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Today's reading
December 17, 2025
Genesis 2:7; Psalm 65:2-3,6-13
Man is indelibly connected to the ground. In our world of supermarkets, food-delivery apps, and drive-through meals, this truth is easy to overlook. But the first man was red earth spun beneath the fingers of God.
“And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground,
and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life;
and man became a living being.”
Genesis 2:7 (NKJV)
Beneath all our modern accoutrements, humanity is still dust and breath—earth shaped by God and animated by His Spirit. We are icons standing on our corner of the universe: living, breathing reminders of what God is like.
It is no wonder, then, that the earth’s well-being is inextricably linked to our own. For most of our human history, pestilence was read as a sign that something was wrong between God and His people; abundance was received as a gift of favor; and the grandeur of creation sang into the human heart the glory and power of God.
This dynamic is at play as David writes the 65th psalm. Though the exact occasion is unknown, many scholars see Psalms 65–68 as harvest psalms—songs celebrating a land restored, fields overflowing, and creation joining redeemed Israel in praise.
“Praise is awaiting You, O God, in Zion;
And to You the vow shall be performed.”
In this opening salvo, a powerful truth is unlocked when we look a little deeper. When David writes that “praise is awaiting,” he is speaking of silence—a hushed, reverent stillness in God’s people as they stand before Him. This simple phrase denotes that the anticipation and expectation of God IS worship. Then David arrives at the source of this silent praise:
“O You who hear prayer,
To You all flesh will come.
Iniquities prevail against me;
As for our transgressions,
You will provide atonement for them.”
(vv. 2–3)
As a nation, this song captures Israel’s reliance on God for redemption. Only God could provide true atonement for their sins. Only He could absorb the heavy blows of human depravity and return goodness to those who had struck Him. As Levites led the congregation in these words, hope would swell with the realization that there is a God in heaven who hears His people and leads them into repentance and renewal. These truths acted as a balm—sealing their insecurities and calming their anxieties as assurance rose within them.
They proclaimed that a God who hears and forgives is their confidence and hope. He is their safe place.
And as their song crescendos, nature’s song joins in, augmenting the potency of the spiritual truths they have just confessed:
“You established the mountains by Your strength…
You still the noise of the seas…
You make the outgoings of the morning and evening rejoice…
You water the earth…
You crown the year with Your goodness…
The valleys shout for joy, they also sing.”
(vv. 6–13)
Here, two truths—often held apart—become one.
The God who is powerful enough to provide salvation and renewal to the heart of man is the same God who renews the ground beneath his feet. The forgiveness in verses 1–4 and the flourishing in verses 9–13 are not separate gifts; they are one movement of grace. When God draws near to His people, the world itself begins to heal.
Israel sang this psalm at harvest because the abundance around them was not merely agricultural—
it was theological.
Rain was mercy falling on His people.
Grain was His provision for mankind.
Hills clothed in joy were the smile of God over His children.
In Psalm 65, creation becomes a teacher, a witness, and a choir. The mountains preach His strength. The seas proclaim His authority over chaos. The mornings and evenings shout for joy. The valleys don garments of grain. All of nature becomes a liturgy echoing the truth Israel has just confessed:
the God who forgives is the God who restores.
And as this solemn selah of silent praise fortified the nation, those who sang it could never have imagined the prophecy hidden on their lips.
Indeed, God does provide atonement during harvest.
As autumn settled in, Joseph and Mary began their journey to Bethlehem to participate in a census. As they walked, Mary carried with her the promised atonement of God—Jesus.
Advent is the season when we remember that God once stepped into the dust we were formed from, took on the breath He once gave us, and entered the world not as rain on a field but as a child in a manger. The first Advent was God drawing near to atone for our sins; the second Advent will be God drawing near to restore creation itself.
Between those two comings, we live in Psalm 65’s tension—
forgiven, but still waiting;
welcomed near, but longing for fullness;
hearing creation groan, yet knowing it will one day sing.
Psalm 65 gives our waiting a shape:
a forgiven people, standing in silent awe before God, watching the world slowly awaken with the
beginnings of new creation.
And so our spirits rest in silent assurance that:
God crowns His creation with goodness.
Jesus is the atonement God promised.
We can rest in God’s care and Christ’s salvation.