I’ve officially hit the age where new music no longer interests me. We already have enough.
I’m not alone. Research suggests we prefer the music of our childhood. Specifically, we especially remember the songs we knew at the age of 14. Eighth grade! Yeesh—our musical memory comes right next to puberty, acne, peer pressure, and algebra. Song lyrics are probably the only thing worth remembering from that year.
You probably recall junior high jams.
For those born in 1950, the soundtrack of age 14 was Pretty Woman, I Want to Hold Your Hand, and Everybody Loves Somebody. If you were born in 1970, it was What’s Love Got to Do with It, Footloose, and Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. By 2000, it was Counting Stars, All of Me, and Shake It Off.
We might love the old songs, but we need new songs. In the Bible, the phrase new song shows up as a glimpse of God’s grace in times of struggle. It represents hope: “Sing to the Lord a new song… Declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous works among all the peoples!” (Ps. 96:1-3)
But churches often get stuck singing the same old songs:
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“We can’t find enough volunteers.”
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“If we just hired one more person…”
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“I’m fine with the decision; I just don’t like how it was handled.”
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“They need to communicate better.”
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“If we only had more space.”
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“Whose idea was this?”
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“Would somebody step up and lead?!”
It’s the same old song. The church’s playlist is on repeat more than Mariah Carey at Christmas—and more tired than a volunteer after their first lock-in.
What’s the solution?
Singing.
Seriously.
I love the part in Romans where Paul wrestles with the biggest crisis in the New Testament—how Jews and Gentiles fit together in God’s scheme of redemption—and then breaks out in song:
O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!
How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!
“For who has known the mind of the Lord?
Or who has been his counselor?”
“Or who has given a gift to him,
to receive a gift in return?”
For from him and through him and to him are all things.
To him be the glory forever. Amen.
Step aside, Simon and McCartney—this Paul isn’t too shabby with lyrics either.
He weaves Isaiah into a doxology that reminds us of God’s creation, mercy, and ultimate redemption. Then, after singing, he clears his throat and teaches a timeless theology of worship:
“Present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship” (Rom. 12:1).
The first thing that must change is us. We make the sacrifice. No one else will begin singing a new song until we have first learned the words by heart. That means full submission to God’s will—trusting that he is in charge, and this is not about us being in control.
But Paul tells us something even more: through this act of worship we learn God’s will. It’s not that we know God’s will and then start worshiping. Instead, we worship so that we may “discern what is the will of God” (Rom. 12:2).
We often think that making decisions is the first step to meaningful worship.
Paul says meaningful worship is the first step to making decisions.
We think strategy produces transformation.
Paul says worship produces transformation.
So if your church needs a new song, start by singing. Start with worship. Sit close to one another. Pray. Confess sins. Break bread. Quote Scripture. Share burdens. Cry and laugh. Carry one another’s sorrows.
This is what produces a transformed church—a living sacrifice.
And that church won’t be stuck on repeat. It will be singing a new song. And that song will go on forever.
Did you really want to be singing Roy Orbison for eternity, anyway?
“Sing to the Lord a new song… Declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous works among all the peoples!” (Ps. 96:1-3)
