Christmas Sunday 2025: Year A - The Universe Sings - Psalm 148
(The following was first preached at the 8th Street Church, Oklahoma City, USA)
Psalm 148
Before we read our scripture this morning, I want to say a word of welcome.
It’s Christmas Sunday, which means our kids are with us in worship today—and we’re really glad about that.
So this morning, this sermon is aimed at our kids. Adults, there are nuggets thrown in for you so you won’t feel left out. So I give you permission to lean in as well. 😏
Sometimes the best stories work on more than one level.
Kids hear one thing.
Adults hear another.
And the hope is that somehow, by the grace of God, everyone leaves with what they need.
Psalm 148 is one of those scriptures. It’s for everyone.
(Read Psalm 148)
A few weeks ago, I was having lunch with Phil Singleton, and somewhere in the middle of the conversation he said, “You know, ‘Life’s a Happy Song’ from The Muppet Movie is basically a praise and worship song.”
And the more he talked about it, the more I thought about it, the more I realized he might be right. So I’m going to play a clip of it, and I want you to judge for yourselves.
It’s not a song that pretends everything is fine.
It’s not a song that says life is always easy.
It’s a song that insists on looking at the world from a different perspective—and even though there might be some tough stuff, it sings anyway.
And I think that—right there—is what the Psalms do.
Phil’s right.
So kids, I want you to help me with something this morning.
When you hear the word “psalm,” don’t think “boring church poem.”
Think “song.”
Think “loud.”
Think “everyone joining in.”
Because Psalm 148 is one of those songs—and the perfect song to sing on Christmas Sunday.
THE TEXT: A VERY LOUD SONG
Psalm 148 doesn’t whisper.
It doesn’t tiptoe.
It doesn’t wait to see if you’re ready.
It just starts singing—and expects everything else to jump in.
Sun and moon.
Stars and sky.
Snow and clouds.
Lightning and wind.
Mountains and hills.
Fruit trees and cedars.
Wild animals and cattle.
Birds and bugs.
Kids and grandparents.
Even rulers and leaders—mentioned almost casually, like, “Oh yeah, you too.”
Which tells us something important.
Psalm 148 is not just about who’s in charge.
It’s about who belongs.
And according to this song: everyone—and everything God made—does.
THE PUNCHLINE (EARLY, CLEAR, KIND)
So here’s the big idea—the theological meat of this whole thing—and I want you to hear it early so you don’t miss it:
Christmas didn’t start a feeling.
Christmas started a song.
And the song never stopped.
And Christmas is God saying,
“You are not singing alone.”
That’s good news—for kids, for grown-ups, for people who are thrilled by the way their lives are going, and for people who are tired of trying to hold things together.
ADVENT ENDS, BUT THE SONG DOESN’T
We’ve just come through Advent—four weeks of waiting, hoping, lighting candles in the dark.
And then Luke tells us that when God finally shows up, it’s not with thunder or armies or fireworks.
God shows up in a baby named Jesus.
A baby who cries.
A baby who needs to be fed.
A baby who needs his diaper changed.
A baby who can’t even hold his own head up yet.
And the angels don’t go to kings to tell them this good news.
They go to shepherds—night-shift workers, out in a field, doing their job.
And they don’t say, “Brace yourselves.”
They say,
“Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy—for all people.”
Kids—did you hear that?
Not just for adults.
Not just for church people.
The good news is for everyone.
That’s not a small announcement.
That’s a universe-changing one.
Psalm 148 says creation heard that good news—and started singing back.
A STORY KIDS AND ADULTS BOTH KNOW
Have you ever been to a school program where little kids are singing?
Some sing every word loudly.
Some have terrible voices.
Some forget the words and just stand there.
Some wave at their parents like they’re in a parade.
I’ve been to hundreds of those concerts.
Is it perfect? No.
Is it beautiful? Yes.
No one is there because the music is flawless.
They’re there because the kids are singing.
Psalm 148 sounds a lot like that.
Creation doesn’t sing because it’s perfect.
Creation sings because it’s alive.
And the good news the angels sang was this:
when all seems lost, when there is no hope, God has decided to start something new.
CHRISTMAS IS ALREADY POINTING FORWARD
Now here’s something important.
Christmas only makes sense if we tell the truth about Good Friday and Easter.
Jesus didn’t come just to decorate the world.
He came to heal it.
Birth.
Life.
Death.
Resurrection.
One story.
One song.
The manger points toward the cross.
And the cross echoes with resurrection.
Which means Christmas joy isn’t pretend joy.
It’s brave joy.
It says:
“Even here.
Even now.
Even when things are hard—God is at work repairing what is broken.”
And that is something to sing about.
WHO GETS THE LAST WORD?
Psalm 148 even mentions rulers and leaders—but notice how quickly it moves on.
They don’t get a solo.
They don’t get the spotlight.
They’re just one voice in a massive choir.
Which is Scripture’s way of saying:
No one gets to silence the song.
Empires come and go.
This song lasts forever.
PRAISE IS NOT PRETENDING
Here’s something kids understand better than adults:
Praise is not pretending.
Singing doesn’t mean everything is okay.
It means you’re here—alive—and included in what God is doing.
Psalm 148 doesn’t ignore hard things.
It just refuses to let them be the loudest voice.
Praise is choosing who gets the microphone.
And Christmas says:
God’s love gets the microphone.
BACK TO THE MUPPETS
“Life’s a happy song
When there’s someone by your side to sing along.”
It doesn’t say life is always happy.
It says life becomes a song when people sing together.
That’s Psalm 148.
That’s Christmas.
Jesus didn’t come to make life instantly easy.
He came to step into the song—
to sing with us,
to carry the tune when we forget the words.
So that’s what we do.
Christmas makes us singing people—
whether we’re in tune or not,
whether we know the words or not.
So get in on creation’s praise.
And now, may you know that you are not singing alone.
May you hear the quiet, steady song of God’s love beneath the noise of your life.
May you find the courage to sing—
even when the words are hard,
even when the melody feels uncertain.
May you join your voice with all of creation—
with sun and sky, with wind and water,
with children and saints and strangers—
And may you know that the One born in the manger
still sings over you,
still walks beside you,
and will carry the song all the way to resurrection.
Go in peace—and sing.
