Sing to the Lord a new song. The instruction feels cruel when you are drowning. But the new song is not the old triumph in a fresh translation. It is the music of wounded hope — quieter, gritter, sung by bodies that have decided to keep going. Over four reflections, we walk through what that song actually sounds like, and the slow discovery that you have been singing it all along.
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The hospitality the Lord describes in Isaiah 58:7 is not a meal train. It is bread shared, doors opened, the wounded covered where they are. Over five reflections, we walk through what it would mean for the church to become a true sanctuary for those carrying mental illness — and why the wounded among us are not the audience for this ministry, but often its ministers.
Psalm 88 is the only psalm in the Psalter that does not turn. It begins in the dark and stays there. No yet, no but, no light at the end. Over the next four reflections, we walk slowly through it — what it means that the canon contains a prayer with no resolution, and what it gives the believer who is also without one.
