#3 Holy Wit – Reflections
(WW – Wisdom and Worship – Psalm 92; Psalm 145)
Scripture References: Psalm 92:1–5; Psalm 145:1–6
There was an older farmer I knew years ago who had the unsettling habit of talking to his cows.
Not occasionally.
Constantly.
Every morning before daylight he would head out to the barn in chore boots that looked as though they had personally survived several wars. Coffee thermos in one hand. Feed bucket in the other. And from somewhere in the darkness you would hear him carrying on full conversations with livestock.
“Well now, settle down there, Margaret.”
“You’re acting like you haven’t eaten since the Truman administration.”
“You girls are moodier than a church potluck committee.”
And the cows, for reasons known only to cows, seemed perfectly content with the arrangement.
Now the thing I remember most was not actually the conversations. It was the singing.
Because somewhere between pouring feed and hauling hay, this old farmer sang hymns.
Not professionally. Not especially on key either, if we’re being completely honest before the Lord.
But constantly.
“How Great Thou Art.”
“Great Is Thy Faithfulness.”
“Blessed Assurance.”
The barn became a kind of low-budget sanctuary held together by nails, mud, and tractor parts.
At the time I assumed this was simply an old rural eccentricity, like chewing toothpicks or distrusting all modern thermostats.
But looking back, I think Psalm 92 explains people like him.
“It is good to give thanks to the LORD.”
Not merely proper.
Good.
Modern people tend to think of praise as emotional overflow — something that happens spontaneously during unusually inspiring moments. But the Psalms describe praise more like spiritual nutrition. Something healthy. Necessary. Formative.
And perhaps older believers understand this better than younger ones because life eventually teaches you that the human mind drifts naturally toward worry the way shopping carts drift toward parked cars.
Left unattended, the soul slides.
Toward complaint.
Toward fear.
Toward irritation.
Toward endless mental rehearsals of everything currently wrong with civilization, family, weather patterns, politics, cholesterol numbers, and the suspicious new noise coming from the truck engine.
So the Psalms repeatedly call believers back into deliberate worship.
Morning and evening, Psalm 92 says.
“Every day,” Psalm 145 says.
Not because God forgets who He is overnight and needs periodic reminders from nervous Christians.
Because we forget.
Human beings are forgetful creatures.
Yesterday’s answered prayer becomes today’s fresh panic. The Lord carries us through one impossible season and by Thursday afternoon we are already behaving as though the universe has slipped free from His supervision entirely.
The Psalms fight that drift relentlessly.
They drag the wandering soul back into remembrance.
“His faithfulness every night.”
That line grows heavier the longer one lives.
Because eventually you realize God’s faithfulness is not theoretical. It is cumulative.
You look back and see decades of provision you barely noticed while rushing through them. Prayers answered slowly. Deliverances that arrived quietly. Protection you only recognized years later.
And somehow praise becomes less theatrical and more steady.
Less fireworks.
More foundation.
That old farmer likely never imagined himself a theologian. But every hymn in that barn was quietly shaping his heart. Repetition was forming him.
That is one of the great truths underneath Psalm 145: human beings become shaped by whatever regularly occupies their attention.
If a person spends every day marinating in outrage, panic, envy, and endless digital noise, those things eventually carve channels into the soul.
But worship shapes people too.
Regular praise steadies the mind.
It reminds us that God remains glorious even while the world behaves like a shopping cart with one bad wheel pulling violently toward the ditch.
And perhaps that is one reason the Psalms speak so often about daily praise rather than occasional praise.
Because worship was never meant to be emergency equipment pulled out only during catastrophe.
It was meant to become rhythm.
Habit.
Orientation.
A way of walking through the world remembering continuously that the Lord is still faithful, still sovereign, still worthy of praise.
Even in muddy barns.
Even in weary seasons.
Even when the singing is somewhat offensively off-key.
Especially then.
#HolyWitBibleStudy #GordonMcGinnis #WWWisdomAndWorship #Psalm92
(WW – Wisdom and Worship – Psalm 92; Psalm 145)
Scripture References: Psalm 92:1–5; Psalm 145:1–6
There was an older farmer I knew years ago who had the unsettling habit of talking to his cows.
Not occasionally.
Constantly.
Every morning before daylight he would head out to the barn in chore boots that looked as though they had personally survived several wars. Coffee thermos in one hand. Feed bucket in the other. And from somewhere in the darkness you would hear him carrying on full conversations with livestock.
“Well now, settle down there, Margaret.”
“You’re acting like you haven’t eaten since the Truman administration.”
“You girls are moodier than a church potluck committee.”
And the cows, for reasons known only to cows, seemed perfectly content with the arrangement.
Now the thing I remember most was not actually the conversations. It was the singing.
Because somewhere between pouring feed and hauling hay, this old farmer sang hymns.
Not professionally. Not especially on key either, if we’re being completely honest before the Lord.
But constantly.
“How Great Thou Art.”
“Great Is Thy Faithfulness.”
“Blessed Assurance.”
The barn became a kind of low-budget sanctuary held together by nails, mud, and tractor parts.
At the time I assumed this was simply an old rural eccentricity, like chewing toothpicks or distrusting all modern thermostats.
But looking back, I think Psalm 92 explains people like him.
“It is good to give thanks to the LORD.”
Not merely proper.
Good.
Modern people tend to think of praise as emotional overflow — something that happens spontaneously during unusually inspiring moments. But the Psalms describe praise more like spiritual nutrition. Something healthy. Necessary. Formative.
And perhaps older believers understand this better than younger ones because life eventually teaches you that the human mind drifts naturally toward worry the way shopping carts drift toward parked cars.
Left unattended, the soul slides.
Toward complaint.
Toward fear.
Toward irritation.
Toward endless mental rehearsals of everything currently wrong with civilization, family, weather patterns, politics, cholesterol numbers, and the suspicious new noise coming from the truck engine.
So the Psalms repeatedly call believers back into deliberate worship.
Morning and evening, Psalm 92 says.
“Every day,” Psalm 145 says.
Not because God forgets who He is overnight and needs periodic reminders from nervous Christians.
Because we forget.
Human beings are forgetful creatures.
Yesterday’s answered prayer becomes today’s fresh panic. The Lord carries us through one impossible season and by Thursday afternoon we are already behaving as though the universe has slipped free from His supervision entirely.
The Psalms fight that drift relentlessly.
They drag the wandering soul back into remembrance.
“His faithfulness every night.”
That line grows heavier the longer one lives.
Because eventually you realize God’s faithfulness is not theoretical. It is cumulative.
You look back and see decades of provision you barely noticed while rushing through them. Prayers answered slowly. Deliverances that arrived quietly. Protection you only recognized years later.
And somehow praise becomes less theatrical and more steady.
Less fireworks.
More foundation.
That old farmer likely never imagined himself a theologian. But every hymn in that barn was quietly shaping his heart. Repetition was forming him.
That is one of the great truths underneath Psalm 145: human beings become shaped by whatever regularly occupies their attention.
If a person spends every day marinating in outrage, panic, envy, and endless digital noise, those things eventually carve channels into the soul.
But worship shapes people too.
Regular praise steadies the mind.
It reminds us that God remains glorious even while the world behaves like a shopping cart with one bad wheel pulling violently toward the ditch.
And perhaps that is one reason the Psalms speak so often about daily praise rather than occasional praise.
Because worship was never meant to be emergency equipment pulled out only during catastrophe.
It was meant to become rhythm.
Habit.
Orientation.
A way of walking through the world remembering continuously that the Lord is still faithful, still sovereign, still worthy of praise.
Even in muddy barns.
Even in weary seasons.
Even when the singing is somewhat offensively off-key.
Especially then.
#HolyWitBibleStudy #GordonMcGinnis #WWWisdomAndWorship #Psalm92
#3 Holy Wit – Reflections
(WW – Wisdom and Worship – Psalm 92; Psalm 145)
Scripture References: Psalm 92:1–5; Psalm 145:1–6
There was an older farmer I knew years ago who had the unsettling habit of talking to his cows.
Not occasionally.
Constantly.
Every morning before daylight he would head out to the barn in chore boots that looked as though they had personally survived several wars. Coffee thermos in one hand. Feed bucket in the other. And from somewhere in the darkness you would hear him carrying on full conversations with livestock.
“Well now, settle down there, Margaret.”
“You’re acting like you haven’t eaten since the Truman administration.”
“You girls are moodier than a church potluck committee.”
And the cows, for reasons known only to cows, seemed perfectly content with the arrangement.
Now the thing I remember most was not actually the conversations. It was the singing.
Because somewhere between pouring feed and hauling hay, this old farmer sang hymns.
Not professionally. Not especially on key either, if we’re being completely honest before the Lord.
But constantly.
“How Great Thou Art.”
“Great Is Thy Faithfulness.”
“Blessed Assurance.”
The barn became a kind of low-budget sanctuary held together by nails, mud, and tractor parts.
At the time I assumed this was simply an old rural eccentricity, like chewing toothpicks or distrusting all modern thermostats.
But looking back, I think Psalm 92 explains people like him.
“It is good to give thanks to the LORD.”
Not merely proper.
Good.
Modern people tend to think of praise as emotional overflow — something that happens spontaneously during unusually inspiring moments. But the Psalms describe praise more like spiritual nutrition. Something healthy. Necessary. Formative.
And perhaps older believers understand this better than younger ones because life eventually teaches you that the human mind drifts naturally toward worry the way shopping carts drift toward parked cars.
Left unattended, the soul slides.
Toward complaint.
Toward fear.
Toward irritation.
Toward endless mental rehearsals of everything currently wrong with civilization, family, weather patterns, politics, cholesterol numbers, and the suspicious new noise coming from the truck engine.
So the Psalms repeatedly call believers back into deliberate worship.
Morning and evening, Psalm 92 says.
“Every day,” Psalm 145 says.
Not because God forgets who He is overnight and needs periodic reminders from nervous Christians.
Because we forget.
Human beings are forgetful creatures.
Yesterday’s answered prayer becomes today’s fresh panic. The Lord carries us through one impossible season and by Thursday afternoon we are already behaving as though the universe has slipped free from His supervision entirely.
The Psalms fight that drift relentlessly.
They drag the wandering soul back into remembrance.
“His faithfulness every night.”
That line grows heavier the longer one lives.
Because eventually you realize God’s faithfulness is not theoretical. It is cumulative.
You look back and see decades of provision you barely noticed while rushing through them. Prayers answered slowly. Deliverances that arrived quietly. Protection you only recognized years later.
And somehow praise becomes less theatrical and more steady.
Less fireworks.
More foundation.
That old farmer likely never imagined himself a theologian. But every hymn in that barn was quietly shaping his heart. Repetition was forming him.
That is one of the great truths underneath Psalm 145: human beings become shaped by whatever regularly occupies their attention.
If a person spends every day marinating in outrage, panic, envy, and endless digital noise, those things eventually carve channels into the soul.
But worship shapes people too.
Regular praise steadies the mind.
It reminds us that God remains glorious even while the world behaves like a shopping cart with one bad wheel pulling violently toward the ditch.
And perhaps that is one reason the Psalms speak so often about daily praise rather than occasional praise.
Because worship was never meant to be emergency equipment pulled out only during catastrophe.
It was meant to become rhythm.
Habit.
Orientation.
A way of walking through the world remembering continuously that the Lord is still faithful, still sovereign, still worthy of praise.
Even in muddy barns.
Even in weary seasons.
Even when the singing is somewhat offensively off-key.
Especially then.
#HolyWitBibleStudy #GordonMcGinnis #WWWisdomAndWorship #Psalm92
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