Trust. Trust. Trust.

Psalm 115 belongs to a cycle of psalms that Jewish families have sung at Passover for thousands of years. Which means that on the night of the Last Supper — the night before his crucifixion — Jesus and his disciples would have sung this psalm together.

I find that image almost unbearable in the best possible way.

Jesus knew what was coming. And yet there he was, around the table with his closest friends, singing words he had known since childhood:

O Israel, trust in the Lord. O house of Aaron, trust in the Lord. All you who fear — trust in the Lord.

Trust. Trust. Trust.

The cross was not taken away. The suffering was not avoided. Whatever comfort those words offered, it was not the comfort of an easy road ahead.

And yet he sang the psalms anyway. Which tells me something about what trust actually is. Not the absence of fear. Not the guarantee of a good outcome. Not certainty about what comes next. Just the quiet, stubborn choice to hold on — to keep singing the ancient words even when the night is very dark and morning feels very far away.

Whatever you are facing today — the psalm that Jesus sang the night before the worst day of his life is still being sung. You are not the first person to need those words. And you will not be the last.

Trust in the Lord. Trust. Trust.

Prayer: Lord Jesus, you sang words of trust on the night before the cross. Teach us that same faith — not the faith that demands easy answers, but the faith that keeps singing even in the dark. We trust you. Even now. Amen.

‍