“For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.” (Job 19:25-26)
I’m in the middle of some home remodeling projects right now. The room has exposed studs where drywall used to be. There’s drywall dust on everything. Tools cover every surface. Drop cloths drape the furniture. Some days, I walk through and feel genuinely discouraged by the mess. It looks worse than when we started.
But I keep the vision in front of me. I have the drawings. I’ve seen the paint samples. I know what the finished product will look like. When I’m tempted to give up, I remember that torn-out walls are not the end of the story. They’re the necessary middle. The ruins are real, but they’re temporary. The vision keeps me going through the mess.
This is closer to biblical worship than we might think. The passages we’re exploring today show that God’s people worship in the ruins while keeping their eyes on what lies ahead. Not pretending the ruins aren’t real. Not waiting until everything is finished. But standing in the mess with the plans in hand, knowing that what’s coming is worth the current destruction. This is where most of us actually live, and it’s precisely where these texts meet us.
The Cry From the Ruins: Psalm 17
The psalm doesn’t hide anything. Enemies circle. Death threatens. The worshiper needs protection now. “Keep me as the apple of the eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings.” This is prayer from someone who knows they’re vulnerable, who can name what’s wrong without spiritual varnish.
What matters here is that this person brings the ruins into worship rather than leaving them at the door. The lament itself is worship. God doesn’t require us to arrive at church having already solved our problems or manufactured joy. Psalm 17 teaches us that honest crying out to God is itself an act of faith, because you only cry out to someone you believe is listening and able to help.
This psalm is where we enter. It gives us permission to start worship from wherever we actually are.
Hope Born in Devastation: Job 19:23-27a
Job speaks from a man who has lost everything. His children are dead. His body is rotting. His wife tells him to curse God and die. His friends insist his suffering must be punishment for sin. These are not metaphorical ruins.
And from this exact place, Job makes his declaration: “I know that my redeemer liveth.” Not “I hope” or “perhaps.” He knows. Then comes the word that changes everything: “yet in my flesh shall I see God.” The “yet” doesn’t erase the worms destroying his body. It doesn’t minimize the loss. The “yet” looks straight at death and claims something death cannot touch.
Job shows us that resurrection hope isn’t about denying present suffering but about seeing past it to what God has promised. The redeemer will stand on the earth. Job will see him with his own eyes. Death is real, but the redeemer is more real. This is worship in the ruins, speaking faith when circumstances scream otherwise.
God Meets Us in Small Beginnings: Haggai 2:1-9
The people have returned from exile to rebuild the temple. But anyone who saw Solomon’s temple knows this new one is pathetic by comparison. “Is it not in your eyes in comparison of it as nothing?” God doesn’t dispute their assessment. The ruins of their worship space are obvious.
But then God speaks: “Yet now be strong…for I am with you.” There’s that word again. Yet. The small temple is small, but that’s not the end of the story. “The glory of this latter house shall be greater than of the former.” Not through human effort or impressive architecture, but because “the desire of all nations shall come.”
Haggai connects to Job’s hope by showing that God doesn’t wait for perfect conditions to be present with his people. The pathetic temple becomes the place where greater glory will appear. This teaches us to worship and work in unimpressive circumstances because God is building toward something we can’t yet see. Our small beginnings don’t disqualify us from God’s presence or his promises.
The Reality Behind the Hope: Luke 20:27-38
The Sadducees think they’ve found a trap. If resurrection is real, whose wife will this woman be? Seven brothers married her. Jesus doesn’t get tangled in their scenario. Instead, he cuts to the foundation: “Now that the dead are raised, even Moses shewed at the bush, when he calleth the Lord the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.”
Then comes the statement that makes sense of everything before it: “For he is not a God of the dead, but of the living: for all live unto him.”
This is the answer to Job’s hope. This is why Haggai’s people can work in their disappointing temple. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob have been dead for centuries, their bodies long gone. But from God’s perspective, they are alive. Not will be alive someday. They live unto him right now.
This means when we worship in the ruins, we’re not hoping for something completely future. We’re aligning our vision with God’s vision, learning to see what he sees. The patriarchs live. Job’s redeemer stands. The greater glory is already present in God’s eternal view, breaking into time. Worship in the “yet” means living toward what God knows is already true.
Standing Firm in the In-Between: 2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17
Paul writes to a church confused about timing. When will Jesus return? The ruins around them include false teaching, persecution, and anxiety. Paul tells them not to be shaken, then describes troubles still to come before Christ’s return.
But notice what he does next. “But we are bound to give thanks alway to God for you, brethren beloved of the Lord.” In the middle of warning them about coming deception and tribulation, Paul pivots to thanksgiving and assurance. “Stand fast, and hold the traditions which ye have been taught.”
This is the church living in the “yet.” Ruins behind, ruins ahead, and the call to worship and stand firm right now. Paul connects all the earlier passages by showing us what worship looks like when you’re still waiting. You give thanks. You stand fast. You remember that God has chosen you for salvation and called you to obtain the glory of Jesus Christ. The resurrection isn’t just past (Jesus) or future (us). It’s the reality that shapes how we live today.
The ruins don’t disappear. The waiting doesn’t end. But we worship in the “yet” because “all live unto him,” and that includes us.
The Song of Those Who See: Psalm 145:1-5, 17-21
Now we arrive where worship in the “yet” leads us. “I will extol thee, my God, O king; and I will bless thy name for ever and ever. Every day will I bless thee.” This isn’t naive optimism. This is the voice of someone who has walked the path from Psalm 17 through Job’s ashes, through Haggai’s disappointing temple, through Jesus’s revelation, through Paul’s in-between existence.
The psalmist can say “The LORD preserveth all them that love him” because preservation doesn’t mean avoiding death. It means living unto God through death. “One generation shall praise thy works to another” because resurrection makes even death a transition rather than an ending.
This psalm isn’t the song you sing after you escape the ruins. It’s the song you sing while still in them, because you’ve learned to see with God’s eyes. The worship that begins with crying out for protection (Psalm 17) becomes the worship that declares God’s faithfulness (Psalm 145) not because circumstances changed but because understanding changed.
Living as Those Who See
Jesus models this pattern completely. He wept at Lazarus’s tomb. The ruin was real. Then he called Lazarus out, demonstrating that God is not the God of the dead but of the living. On the cross, Jesus entered the ultimate ruin, death itself. And he did it with words of worship on his lips, “Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.”
Following Jesus means we worship in the ruins without pretending they’re not ruins. We name our losses. We admit what’s broken. We don’t spiritualize away pain. But we also don’t let the ruins define reality. We live in the “yet” by looking at death and decay while confessing that our redeemer lives, that all live unto God, that the latter glory will exceed the former.
Practically, this changes how we approach Sunday morning. We don’t come to church only when life is going well. We bring our wheelchairs, our empty chairs, our disappointing circumstances, our fears about the future. We bring Psalm 17’s honesty. And then we learn to sing Psalm 145’s praise, not because we’ve fixed everything but because we’re learning to see what God sees.
This is worship in the “yet.” The ruins remain visible. The resurrection remains certain. And we stand in between, saying with Job, “yet in my flesh shall I see God,” and with Jesus, “all live unto him.”
Points to Ponder
- What “ruins” in your life do you try to hide or fix before you feel worthy to worship? How does Psalm 17 give you permission to bring them into your prayer?
- Job says “I know that my redeemer liveth” from his ash heap. What would it look like to speak resurrection hope in your most difficult circumstance without minimizing the difficulty?
- The second temple was visibly inferior to the first, yet God promised greater glory would come to it. Where in your life do you see small, unimpressive beginnings that you might be tempted to despise?
- Jesus says “all live unto him” right now, not just eventually. How does God’s eternal perspective change how you view your current struggles and losses?
- Paul tells the Thessalonians to “stand fast” while still waiting and facing trouble. What does standing fast look like in your life this week?
- The movement from Psalm 17 to Psalm 145 represents a journey from crying out to confident praise. Where are you in that journey right now? Is it okay to be honest about that?
A Prayer
Father, you are not the God of the dead but of the living. Teach us to worship in the “yet” of our lives, in the space between ruin and resurrection. We bring you our losses, our fears, our disappointments. We don’t know how to fix them, and we’re tired of pretending they don’t hurt.
Yet we know our redeemer lives. Yet you promise that the latter glory will exceed the former. Yet you tell us that even those who seem most dead to us are alive unto you. Help us see what you see. Help us speak faith when circumstances argue against it. Help us stand fast when everything seems to be shaking.
We ask this through Jesus Christ, who entered death and came out the other side, who shows us that worship in ruins is not foolishness but the truest sight of all. Let our mouths speak your praise, not because everything is fixed, but because you are who you say you are. Amen.
“For he is not a God of the dead, but of the living: for all live unto him.” (Luke 20:38)
Josh Cehulik 