no donkey willingly lent from a neighbor, no rejoicing. Just hand sanitizer and instructions: Silence! No photography!

We were entering Operation Streamline’s public gallery, the daily hearing where up to eighty humans are tried en-masse for immigration violations. Since 2005, this has continued through Democratic and Republican administrations. Chained by ankle, wrist, and waist, human beings walk to a judge six-by-six, clanging, pleading. It would be over in under an hour, and then we'd go on about our day.

Unexpectedly, the polarized students joined voices: This cannot be! One quoted scripture: the Imago Dei, neighbor love, caring for strangers, remembering Jesus’ own journey as a migrant. The other quoted law: due process, presumption of innocence, amnesty, constitutional rights. Between stony silences and snarky shouts arose some solidarity. Together, they witnessed what we humans can do to each other and the lengths we go to make it all make sense.

Bearing witness complicates things. Divisive soundbites crumble, north and south get confused. But, stones certainly know the violence, graves, and peace prayers held in this sacred, desecrated land.

On a borrowed donkey from a gracious neighbor, on crowd-sourced paths accompanied by loud rejoicing, Jesus wept on arrival, knowing full well what we humans are capable of doing to each other. He rode right into what stones have seen: criminalization and death -dealing decisions, dehumanization and denial of dignity, disregard for expansive beauty.

     What would stones shout?

     What do you shout?

     What do you silence?

 

Everything [in] between Righteousness & Mercy

Everything [in] between Righteousness & Mercy

Everything [in] between: Part 5
Series based on the Narrative Lectionary & Sanctified Art
April 6, 2025
Luke 19:1-10

Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through town.  A man there named Zacchaeus, a ruler among tax collectors, was rich.  He was trying to see who Jesus was, but, being a short man, he couldn’t because of the crowd.  So he ran ahead and climbed up a sycamore tree so he could see Jesus, who was about to pass that way.  When Jesus came to that spot, he looked up and said, “Zacchaeus, come down at once. I must stay in your home today.”  So Zacchaeus came down at once, happy to welcome Jesus.

Everyone who saw this grumbled, saying, “He has gone to be the guest of a sinner.”

Zacchaeus stopped and said to the Lord, “Look, Lord, I give half of my possessions to the poor. And if I have cheated anyone, I repay them four times as much.”

Jesus said to him, “Today, salvation has come to this household because he too is a son of Abraham. The Human One came to seek and save the lost.”

Luke 19:1-10 (CEB)

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 Reflections by Rev. Jeff Chu

    

“God has a really bad habit of using people we don’t approve of,” Rachel Held Evans once said. “What makes the gospel offensive is not who it keeps out, but who it lets in.”

I might tweak Evans’s formulation and put it this way: God has a really bad habit of loving people we don’t approve of. Or maybe this: God has a really bad habit of showing mercy to people we don’t approve of.

Or maybe: God has a really bad habit of extending grace to people we don’t approve of.

All are true, as is evident in Jesus’s encounter with Zacchaeus.  In those times, tax collectors were loathed. The phrase “tax collectors and sinners” appears multiple times in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and in one testy exchange with the chief priests and elders, Jesus tosses a rhetorical grenade into their midst, saying, “The tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you.”

Tax collectors were stooges of the Roman Empire. They betrayed their own people and enriched  themselves in service to the oppressor. And Zacchaeus was no average corrupt bureaucrat. He’d amassed immense wealth, climbing on others’ backs to the rank of chief tax collector. In other words, he was a senior deplorable.

So it especially galled the gathered crowds that, of everyone clamoring for Jesus’s attention that day in Jericho, he would choose to stay with that man. Can you believe it?

The good teacher would want to be in the home of that despicable, unrepentant sinner? I say “unrepentant” because, before Jesus invites himself over, the vertically challenged Zacchaeus has done nothing except climb a tree to get a better view, again setting himself apart from his people. He hasn’t admitted wrongdoing, resigned his position, or confessed his sin. Still, Jesus says, I will abide with you.

It’s striking that Jesus never called Zacchaeus out — no loud shaming, no public humiliation. Rather, this seems like the gentlest calling-in. Faced with Jesus’ tender warmth, Zacchaeus descends from the tree, rejoins the people, and immediately pledges restitution — a two-pronged act of reconciliation with both God and neighbor.

Confirmation of this remarkable turnabout comes in Jesus’s declaration: “Today salvation has come to this house.” Our ears might be tempted to hear an absolution of individual sin. But Jesus says “to this house,” not “to this man,” which hints at something broader. The Greek word σωτηρία (soteria), translated here as “salvation,” also means “deliverance.” Woven into σωτηρία is a suggestion not just of cleansing but also of wholeness. In the communal culture of Jesus’ day, salvation meant the wholeness derived from belonging. By repenting, Zacchaeus had been delivered from broken relationship with his people back into the wholeness of community.

We can’t know how Zacchaeus would have responded if Jesus had instead tried loud condemnation. We do know that what worked was winsome grace, gentle mercy, and a love so attentive — and so offensive — that it healed.