Verse 1

In the still of the night,
Heav’n’s glory shines;
Calling tribes, every tongue
Into Your light.
From the lost and the weak
To the strong and free,
You are gathering all
Into unity.
Your promise remains
For each land and race:
One family of nations
In Your house of grace.

Pre-Chorus

Verse 1

In the still of the night,
Heav’n’s glory shines;
Calling tribes, every tongue
Into Your light.
From the lost and the weak
To the strong and free,
You are gathering all
Into unity.
Your promise remains
For each land and race:
One family of nations
In Your house of grace.

Pre-Chorus

Verse 1

Should old acquaintances be forgotten,
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintances be forgotten,
And days of long ago?

Chorus

Verse 1

A child is born to us, the promise now revealed,
A Son is given, love has come, the glory is made real.
Upon His shoulders rest the weight of heaven’s plan,
The Word made flesh, Emmanuel, the Great I Am.

Chorus

Stanza 1 (Luke 2:29–32)

Sov’reign Lord, as You have promised,
Dismiss Your servant; grant him peace.
I have seen at last salvation,
Prepared for all, for ev’ry land—
A light to show the nations truth,
And Isr’el’s crown and glory bright.

Refrain

Fox News recently ran a headline claiming that Kylie Kelce “fires back at critics” for giving her daughters boy names. It’s a familiar formula: find something mundane — a celebrity, a family, a moment of normalcy — and frame it as a cultural controversy.

The Kelces’ “crime”? Naming their daughters Wyatt, Elliotte, Bennett, and Finn.

That’s it.

A recent episode of The Bryce Crawford Podcast — featuring trans influencer Ally — lit up corners of Christian and secular internet alike. The conversation was polite, emotional, and seemingly “balanced.” Bryce approached the topic as a Christian evangelist; Ally spoke with honesty about her experience of gender transition, faith, and rejection by religious communities.

If you scrolled through the comments, though, you saw two parallel universes:

One calling Bryce “bold for standing on truth,”

Verse 1

I’ve walked through the darkness, felt the weight of His hand,
Bones grown weary, hope like dust in my hand.
Chains ‘round my heart, prayers lost in the night,
Mocked by my people, no strength for the fight.

Chorus

Verse 1

Oh say can you see, through the body cam’s glare,
A clerk’s call to justice for some lukewarm beer.
She carried new life, but the shelves were more dear,
So they drew down their courage on cans of cheap cheer.

Chorus

In the 19th century, a pair of earnest men — Sylvester Graham and John Harvey Kellogg — set out to reform America’s soul, one bowl of cereal at a time.

They preached the gospel of blandness: plain food for pure living. Spices, wine, and meat were suspect; desire of any kind was dangerous. So they gave us Graham crackers and corn flakes — wholesome, sensible, and intentionally boring.

Their project was more than dietary. It was theological. Behind the breakfast was a fear: that joy, appetite, and the body itself might be gateways to sin.

When I first read the recent PJ Media column titled “It’s Time for Derek Chauvin’s Conviction to Be Overturned,” my instinct wasn’t outrage so much as vertigo. The piece presents itself as a factual reconsideration of one of the most consequential criminal cases in modern U.S. history — but beneath the surface, it’s an object lesson in how ideology, emotion, and selective evidence can distort both our media and our moral compass.

“I have always been convinced that George Floyd killed himself, overdosing on the fentanyl he swallowed to hide from the police.”

That sentence is the thesis of the column. It is not a statement of evidence; it’s a statement of belief. And belief, when presented as fact, is where media literacy begins to matter most.

Verse 1

Brothers, gather close, our numbers grow each week,
We’ve got twelve more lads and one new pastor’s tweet.
They say the faithful flourish — a holy upward trend!
But funny how the women left and never came again.

Chorus

Intro
Ay mira, mira…
I’m not the one to blame—
Ay mira, mira…
But I’ll dance around it all the same!

Verse 1

In the garden nice and quiet,
Apple shining on the ground,
God said, “Adam, what’s this chaos?”
And he spun himself around:

Verse 1

Headlines burn — fire in the sky.
Boats go down and nobody cries.
“Drug boats!” — yeah, that same old spin.
Pull the trigger, call it a win.

Pre-Chorus

Every few months a familiar debate resurfaces online: Was Jesus a refugee? Was He an immigrant? Is it appropriate to use those terms? What begins as a historical question usually devolves into a political one. But buried beneath the noise is a much deeper problem—a distortion of the most basic biblical ethic, one that has shaped how many Christians engage not only with immigration, but with the stranger, the foreigner, and even the vulnerable close to home.

The problem is simple to name and difficult to confess: many Christians today live as if “neighbor” comes with exceptions, even though the Bible never gave any.

The controversies around refugees, immigration, or “who deserves compassion” are not ultimately about labels. They are about whether we actually believe Jesus meant what He said.

Verse 1

I want to be desired by a woman who reads books,
Her mind has been farther than any place I’ve been.
She brings back her stories like feathers in her pockets,
And smiles as she scatters them softly on the wind.

Pre-Chorus

We often move through the world assuming we’re communicating, when in reality we’re only broadcasting. We talk about what we want, what we feel, what we fear, what we hope for. Our desires are familiar to us; they present themselves readily. So we speak them readily.

But turning the question around—asking someone else, “What do you want from me?”—that requires a different posture. It opens us to responsibility, to change, to the possibility that we might have to become more than what we currently are. Maybe that’s why we avoid it.

The avoidance shows up everywhere: in our relationships, in our writing, in our art, and yes, even in our spiritual lives. It’s a quiet pattern hiding in plain sight.

Verse 1

Let God arise—
Enemies scatter like smoke in the wind,
Wicked melt like wax in the fire,
But the righteous stand and sing.
Raise your voice to the One who rides the storm,
Father to the lost, shelter in the night,
He breaks the chains of the lonely and bound,
But the proud fade into dry ground.

Verse 2

Verse 1

Hear God’s taunt, you king of Babylon:
Your terror is broken and gone.
The earth is at rest and the people sing,
The forests breathe freely again.

Verse 2

Modern culture—especially in the West—teaches that adulthood means independence.
Get out on your own.
Stand on your own two feet.
Build your own life apart from your parents, your history, and often even your church.

And many Christians have read Genesis 2:24 through that same cultural lens, assuming that “leaving father and mother” means breaking ties in order to become fully self-sufficient.

But Scripture paints a much richer picture.