Always in God's Care

Always in God’s Care

Psalm 31[1]

This morning I’d like to share with you another of my occasional stories about my experience with a particular passage of Scripture. I’d like to share with you my journey with Psalm 31. Like many of you, I probably first heard the words “Into your hands I commend my Spirit” from the story of Jesus’ death on the cross in Luke’s Gospel (Lk 23:46). My first serious Bible was a King James Version, and it had every verse divided separately, so it was hard to tell when people in the New Testament were quoting from the Old Testament. I soon switched to the New International Version, and they print things differently, so you can tell when someone is quoting from the Old Testament. That’s probably where I first noticed that Jesus was quoting from the Psalm. I don’t remember the exact timeframe for this, but it was a while ago.

I took my first Hebrew class in College, and then I took the required year of Hebrew in Seminary. But I found Hebrew to be harder and more confusing than Greek, and I wanted to try to master it. So I took a “Hebrew Exegesis” class to help level up my skills. It wasn’t until I started digging into the Hebrew Bible more consistently when I was in my mid- to late-twenties that I began to notice some interesting things going on with the language of the Hebrew Bible that weren’t always reflected in the English translations. And I was especially drawn to the Psalms. Along with Isaiah, they’re probably my favorite part of the Old Testament.

A case in point is the English translation of Psalm 31:5, “Into your hands I commend my Spirit.” It sounds like a prayer someone might pray when they’re dying. That’s likely influenced by the fact that Jesus prayed that prayer as he was dying. But just the language of “giving up” one’s “spirit” seems to lend itself to that understanding. When I read the verse with that in mind, I’m not sure I really paid all that much attention to the rest of the Psalm.

It was during the year that I spent living and studying in Germany in 1989-90 that I really began digging into the Psalms. One of the things I discovered about Psalm 31 is that the Hebrew word typically translated in English as “spirit” here refers to the psalmsinger’s whole life. That insight enabled me to read Psalm 31:5 more like “Into your hands I commend my life,” or as the Good News Version we read today puts it, “I place myself in your care.” It helped me see that, at least in the original context of the Psalm this is a prayer for living!

That helped me to hear the words of the whole of Psalm 31 better. A lot of us still have a problem with just lifting out verses of the Bible that we like. The reason that’s a problem is because we’re meant to read the whole Bible. And in this case, that means we’re meant to read Psalm 31 as a whole. The Psalm as a whole is the prayer of a person of faith struggling with the painful and sometimes unfair ways people can treat us. And as I mentioned above, Psalm 31:5 is not a prayer for dying, but a prayer for living with faith in God, no matter. We see that in other ways in the Psalm. The psalmsinger recounts all the hardships of his life, enemies who sought to undo him, the anxiety and sorrow he experienced from opponents. And yet, in spite of all the afflictions he endured, at the end of the day he could pray, “my times are in your hand” (Ps. 31:15). Or, as the Good News Version translates it, “I am always in your care.” With all of that in mind, it’s hard not to conclude that the whole Psalm is a prayer of trust, a prayer of confidence in the “faithful God” (Ps. 31:5). And the prayer “into your hands I commend my spirit” is a motto for living, not a prayer for dying.

In Psalm 31, as in other Psalms, the psalmsinger expresses the decision to entrust his life—his whole life—into God’s hands. That’s not an easy decision to make. Most of us like to keep the “important parts” of our lives in our control. But when try to do that, we learn that there is so much about life that is outside our control. For me, knowing that we can entrust all of that, all the things that seem too big for us, to God’s loving care relieves us of the heavy burdens we try to carry ourselves.

One of the last stages in my journey with Psalm 31 was when I read through the commentary on the Psalms by James Luther Mays in the Presbyterian commentary series called Interpretation. Yes, I did actually read through a whole commentary. I’ve done it more than once! One of the things I like about that commentary is that Mays, who himself was a Presbyterian Old Testament professor, really seems to pull together all the Psalms around some key themes. It helped me to read each Psalm, not as a whole in itself, but in the context of the entire collection of Psalms. And that only reinforced my conviction that the prayer, “into your hands I commend my life” is a motto for living, not a prayer for dying.

One of the things that Mays does is to inform the readers of his commentary how various Psalms have been used not only in the New Testament, but also throughout the history of the church. It should come as no surprise that, following Jesus’ example, a number of prominent Church leaders, including Martin Luther, used this prayer at the end of their lives. But as Mays says in his commentary, “in Hebrew and in the context of the psalm” the prayer is a confession of ultimate “dependence and trust” in God. He adds that this prayer, “Into your hands I commend my life” is essentially “a way of saying in the midst of affliction, ‘It is up to you, God, what becomes of me, and I am willing to have it so.’”[2] I find that to be a wonderful way to affirm my trust in God. I think Jesus paraphrased that prayer with his prayer in the Garden, “not my will but thine be done.”

If you think of it, what better place could we ever want to be than in God’s loving care? What more could we want than what God wants for us? That’s what I think about with this prayer, “It is up to you, God, what becomes of me, and I’m willing to have it so.” When you put it that way, the prayer, “into your hands I commend my life” really does become a prayer for living. In fact, it has been one of my primary prayers for living for over fifteen years. I haven’t prayed it every day. But I’ve prayed it most days. And many days I’ve prayed it more than once. I think one of the significant spiritual breakthroughs in my life’s journey was when I finally realized that I needed to consciously turn to God and entrust my life, all my hopes and dreams, into his care on a regular basis. This prayer has gotten me through a lot of up’s and down’s in life, and I think it will continue to see me through whatever may come in the future. Telling this story is my way of inviting you to join me in praying the prayer, “into your hands I commend my life,” following Jesus’ example, and the example of many faithful people who have gone before us. It’s a way of entrusting all of our lives into God’s hands. As we do so, may we discover that our lives are always in God’s care, and that there’s no better place we could be.

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[1] © Alan Brehm 2026. A sermon delivered by Rev. Alan Brehm PhD on 3/29/2026 for Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

[2] James Luther Mays, Psalms, 144.

Looking for What God is Doing

Looking for What God is Doing

John 9:1-7, 13-41[1]

We turn to faith for comfort. That’s one of the main roles faith plays in our lives. It offers us comfort when the realities of life can feel like they’re too much to bear. That’s why we love Scripture passages like Psalm 23. It’s a beautiful expression of the comfort our faith offers us. But when we only look to faith for comfort, it’s too easy to focus only our ourselves, and lose sight of those around us. That’s why our faith also challenges us. Faith that’s worth its salt not only offers us comfort, it also challenges us to see the suffering of our sisters and brothers in the human family. Especially those who suffer the most in this world, the very ones we may prefer not to see. When we let our faith turn in on itself, it becomes too easy to convince ourselves that their suffering is somehow their own fault. Instead of seeing them as beloved children of God who are suffering in the same way we all can suffer, which can be a scary thought, we convince ourselves that they must have done something to bring it on themselves. The idea that they must have done something to deserve their suffering somehow assures us that it won’t happen to us. But in the process, we let our desire for comfort and safety blind us to the compassion God wants us to give to the people who suffer the most in this world.

Our Gospel lesson for today addresses this issue. It’s the story about Jesus’ encounter with a man who had been born blind. But the irony is that it turns the tables on how we might expect the story to go. In this story, the “religious” people who claimed that they could see were in fact blind. They were blind to the compassion of God, they were blind to truth that Jesus restored this man’s sight. But it was a man who was despised as an ignorant vagrant was the one who was able to see what they couldn’t or wouldn’t see. The narrator emphasizes this irony by calling the one Jesus healed “the man who had formerly been blind.” But irony is that in this story, he was the one who was able to see the truth about Jesus. On the other hand, the “religious” people were blinded because of their assumptions.

The basic assumption in this story that blinded the “religious” people is that anyone who is suffering must have done something to deserve it. That’s an assumption that we still make. In the Gospel story, it was Jesus’ own disciples who voiced this assumption, asking, “who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” (John 9:2). The very fact that he had been born blind meant that someone had to have done something wrong to cause his suffering. But Jesus exploded the centuries-old myth that suffering comes from sin. I like the way Gene Peterson translates Jesus’ response in The Message: “You’re asking the wrong question. You're looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here. Look instead for what God can do” (John 9:3, MSG).

The hard truth is that we live in a world where any kind of suffering can affect anyone at any time. And we tend to use rationalizations like “they must have brought it on themselves” to assure ourselves that we won’t have to suffer the same pain! But Jesus turns all that on its head. He says that the suffering people experience in this world isn’t about blaming or shaming. Rather, it’s an opportunity for those of us who claim to follow him to demonstrate “the works of God” (John 9:4): kindness, compassion, and mercy! The suffering that people endure is an opportunity for us to “look instead for what God can do” (John 9:3, MSG), even and especially in the worst of the pain people can suffer!

Because Jesus healed “the man who had formerly been blind” on the Sabbath day, the religious people believed he had “broken” the Sabbath and therefore he must have been a “sinner” (John 9:16). They believed that following their “rules” about the Sabbath carefully and completely would act as a kind of magical protection from the suffering in the world. Because Jesus didn’t follow their rules about how to observe the Sabbath, he called into question their assumptions about God and the world. To keep their assurances intact they concluded that he must have been a sinner! Only if Jesus was a sinner could they keep their assumptions intact, assumptions that gave them false and shallow assurances that they would never have to deal with that kind of suffering. We still do that: we tell ourselves that if we follow all the rules, we’ll be spared from the worst hardships of life. And we reinforce that line of thinking by assuming those who suffer the worst must have “broken the rules,” and therefore they must be “sinners.” I would think that most of us have had enough experience with life to know that’s not the way life works. We can follow all the rules and still be hit with some of the worst kinds of suffering.

Again, in the Gospel story it was “the man who had formerly been blind” who exposed all these false assumptions. The religious leaders kept pressing him, trying to find a way to avoid the obvious conclusion that Jesus restored his sight. Finally, in exasperation they said, “Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner” (John 9:24). And an unlearned, marginalized, ragged, and dirty man, who just that morning had been living on the street, showed a depth of insight beyond all that they possessed. He said simply, “I do not know whether he is a sinner” (Jn 9:25). There’s probably a lot of wisdom in that when it comes to using the word “sinner” about someone else. But he said, “One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see” (Jn 9:25).

This man who had been blind was able to see the truth about Jesus. Those who claimed to see and know God’s truth were blinded by their false assumptions. That’s what the story is about. We see it in the end when Jesus makes an ironic and somewhat confusing statement about enabling those who are blind to see and making those who can see blind. The Message translation puts it this way, “I came into the world … , so that those who have never seen will see, and those who have made a great pretense of seeing will be exposed as blind” (John 9:39, MSG). I don’t think Jesus ever meant to keep anyone from seeing the truth about God, the truth about themselves, or the truth about life. I think what he was trying to do was to expose those who “make a great pretense of seeing” as people who can actually be blind. The story is about bringing to light something that happens all too often: those of us who think we see the truth about God and therefore view ourselves as “holier” than others are the ones who can at times be the most blind to God’s grace and mercy and compassion!

The hard truth about life is that we never know what we may have to go through. There are times when suffering just happens, not because of what we have done, but in spite of all we may have done. It’s natural in those times for us to look to our faith for comfort. But when we take that to an extreme and try to use our faith as an assurance that it won’t happen to us, we’ve missed something. Jesus made it clear that we’ve missed something when we use our “faith” to brand those who are suffering as “sinners” as a way of reassuring ourselves that we won’t have to suffer like them. What that really boils down to is an elaborate means of making ourselves feeling better at the expense of others. But Jesus framed the suffering people experience in this world entirely differently. He framed it as an opportunity for us to “look instead for what God can do” (John 9:3, MSG).

The Bible says that “nothing will be impossible for God.” We oftentimes think that some people may be beyond hope. And we tend to point the finger at them and assume that they must have done something to deserve it. It’s their fault somehow. But we really don’t know what life experiences have brought people to where they are. We really don’t know the burdens that people are carrying. I think that’s why Jesus taught his disciples and us to look at the suffering people experience not as a reason to point the finger and blame but as an opportunity to “look instead for what God can do.” Instead of shaming people, he challenged us to look for the good that God can do even and especially in the worst of human pain. After all, God raise Jesus from the dead after his suffering on the cross. If that’s true, what experience in this life is there that God can’t bring good from? And when look for what God can do when someone is suffering, not only does it change our whole perspective, but it also helps us to see that we have the opportunity to share God’s mercy and compassion with them. Maybe that’s what God “wants” to do. Maybe God wants to open our hearts to show kindness, compassion, and care, especially toward those whose suffering challenges us. I think Jesus challenges us to find the faith to look at the sufferings of this life and trust God enough to look for what God can do in any situation, come what may, and then try to join him in doing that.

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[1] © Alan Brehm 2026. A sermon delivered by Rev. Alan Brehm PhD on 3/15/2026 for Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

Windblown!

Windblown!

John 3:1-17[1]

We live in a place where the wind blows. It always has. Maybe in former days, before trees were planted more widely, it “blew” even more. Or at least it may have seemed like it. So much so that there are stories of early pioneers who were driven to madness by the constant blowing of the wind on the open prairie. These days, the wind can still be dangerous. Most of us remember the historic “derecho” storm that destroyed an almost 800-mile swath of crops in Iowa in 2020. More recently, and more locally, on a weekend when the weather was supposed to be calm, a storm brought down a lot of trees, some of them fairly large. We live in a place where the wind blows!

Like other aspects of the weather, we really can’t know the way the wind is going to blow on a given day until we see it. I learned that living on the Texas Gulf Coast, where we dealt with Hurricanes. The weather service had a five-day “cone of probability” for where the Hurricane would make landfall that was just about worthless because usually covered the whole Gulf Coast from Texas to Florida. Basically about 24 to 48 hours ahead of time we could get an idea of where the storm was going. That’s true here. Maybe the day before, we can see what seems to be happening. But really, we have to wait until the day to know what the weather is going to do. Is it going to snow this afternoon? We’ll have to wait and see.

Unfortunately, that unpredictability that exposes our trees and crops, not to mention our homes and gardens, to the risk of damage from a storm. That’s not something most of us relish. Unlike the people who originally settled here, we tend not to be great risk-takers. We want our lives to be safe and predictable. And we turn to our faith to provide us with that safe and predictable life. We want our faith to be something we can count on. So we take faith and turn it into a kind of certainty that I’m not sure it was ever meant to be.

At least that’s been the way some people approach faith. It’s “the Truth,” the one and only truth with a capital “T” that has been delivered “once for all” to the faithful (Cf. Jude 3!) and has been preserved intact throughout the centuries in an infallible Bible by an infallible church. Before we point the finger at other Christian traditions for this kind of thinking, we should look to our own roots. The Reformed confessions from the Sixteenth Century speak a similar language. It seems that the uncertainty and upheaval of the Protestant Reformation when people wanted certainty about their faith. They debated whether the Catholic tradition or the Protestant tradition had the “true” faith. They attacked each other back and forth about who had the true faith or who didn’t. One our Reformed confessions talks of faith as “a most certain apprehension of the truth of God.”[2] That doesn’t leave much room for doubt. And the Westminster Confession, which was the confession of faith of the Presbyterian Church for a long time, hardly even speaks the language of faith. It makes our faith all about knowledge and absolute truth and certainty.

It’s easy to understand why we look for this kind of certainty in our faith.  It’s comforting and reassuring to have something firm and unchangeable to hang onto with all that’s changing in our world. But I’m not sure that our faith was meant to be like that. I would say that the Bible speaks very differently about faith. Yes, there are times when the prophets and apostles spoke of faith as something firm that provides us with a sense of being grounded. But they also speak of faith as something we can’t always pin down into nice, neat packages.

Our gospel lesson for today is a great example. Jesus speaks about faith in a way that was so confusing to Nicodemus, who was one of the “teachers of Israel,” that he completely misunderstood. Jesus said, “you must be born from above,” but the way he said it could also be understood, “you must be born again.” And Nicodemus thought Jesus was talking about somehow physically climbing back into the womb. But Jesus was talking about a different kind of birth. In John’s Gospel it’s called being “born from God,” or “born from above,” or “born of the Spirit.” It’s talking about a birth that brings us a whole new kind of life from the Spirit of God.

That’s something that may be hard for us to grasp, because this life can so often feel “old” and familiar rather than new and unexpected. But that’s the way Jesus described the “life” he came to give all people. And Jesus said this new life works the way the wind blows. He said, “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes” (John 3:8). Now, Jesus wasn’t speaking about weather forecasting. Even with all the modern technology we have at our fingertips, sometimes a wind comes up suddenly, and you’re just as surprised and baffled as if you were living in the First Century. The new life that Jesus points us to, and the faith that opens the door to that new life, is just as much a mystery today as the wind still can be.

Because it is beyond our ability to understand, there is something inherently uncertain about what God is doing in our world to bring new life to us all. Like a sudden wind that takes us by surprise, the new life that God brings to us is something that can surprise us. Sometimes it can leave us feeling overwhelmed or even scared. When God’s Spirit blows into our lives, it’s not something we get to control. When we feel “out of control” we may find ourselves feeling vulnerable or even threatened. In those times, to be sure, our faith is like a lifeline that we hold onto. And there is much about our faith provides us with assurance, like the promise that God’s love for us never fails. But because our faith sometimes takes us to places we never expected to go, we may find ourselves in a situation where all we can do is fall on our knees and pray with all our hearts, “Lord, help me!”

If it’s true that God’s ways are as much higher than ours as “the heavens” are above the earth, then I think that means we will likely wonder, or question, or even doubt at times. I don’t think any of those responses to the unexpected nature of our lives is the opposite of faith. Rather, I would say that for me, those paths have led me to deeper faith! It’s natural for us to turn to our faith when life feels out of control. We all have favorite hymns, or Scripture verses, or prayers that give us the courage to face uncertain days. But we must not confuse assurance with absolute certainty. One of the main reasons for that is when our faith is something we view as absolutely certain, it becomes safe and predictable. And when our faith is safe and predictable, we can become complacent. I don’t think Jesus envisioned the new life he spoke about with Nicodemus on that night as something safe or predictable, or something about which we could ever become complacent!

Rather, our faith, and the new life it leads us to live, is always going to lead us out from the comfort of our safety and complacency. Jesus’ faith led him to the cross, and he said that it would be the same for all those who would follow him. If we’re going to take that risk of faith, if we’re going to let the wind of God’s Spirit blow new life into our lives, we’re going to have to expect that it’s not going to be safe and predictable. And rather than seeking safety or comfort, faith means opening up our hearts to the new life God brings by allowing ourselves to be changed. That’s how we experience faith, and that’s how we experience the new life Jesus promised to us all. It’s like being blown by the wind!

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[1] © Alan Brehm 2026. A sermon delivered by Rev. Alan Brehm PhD on 3/1/2026 for Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

[2] “Second Helvetic Confession,” The Book of Confessions 5.112.