Carols, Chaos, and a King Who Is Still in Control

Palms 93: 1-5

The Lord reigns, he is robed in majesty; the Lord is robed in majesty and armed with strength; indeed, the world is established, firm and secure. 2 Your throne was established long ago; you are from all eternity. 3 The seas have lifted up, Lord, the seas have lifted up their voice; the seas have lifted up their pounding waves. 4 Mightier than the thunder of the great waters, mightier than the breakers of the sea— the Lord on high is mighty. 5 Your statutes, Lord, stand firm; holiness adorns your house for endless days.

Christmas has a way of sneaking up on us.

One moment, the streets are glowing with fairy lights and shop windows are dressed in gold and red. The next, we are knee deep in memories. Some are joyful. Some are complicated. Some we would rather not unwrap at all. Christmas carries laughter and carols, but it also carries empty chairs, quiet worries, and questions we thought we had settled long ago.

It is into that very mix of light and shadow that Psalm 93 speaks.

This psalm was born out of one of the darkest chapters in Israel’s story, the Babylonian captivity. For God’s people, it was unthinkable. How could they, the people of a powerful and faithful God, be conquered by a pagan empire? Their world collapsed overnight. Faith was shaken. Hope felt fragile. And the question that echoed through their prayers was painfully familiar: why, God, why?

That question has not aged.

Many of us know what it is like to have our faith rattled by life. A diagnosis we never expected. Dementia slowly stealing someone we love. Bereavement, divorce, betrayal, or the quiet ache of disappointment that never quite goes away. These moments do not arrive politely. They crash in, like waves, leaving us confused and asking whether God is really in control after all.

Psalm 93 does not deny that chaos exists. Instead, it lifts our eyes above it.

When the Israelites sang this psalm, they were on their way home from exile. Jerusalem awaited them, but without a king, without power, without certainty. And yet they were not afraid. Why? Because they had rediscovered something captivity had nearly stolen from them: God is King. Not just in Israel. Not just when life makes sense. But everywhere. Even in Babylon.

This psalm makes it clear that God was never a small, tribal deity. He was sovereign over Israel and Babylon alike. Their return home was living proof that a loving God rules over all creation and can even bend the plans of empires to serve his purposes.

The language of the psalm is striking. The psalmist talks about floods, roaring seas, and mighty waves. In the ancient world, the sea symbolised chaos and threat. It was everything humans could not control. Sickness, war, hunger, injustice, captivity. All of it rolled together in those crashing waters.

And yet, over all of it, God reigns.

The waves can roar. The floods can rise. But God is not shaken. He is robed in majesty. His throne is established forever. He is greater than the noise, stronger than the storm, and unmoved by the chaos that so often overwhelms us.

That truth has become deeply personal for me.

I think of the story told about the missionary Stanley Jones, who once found himself lost in an African jungle. Confused and desperate, he asked a local man for directions. The man paused, then simply said, “Follow me.” Hours passed. There was no visible path. Anxiety grew. Finally, Stanley asked, “Are you sure this is the way? I can’t see a path.” The reply came calmly: “In this place, there is no path. I am the path.”

Life often feels like that jungle. We look for clear routes, simple answers, and visible signs. Instead, we are invited to trust the One who says, “I am the way.”

Trusting God does not mean pretending we are not afraid. It means admitting we are, and choosing to follow anyway.

Thinking of God as the supreme King gives me peace in my own storms. Not a shallow peace that ignores reality, but a deep, steady calm that allows me to sleep even when questions remain unanswered. It is the peace Paul describes, the kind that surpasses understanding. Not because life suddenly makes sense, but because I know who holds it.

The Bible says God works all things together for good for those who love him. That does not mean all things are good. The Israelites never imagined captivity would be part of their story. Bad things do happen to good people. But the presence of evil has never convinced me that God is absent. In fact, the fact that I am still here convinces me that he is not.

If it had not been the Lord who was on my side, when people turned against me, when sickness stood in my way, when trust was broken and I was left alone, I would not have survived. Not because I had control, but because God had not let go.

That is why I face the future with confidence. Not because I expect a trouble free life, but because I know I will not face it alone.

This is where Christmas gently steps into the psalm.

I recently read about King James V of Scotland, who would sometimes remove his royal robes and walk among his people dressed as an ordinary man. He listened. He noticed their struggles. He shared their burdens. That image feels wonderfully close to the heart of Christmas.

Because that is exactly what Jesus did.

The King of Kings set aside his glory and stepped into our world. He did not explain away suffering. He did not magically remove it. He entered it. Lived it. Carried it. A line I once read has stayed with me: Christ did not come to do away with suffering, nor to explain it, but to fill it with his presence.

When the disciples were fearful and confused, Jesus did not erase their pain. He offered them peace. Not the fragile peace the world gives, but his own. A peace strong enough to face the world as it is.

Following Christ does not make us immune to the storms. The waves will still rise. The noise will still be loud. But we have nothing to fear, because the One who reigns over the sea lives within us.

This Christmas, as lights flicker and carols play, some of us will be carrying heavy hearts. If that is you, know this: the King is with you. In the chaos. In the questions. In the waiting. He is still sovereign. Still loving. Still reigning over the angry waves.

And those who trust in him truly have nothing to fear.

God Bless you