The Voice of God

A Reflection on the Psalm for October 2nd, 2022:
​Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

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Psalm 95

R. O that today you would listen to the voice of the Lord. Do not harden your hearts!

O come, let us sing to the Lord; let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation! Let us come into his presence with thanks-giving; let us make a joyful noise to him with songs of praise! 

R. O that today you would listen to the voice of the Lord. Do not harden your hearts!

O come, let us worship and bow down, let us kneel before the Lord, our Maker! For he is our God, and we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand.

R. O that today you would listen to the voice of the Lord. Do not harden your hearts!

O that today you would listen to his voice! Do not harden your hearts, as at Meribah, as on the day at Massah in the wilderness, when your ancestors tested me, and put me to the proof, though they had seen my work.

R. O that today you would listen to the voice of the Lord. Do not harden your hearts!

Where is His voice? 
How can I hear Him?

I walk. I breathe. Look around. Listen.


In my dog’s hopeful gaze, I hear Him speak of reliance, and His gifts of trust and surrender.

As my doctor advocates for my family’s health, I hear His assurance of protection.

Laying my head on the shoulder of a consoling friend, He espouses me to His compassion.

With the breaking sound of a baby’s cry in church, He reminds me of the gift of family.

As the woodpecker feeds at my tree, I hear His promise of provision.

The bees gathering pocketfuls of pollen recite, “He is always gathering hearts to Himself.”

The softness in a flower gone to seed is His covenant of new life.

The balmy summer breeze gingerly breathes His gentleness.

The easy giggle of my sister gives voice to His everlasting joy.

When my children plead injustice, I hear His desire for peace.

As the waves wash and shape the sands, He talks to me about forgiveness.

The blessing of a spiritual mother pours His wisdom over me.

A thick fog rolling in restricts my vision, but in it He reveals His omniscience.

Flowers from a thoughtful friend convey His presence in beauty.

As a new leaf sprouts from a branch, He encourages my interior growth.

In the persistent demands of motherhood, He reminds me of His patience with me.

A single candle burning in the night whispers His endowment of hope.


My life — all that I have and all I look forward to — is a sequence of notes in a song He has sung to me; a gift of extravagant measure. A simple song of grace.




Lori MacDonald​

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