When Did We Stop Being Amazed by God?
There was probably a time when your faith felt new.
Maybe you were a child learning Bible stories for the first time.
Maybe you were older when you truly began to understand who God was.
Maybe you remember the first prayer you were certain He answered.
The first Scripture that seemed written specifically for you.
The first time you felt God’s presence so deeply that you didn’t have words for it.
There was wonder.
Awe.
Reverence.
And then…
we got familiar.
We learned the Scriptures.
We learned the songs.
We learned when to stand.
When to sit.
When to say amen.
We learned church language.
We learned how to pray beautifully.
And somewhere between knowing the stories and knowing all the right words…
sometimes we stopped being amazed.
Think about what we say we believe.
We believe God spoke…
and light appeared.
Not gradually.
Not because someone flipped a switch.
God said,
“Let there be light.”
And darkness obeyed.
We believe He formed humanity from dust and breathed life into it.
We believe He divided a sea.
Fed people in a wilderness.
Made walls fall.
Closed lions’ mouths.
Used shepherds, widows, fishermen, prisoners, outsiders and ordinary people to accomplish extraordinary things.
And then we get to Jesus.
We say it so casually sometimes:
Jesus walked on water.
Think about that.
Not beside it.
Not through shallow water.
On it.
He touched people society refused to touch.
He spoke to storms.
He opened blind eyes.
He fed thousands from a meal that shouldn’t have fed twelve.
He called a dead man out of a tomb.
And then…
He walked out of His own.
We have heard these stories so many times that sometimes we forget how absolutely astonishing they are.
Familiarity can make miracles sound ordinary.
We hear:
Jesus rose from the dead.
And say:
Amen.
But imagine standing outside that tomb.
Imagine watching the stone rolled away.
Imagine knowing you watched Him die…
and then hearing His voice again.
That’s not simply a Bible story.
That is the foundation of our faith.
Death did not get the final word.
And perhaps sometimes we need to encounter the Gospel again without acting as though we already know how the story ends.
But wonder isn’t only found in ancient miracles.
Look outside.
Really look.
The sun is approximately 93 million miles away, yet its warmth reaches your face.
Trees take what we breathe out and return what we need to breathe in.
Your heart has been beating all day without you reminding it.
Your body repairs itself while you sleep.
Seeds disappear beneath dirt and somehow know which direction is up.
The ocean knows where to stop.
Birds migrate thousands of miles.
Babies arrive knowing how to cry for what they need.
And every evening, the sky becomes a painting nobody commissioned.
We call these things nature.
And they are.
But perhaps familiarity has made creation ordinary too.
We ask God for big signs while standing inside one.
Life itself.
Breath.
Creation.
Consciousness.
Love.
The ability to remember yesterday and imagine tomorrow.
Maybe one of the spiritual disciplines we’ve neglected is simply wonder.
Not asking God for anything.
Not needing an answer.
Not bringing a list.
Just noticing Him.
When was the last time you prayed without requesting something?
That’s a question I’ve been sitting with.
Because prayer can easily become a transaction.
God, help me.
God, fix this.
God, open this door.
God, heal this person.
God, provide.
God, show me what to do.
And none of those prayers are wrong.
Jesus Himself taught us to ask.
But what about:
“God, You are magnificent.”
No request attached.
What about sitting quietly and realizing:
The God who created galaxies knows my name.
That should still do something to us.
Maybe we don’t need a new revelation.
Maybe we need fresh eyes for the revelation we’ve already received.
We don’t necessarily need another miracle to believe God is good.
Maybe we need to look again at the ones we’ve stopped noticing.
The prayer that was answered five years ago.
The thing you survived.
The door you once begged God to open that you’re now so accustomed to walking through that you’ve forgotten it was once locked.
The person you prayed for who is sitting across the table.
The provision that became normal.
The ordinary morning you once weren’t certain you’d live to see.
We can become so focused on what God hasn’t done yet that we stop being amazed by what He has already done.
And maybe gratitude begins there.
Scripture says:
“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.”
— Psalm 19:1
Creation is still preaching.
The question is whether we’re still listening.
Maybe today you don’t need another sermon.
Maybe you need to step outside.
Look up.
Watch the clouds move.
Feel the wind.
Notice the trees.
Watch the sunset.
Listen to a child laugh.
Put your hand over your heart and feel it beating.
And remember:
None of this had to exist.
Yet here we are.
Soulful Sunday
Faith should mature.
Our understanding should deepen.
Our theology should grow.
But I hope we never become so sophisticated in our faith that we lose our wonder.
I hope there is always something inside us that looks at God and whispers:
Wow.
Not because He gave us what we wanted.
Not because a prayer was answered exactly the way we hoped.
Not because something extraordinary happened today.
But simply because…
He is God.
Maybe that’s worship in its purest form.
Not:
God, look what You did for me.
But:
God, look at who You are.
So this Sunday, don’t just believe.
Be amazed again.
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