Pilgrims used to sing Psalm 122 on their way to Jerusalem. Nowadays people go to New York for entertainment, to Rome for beauty, and to Paris for romance. In the biblical world, Jerusalem was the place to be. It was “the city of the Great King” (Psalm 48:2), where God was enthroned in the temple. At festival time, all the tribes of Israel would go up to Jerusalem to glorify God.

Starting when he was just a boy, Jesus joined the annual Passover pilgrimage. Can you picture him in the crowd? A smile stretches across his face as he sings this psalm. He’s anticipating the sights and sounds of the city. Jerusalem is the place to be.

As an adult, Jesus continued to visit Jerusalem regularly. Each of those visits seemed to stir up opposition. Eventually the city became a dangerous place for Jesus, a place to die. But that didn’t stop him. He still went up to Jerusalem one last time to celebrate the Passover. But that wasn’t the only reason.

Jesus also had several appointments to keep there: one with the ruling council, one with the Roman governor, and one with a cross. So, for Jesus, Jerusalem was the place to be. And that was for our benefit. So we can rejoice that he went up to Jerusalem.

We all have times when we choose our own way instead of God’s way. That’s when we need Psalm 130. This psalm is a prayer for personal forgiveness. “God, I really messed up this time! I can’t sleep because of my sins. So I keep watching for some sign that you forgive me.”

We all commit personal sins. But those sins don’t stand alone. Every personal sin is embedded within a larger web of sinfulness. That sinfulness infects families, orchestras, and baseball teams. It infects prisons and police departments, courtrooms and classrooms. It infects zoning laws, constitutions, and gang culture.

Psalm 130 reflects this bigger picture. It may start with personal sins, but it moves on to the sinfulness that has infected Israel as a nation. That sinfulness troubles Israel from their time of slavery in Egypt all the way to their exile in Babylon! Israel needs to be saved from this sinfulness. And there is only one hope. The psalm ends on that note: “[The Lord] himself will redeem Israel from all their sins” (v. 8).

The angel of the Lord speaks of this hope when he tells Mary what to name her baby. “Jesus” means “the Lord saves.” But not only will Jesus save Israel; he will also take away the sin of the world (John 1:29). And that includes me and you, personally.

Some people are risk-takers. They climb mountains. They fight fires. They have children. They follow Jesus. People may take a risk for the adrenaline rush. Or because something compels them: a principle, a duty, a commitment.

In today’s Scripture, the devil pushes Jesus to take a risk. While Jesus stands at the highest point of the temple, the devil whispers in his ear, “Go ahead. Jump off!” Then the devil recites a verse from Psalm 91. That psalm is all about God protecting the people who trust in him. So it’s a test for Jesus: “Do you trust God to protect you? Then prove it!”

Well, of course Jesus trusts God. But there is more to it than that. You see, it’s never right to say, “I’m going to do something foolish just to test God’s protection.” So Jesus tells the devil to take a leap—well, not exactly. He responds to the devil’s craftiness by quoting another text: “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”

Jesus is already in the middle of a bigger risk. He is facing off against the devil. And that is dangerous. Human beings have a lousy track record in those confrontations. But the Spirit has sent him into battle. So Jesus takes the risk and confronts the devil head-on. He does it with confidence, because he trusts God to protect him. With Psalm 91 to encourage him, Jesus doesn’t fall or fail.

Stress levels keep rising. At work, at school, even at home, the pressure is on. Productivity targets climb. Housing bubbles burst. Viruses run out of control. Who can calm down? Who can relax?

Well, maybe I can take a cue from Psalm 131 and not concern myself with things above my pay grade. Maybe I can imagine myself as a toddler snuggling against my mother’s warmth, the gentle rhythm of her breathing soothing me. Ahhh. Can I just stay here?

When Jesus was a toddler, he and his family were refugees in Egypt. What a lot they had experienced! Visits by smelly shepherds and stargazing foreigners. A close escape from Herod’s hit squad. And then months turning into years while they lived as strangers in a strange land.

Yet we can imagine Mary picking up Jesus and wrapping him in her arms. And we can imagine Jesus finding comfort from her warmth and her steady breathing. Out of place in Egypt, threatened back home—none of that was a concern for little Jesus, who rested quietly in his mother’s embrace.

The psalm and Jesus himself invite us to snuggle against the warmth of God’s presence, to rest in God’s embrace, to trust God when the pressure is on, to trust God like Jesus trusted his mother’s arms.

Some people are afraid of the dark. Who knows what’s hiding around the corner or down the stairs? On the Bible’s first page in Genesis 1, the world is a dark and scary place. Who knows what’s hiding in the unseen depths? Then God says, “Let there be light,” and puts darkness in its place (Genesis 1:3-4).

From Genesis 1 to Revelation 22, the Bible connects light close­ly with God. In Revelation 22, we learn that residents of the New Jerusalem won’t need lamps or even the sun because “the Lord God will give them light” (Revelation 22:5).

This connection between God and light shows up in the story of Jesus when a mysterious event changes his appearance. His face shines “like the sun,” and his clothes become “as white as the light” (Matthew 17:2). Amazing!

From multiple angles, the gospel writers seek to answer the question “Who is Jesus?” His shin­ing appearance sends a bright signal that Jesus is God, who “wraps himself in light as with a garment” (Psalm 104:2).

The world can still be a dark and scary place—and not just at night. But here’s some good news. Wherever the light of Jesus shines, it puts darkness in its place. And it helps us not to be afraid.

Psalm 101 doesn’t make me think of Jesus—not at first. The poet sounds proud of his personal holiness. He seems a bit full of himself. “I will be careful to lead a blameless life,” he says (v. 2).

From there, the poet expresses all the ways he will distance himself from people who don’t measure up to his standards. And it’s not just a passive distancing. He intends to drive unworthy people away (v. 8). And he will only exchange hospitality with people who are faithful, like himself (v. 6).

This is when I start thinking of Jesus. Because Jesus fills out the meaning of this psalm by turning it on its head.

The Pharisee in Luke 7 might well have had a special affection for Psalm 101. He certainly limited his hospitality. Apparently even Jesus didn’t measure up! The Pharisee provided no water to wash Jesus’ feet (v. 44), no kiss to greet him (v. 45), and no oil to anoint him (v. 46).

But Jesus welcomed tears and kisses and perfume from a woman who was considered unworthy. And when he offered the generous hospitality of forgiveness, it brought forth an outpouring of love from the woman.

Jesus, the blameless one, ministered not only to the woman but also to his proud host. Jesus’ way is the more excellent way.

Jesus was put to death on a Friday. And he rose from the dead on the following Sunday. The Bible tells us quite a bit about those two days, which we now call Good Friday and Easter Sunday. But what about the in-between day, Holy Saturday? The Bible says next to nothing about it.

That leaves us to wonder. What was going on with Jesus on Saturday? He was dead. His lifeless body lay in a stone tomb. We tend to assume that his spirit was now with God in heaven, or paradise, as Jesus implied while he was dying on the cross (Luke 23:43, 46). But we aren’t told anything more.

On Saturday, while Jesus’ body lay dead, was his spirit aware, even alert? I wonder if Psalm 13 drifted through his mind, as if to say, “Father, if you don’t open my eyes, I will sleep forever in death! If you don’t open my eyes, my enemies will have won!”

But the psalm doesn’t end there. It turns to focus on God’s love and salvation. Did Jesus’ spirit then also say, “But I trust in your unfailing love”? And as darkness surrendered to light on Sunday morning, did Jesus praise his Father with more words from this psalm: “My heart rejoices in your salvation”?

Maybe Jesus gives more meaning to this psalm than we have realized.

The voice of the Lord features prominently in the Bible, from “Let there be . . . !” in Genesis 1 to “I am coming soon!” in Revelation 22. Like any voice, the voice of the Lord can whisper or shout. In 1 Kings 19, a gentle voice consoles the prophet Elijah, whose spirit is in turmoil. Psalm 29 describes a roaring voice that rips forests apart.

The voice of the Lord speaks to Jesus when he is baptized. It says, “You are my Son, whom I love” (Mark 1:11). That’s an echo of Psalm 2 and Isaiah 42. And it assigns a destiny to Jesus. He will be a king who rules as a servant. Jesus embraces that destiny in obedient, faithful trust.

In Psalm 29 the powerful voice of the Lord breaks cedars in pieces, “twists the oaks,” and “strips the forests bare.” Following the voice that calls to him, Jesus himself will be stripped bare and twisted. He will be broken in pieces on a tree. Crowned with thorns, he will be God’s suffering servant, the Savior of the world.

The voice of the Lord still speaks. If we listen carefully, we can hear it. From the cross the voice of the Lord whispers, “This is what power looks like.”

West Michigan winters can be gloomy. By early January, we’re remembering the green of last spring, the warmth of last summer, and the blazing colors of last fall. Memories of bright days can help us to endure dark ones.

Psalm 77 is set during a dark time. But the memory of brighter days keeps hope alive. The brightest memory recalls Israel’s escape from slavery in Egypt hundreds of years earlier, and especially how God cleared a path for them through the waters of the Red Sea (vv. 16-18).

But there’s something else to that memory. The psalm says, in effect, “God, in those days we saw what you were doing for us. But we didn’t see you directly. The damp seabed didn’t show your footprints. We could only see Moses and Aaron leading the way like good shepherds” (see vv. 19-20).

Well, many years later, in the person of Jesus, God took on human flesh. Jesus, the Son of God, was visible—feet, hands, and all. He left footprints. When we look at Jesus, we can see God. We see God going before us, leading the way.

The path that Jesus follows leads to the darkness of death. But he doesn’t turn aside. He is our good shepherd. He lays down his life for us. And we can see his feet, and his hands, nailed to the cross. When we see that, we know he loves us, even on the darkest days.

From one angle, the Bible tells an exclusive story about one God (the Lord), one man (Abraham), one nation (Israel), one Savior (Jesus), one people (the church). And who doesn’t want to be part of something exclusive?

But exclusive can be uncomfortable. While we’re on the inside looking out, we may get queasy seeing people on the outside looking in. Unless we’re looking down on them.

There is another angle in the Bible, though. From this ­angle, it’s not just a “one nation (Israel)” story. Psalm 87, for example, celebrates God’s exclusive love for Zion, the heart of Israel. But then it also pictures God welcoming other nations and saying of them, “This one was born in Zion.”

This angle widens in the New Testament. In Matthew 2, Magi come from faraway nations to worship the child Jesus. In Matthew 28, Jesus sends out his followers with good news for all nations. And in Revelation 7 we see a vision of a vast multitude from “every nation, tribe, people and language” worshiping God in heaven.

The wide-angle view paints a wonderfully inclusive picture of God’s love. From this angle, the only thing exclusive is Jesus. He alone is the Lamb of God. And he takes away the sin of not just one nation but the whole world!