A New Song
Jeremiah 31:7–8, 13–14
The new year often arrives quietly, almost shyly, after the noise and exhaustion of the holidays. Yet through the prophet Jeremiah, God invites the people to begin again not with strategies or resolutions, but with a song. “Sing aloud with gladness for Jacob… shout and raise songs of joy.” This is not a song sung by people who have everything figured out. It is sung by the weary, the scattered, the wounded—by the blind and the lame, by those who have been far from home.
In the Wesleyan tradition, grace always precedes us. John Wesley believed God’s prevenient grace is already at work long before we are aware of it—calling us, healing us, gathering us. Jeremiah’s vision is one of a God who does not wait for perfection before offering restoration. God gathers first, heals first, rejoices first. The song comes not because the people are strong, but because God is faithful.
As we return to our Wesleyan roots this year, we are reminded that the church’s song is not one of nostalgia or triumphalism, but of grace made visible in community. Wesley insisted that faith is personal, but never private. God’s promise here is communal: “I will turn their mourning into joy.” Not just yours. Not just mine. Ours.
The new song God gives us is one of hope rooted in holiness—not a distant, unreachable holiness, but a life shaped by love, mercy, and justice. As the year begins, God invites us to listen for that song again. To sing it not because the world is as it should be, but because God is still gathering, still restoring, still satisfying the weary with goodness.
A New Adoption
Ephesians 1:3–6
At the heart of Wesleyan theology is a bold and beautiful claim: we are not merely forgiven; we are adopted. Paul tells the church in Ephesus that before the foundations of the world, God chose us in love, destined us for adoption through Jesus Christ. This is not a cold legal transaction—it is a relational transformation.
John Wesley preached often about assurance—the deep, steady confidence that we belong to God. Adoption is the language of belonging. In Christ, we are welcomed into God’s household, named and claimed as beloved children. This is grace that justifies us and grace that begins to sanctify us, shaping us into people who reflect the family resemblance.
As a church returning to its Wesleyan roots, this matters deeply. Wesley believed that knowing we are God’s children changes how we live. Adoption forms our identity, and identity shapes our discipleship. We do not practice faith in order to earn God’s love; we practice faith because we already live within it.
This new year, we remember that adoption is both gift and calling. We are blessed “with every spiritual blessing” not for our own sake alone, but so that our lives might be lived “to the praise of God’s glorious grace.” To be adopted is to be drawn into God’s ongoing work of love in the world—welcoming the outsider, caring for the vulnerable, and building communities of grace.
The good news for the year ahead is this: no matter what comes, we begin not as strangers, but as family. Rooted in grace. Held in love. Sent to live as children of God together.
A New Life
John 1:1–5
John begins his Gospel not with a manger or a genealogy, but with a mystery: “In the beginning was the Word.” This Word—Christ himself—is the source of all life, the light that shines in the darkness. And the darkness, John assures us, does not overcome it.
Wesley believed deeply in the possibility of new life—not only in eternity, but here and now. Salvation, for Wesley, was not just rescue from sin, but restoration to wholeness. The light of Christ brings life that renews hearts, reforms habits, and reshapes communities. This is the heart of Wesleyan holiness: life made new by love.
As we return to our Wesleyan roots, we remember that faith is meant to be lived, practiced, embodied. New life in Christ is not abstract. It shows up in works of mercy and acts of piety, in prayer and service, in personal devotion and social responsibility. The same Word who called creation into being is still speaking life into places of despair and division.
The new year does not promise an absence of darkness. But it does promise the presence of light. Christ is still the Word through whom life comes, still the light that no darkness can extinguish. As we step into this year together, we do so trusting that God is not finished with us—that new life is still possible, still unfolding, still offered freely.
May this be a year where we live that new life boldly, rooted in grace, shaped by love, and committed to walking together in the light of Christ.