the gospel on repeat

While preparing to launch my new blog, I brainstormed what I would call it. When I asked my wife for suggestions she offered, “The Broken Record.” With raised eyebrow, I looked at her warily. What exactly, I asked, was she implying? Nothing, she replied, she just liked the sound of it. Understandably, I was hesitant about the connotations of such a name. And in the end, I chose not to use it. But it did spark some thought.

 

Am I playing the gospel on repeat?

 

I once heard it said that in every classic work of literature, one can find interwoven elements of the gospel. While I am skeptical about the breadth of that statement, the point nonetheless has merit. One only need consider works like Dickens’ “A Tale of Two Cities,” in which one man forfeits his life so another might live; Eliot’s “Silas Marner,” whose embittered title character is transformed by the hope and redemption he finds in a little child; Stevenson’s “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,” wherein a man is host to an all-out war between impulses of good and evil; Dumas’ “The Count of Monte Cristo,” an exploration of the themes of liberty and bondage, justice and injustice, revenge and forgiveness; or Shakespeare’s “Hamlet,” which testifies that the power of words can either inspire life or devastate entire nations.

 

One might rightly argue that “classics” such as these are defined by the quality of their writing. Yet their distinction is also found within the depth of their insight; the story they tell resonates with us because it speaks to our human condition. Is there any plot more epic, more stirring to the soul than the one in which right overcomes wrong, love triumphs, and hope, against all odds, thrives in that most desperate of circumstances? Restoration, mercy, sacrifice – these are the motifs which move us, because they are the trademarks of the Story.

 

Unfortunately, society has instilled within us an aversion to repetition (which is one of the supreme ironies of pop culture, by the way). We’re consumers of the latest fads, we follow trends, we become bored easily. Fashion, music, Hollywood, Madison Avenue – they all bow in reverence at the altar of innovation. But could it be that it is in constancy, not novelty, that meaning is found? Are we, in the endless pursuit of originality, robbing ourselves blind of the very thing we’re looking for? The soul – that which is eternal – can never be anchored by that which is, by its very nature, transient. Our hope cannot lie in being fashion forward or groundbreaking, no matter how much culture hails such adjectives.

 

Consider the words of the psalmist: "I will teach you hidden lessons from our past – stories we have heard and know, stories our ancestors handed down to us. We will not hide these truths from our children but will tell the next generation about the glorious deeds of the Lord… He commanded our ancestors to teach them to their children, so the next generation might know them – even the children not yet born – that they in turn might teach their children. So each generation can set its hope anew on God, remembering his glorious miracles and obeying his commands" (Psalm 78:2-7, NLT).

 

This is repetition at its finest. Not passing along stale leftovers and threadbare hand-me-downs, but imparting treasured stories that are as relevant today as the moment they were first spoken. Just as the classics were informed by gospel truths, so our lives should be graced by its golden threads. In so doing, we retell the story. And when that happens, we inspire the next generation to “set its hope anew on God.” Let us, dear friends, play the gospel on repeat for posterity’s sake.