Chuck Larsen

Psalm 67 is often called a “Missionary Psalm,” and it earns that name honestly. It begins with a prayer that sounds very familiar: “May God be gracious to us and bless us and make his face to shine upon us, Selah…” Then it answers its own question about why we ask for such blessings: “…that your way may be known on earth, your saving power among all nations.” This echoes the priestly blessing from Numbers chapter 6, where Aaron was instructed to say, “The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace.” These words were not spoken in a quiet corner for private comfort. They were given to a people about to live among unbelievers, carrying the light of God into a world that did not yet know Him. The blessing was never meant to stop with them; it was meant to shine through them.

That idea challenges how we often think about blessing. We tend to treat it like a personal delivery service, expecting God to drop off comfort, success, or a smooth day with no traffic. I say that carefully, because I have prayed that exact kind of prayer more times than I can count, especially when I am running late and suddenly become very spiritual at stoplights. Yet Psalm 67 reminds us that blessing is not only about what we receive, but about what others see. As Boice explains, “A shining face is the opposite of an angry or scowling face, and a face turned toward someone is the opposite of a face turned away in indifference or disgust.” A shining face speaks of favor and warm relationship. When God’s favor rests on His people, it creates something visible. It is not just a better set of circumstances; it is a changed countenance, a different way of living that quietly points others toward Him. The true desire is not simply for physical gain, but for a living connection with God that others cannot ignore.

This finds its fullest meaning in Jesus. The New Testament shows that God’s shining face is revealed in Him. Paul writes, “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” (2 Corinthians 4:6). The blessing is no longer distant or abstract; it is personal and present. Through Christ, believers experience that same grace and are called to reflect it. Jesus Himself said, “You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden” (Matthew 5:14). The purpose remains the same as in Psalm 67: that God’s way may be known on earth. What Jeremiah once expressed still holds true: “Let not the wise man boast in his wisdom… but let him who boasts boast in this, that he understands and knows me.” In Christ, that knowledge becomes both a gift received and a light that quietly shines outward.

Who can come into the presence of the Lord? The Bible answers that question with striking clarity. When we come to God in prayer, we must have clean hands and a pure heart. It explains why our prayers sometimes seem to bounce back as though they have struck an iron sky. The Psalmist praises God for hearing his prayer and then admits, “If I had cherished iniquity in my heart, the Lord would not have listened.” Then he adds with relief, “But truly God has listened; he has attended to the voice of my prayer.” Scripture consistently brings the focus inward. Psalm 24 asks, “Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord? And who shall stand in his holy place? He who has clean hands and a pure heart.” Christianity has always been a matter of the heart, not merely outward performance.

That truth settles uncomfortably close to home. It is far easier to tidy up appearances than to deal with what is hidden beneath the surface. A person can smile on Sunday, speak kindly in public, and still wrestle with a heart that clings to stubborn habits. Paul told Timothy, “The aim of our charge is love that issues from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith,” and later urged him to “pursue righteousness, faith, love, and peace… from a pure heart.” Peter echoes the same call: “Love one another earnestly from a pure heart.” Real change does not come from rearranging schedules or improving systems. As Max Lucado observed, “the heart of the matter is and always will be, the matter of the heart.” Left to ourselves, we tend to polish the outside while quietly ignoring the inside, which is a bit like washing a car while the engine is still smoking.

This is where the message of Jesus meets us with both honesty and hope. The New Testament does not soften the diagnosis. “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). Yet it also declares the remedy: “the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin” (1 John 1:7). Repentance begins by acknowledging what is true about us and admitting that we cannot repair it on our own. Jesus said, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God” (Matthew 5:8), not as a demand we must achieve alone, but as a promise fulfilled through Him. What can wash away my sin? Nothing but the blood of Jesus. Through Him, what we could never clean, God makes clean.

In David’s prayer for protection, he gives us a phrase that exposes the true condition of every human life: “For the inward mind and heart of a man are deep!” That depth is not a compliment. It is a warning. Jeremiah 17:9 adds, “The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately sick; who can understand it?” David understood that the real problem was not merely the enemy outside him but the struggle within him. After his own failure, he prayed, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” Sin is not something that simply brushes up against us from the outside. It lives inside us. Jesus confirmed this truth when He said, “What comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart… For out of the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false witness, slander” (Matthew 15:18-19). The issue, then, is not cosmetic but deeply rooted.

That truth explains a great deal about daily life, including why good intentions often collapse before lunchtime. The Bible sometimes tells us to learn from animals. Solomon points to the ant and others as teachers. Consider the worm. It appears to burrow into an apple from the outside, but it actually begins inside. An insect lays an egg in the blossom, and later the worm hatches at the core and eats its way outward. Sin behaves in a similar way. It starts quietly in the heart and then works its way into thoughts, words, and actions. We may blame circumstances, other people, or even the calendar, as if Tuesday were personally responsible for our attitude, but the deeper issue remains within. Left alone, the problem does not stay contained. It grows, often at inconvenient times, such as during conversations we wish we could rewind.

The New Covenant speaks directly to this inner condition and offers what we cannot produce ourselves. God promises in Ezekiel 36:26-27, “I will give you a new heart and a new spirit I will put within you.” This promise finds its fulfillment in Jesus. The New Testament declares, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation” (2 Corinthians 5:17). Jesus does not merely trim the branches; He addresses the root. By His death and resurrection, He deals with the sin within us, paying its penalty and breaking its power. As Scripture says, “The blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin” (1 John 1:7). Without Him, the condition remains unchanged. With Him, the heart that once deceived and failed can be made new.

When the storms of life rage around us, we instinctively look for shelter. Daily life carries its share of surprises, and not all of them are pleasant. The Psalmists understood this tension well. King David, who faced dangers both seen and unseen, found his stability not in circumstances but in his relationship with God. In moments of fear, he cried out, “Let me take refuge under the shelter of your wings!” That image is both tender and strong. It suggests nearness, protection, and quiet confidence. David knew that as long as he remained close to God, he could rest, even when life refused to cooperate. The storms did not disappear, but his sense of security remained steady.

That picture still speaks clearly to daily life. We often try to build our own shelters through planning, control, or sheer determination. There is nothing wrong with planning, of course, but it tends to unravel about the time we begin to feel confident in it. A sudden phone call, an unexpected expense, or even a conversation that goes sideways can remind us how fragile our sense of control really is. The deeper issue may not be the storm itself but our reluctance to admit that we need covering. Jesus described this reluctance when He said, “How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” (Luke 13:34). There is something in us that prefers to stand in the rain rather than admit we need help, even when we are already soaked.

The message of Jesus brings this truth into full light. He does not merely describe the shelter; He provides it. Through His life, death, and resurrection, He offers a refuge that reaches deeper than circumstances. The New Testament reminds us, “Cast all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). That care is not distant or theoretical. It is personal. The hymn writer William Cushing captured this beautifully after his own season of loss: “Under His wings, I am safely abiding; though the night deepens and tempests are wild, still I can trust Him.” His words echo the promise found in Christ. “The Lord is faithful. He will establish you and guard you” (2 Thessalonians 3:3). In Him, the soul finds a place where storms may still rage, but fear no longer rules.

In Job 35:10, Job speaks of God as “my Maker, who gives songs in the night.” That phrase captures something deeply human. Life does not always wait for daylight to bring its troubles. Yet even in the dark, God gives a song. David understood this rhythm well. In Psalm 59 he declares, “I will sing aloud of your steadfast love in the morning.” Night and morning, sorrow and joy, fear and confidence, all find their voice in praise. The same God who steadies us in the shadows is worthy of song when the sun rises. These songs are not polished performances. They are honest expressions from hearts that have learned, sometimes slowly, that God remains faithful through every hour.

That truth works its way into ordinary life in surprising ways. Consider John Newton, a sailor whose speech was known more for storms than for songs. His language was rough, filled with constant profanity, and the name of Jesus was often used carelessly and without reverence. Then something changed. He became a Christian, later a pastor, and eventually a songwriter. The mouth that once overflowed with cursing began to overflow with praise. He wrote, “How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me,” and also these lesser known lines: “How sweet the name of Jesus sounds in a believer’s ear! It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds, and drives away his fear.” It is remarkable how the same tongue can move from complaint to blessing. Many of us have discovered that our words can travel that same road, sometimes within the same afternoon.

The change Newton experienced points directly to the work of Jesus. The New Testament speaks of this transformation in clear terms: “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation” (2 Corinthians 5:17). Jesus does not merely adjust behavior; He renews the heart, and the words begin to follow. As Scripture says, “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks” (Matthew 12:34). The name that was once spoken in vain becomes a source of comfort and joy. Newton’s song reflects what many have found to be true: “Jesus, my Shepherd, Brother, Friend… accept the praise I bring.” The God who gives songs in the night also gives new hearts that can sing them, morning and evening, through every season of life.