Tag Archives: new year’s eve

New Year’s Eve 2025

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I don’t know about you, but the older I get, the more New Year’s Eve loses its luster. It feels less like a party and more like a bedtime challenge. Can I make it to midnight? Can I even make it past 9:30? I think William Vaughn said it best, “Youth is when you’re allowed to stay up late on New Year’s Eve. Middle age is when you’re forced to.”

For the record, I stopped trying for midnight years ago, especially with a worship service in the morning. Still, the moment has never been lost on me. New Year’s Eve—the day itself—has always been a moment to pause. It can be sort of a held breath between what was and what will be, if only we’ll take the opportunity to consider it. Right now, I’m sitting at my dining room table. Even with a quick glance around the room, I’m reminded of just how quickly things can change.

For example, right across from where I’m sitting, a poster-sized photo hangs on the wall. Jennifer snapped the picture. Essentially, she captured a moment we can never revisit.

The photo was taken on a beautiful, sun-washed day at a beachside restaurant near Lemon Bay, Florida—one we visited with some relatively newfound friends at the time who knew the place and loved it. In the image, there’s a wooden post planted in the sand with forty or so signs nailed to it, each pointing somewhere else—cities across the United States, and a few beyond its borders, all measured in miles from that very spot. A bird is perched on one of the top signs, palled by a nearby palm tree’s shadow. It’s as if the bird’s deciding which of the cities he’ll choose to visit next. The sky is bright blue, interrupted only by a handful of clouds. Everything about the picture feels calm, steady, and permanent.

But permanence is a lie we tell ourselves when the sun is shining and things are easy. Hurricane Ian erased everything in that photo back in 2022. The sign, the restaurant, the familiar stretch of beach, it was all pretty much gone overnight. It was reduced to ocean-soaked debris and memory.

That said, I can promise you, the Thoma family loves the image all the more, if only because everything in it is gone. In a way, it’s not just a photograph for us anymore. It’s a reminder that certain moments don’t ask our permission before they become history. We will never stand there again. We will never see that post in the sand exactly as it was. We’ll never be able to visit that restaurant and relive that moment.

New Year’s Eve has a way of turning our attention toward that same kind of truth. We look back at the year behind us and realize how much of it has vanished without much ceremony. I think of my dear Christian friend, Alex Bak, who died just before Christmas. We had recent conversations together that I never suspected would be our last. Like the signs near the beachfront restaurant, I lived as though Alex would always be there. I just assumed I’d always see Alex sitting in his same pew near the post on the pulpit side of the church’s nave. Indeed, plenty of other things have happened all around me that felt ordinary at the time but now feel sacred because they’re gone.

I suppose the point I’m trying to make is that time moves forward with or without my consent. The clock ticks with absolute indifference to my nostalgia.

But I have an upper hand on the clock’s cruelty. As a Christian, I know Christ is present in every moment. “Behold,” He said, “I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20).

Everything we love in this world is fragile. I’ve been known to say from the pulpit from time to time that everything has an expiration date. Everything is subject to wind, water, decay, and time. But the thing is, Christ stands right in the middle of the storms. He’s a fixed anchor right in the middle of all our victories and losses. He’s unshaken and unchanging. He does not promise that the signposts will remain standing. He doesn’t promise that the forthcoming year and its moments will be gentle. But He does promise Himself. And with that promise comes the impenetrable truth of a kingdom that cannot be washed away, grasped by a hope-filled strength that does not weaken or erode.

So as 2025 becomes 2026, just as I won’t cling to the misapprehension that I can stay up until midnight, I won’t hold to the illusion that the coming year will somehow be free from struggle or loss. Time has cured me of that naiveté. There will be storms I didn’t see coming, moments I assumed would last that didn’t, and conversations I didn’t realize were final until they already were. But those potential realities are not hollow or hopeless when viewed through the lens of the Gospel. The calendar can change all it wants. Christ remains the same—yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8).

Indeed, the world may lose its landmarks. Favorite places and moments may disappear into the Gulf, maybe even becoming portraits on our dining room walls. But in the middle of all of it, the cross still stands, unmoved by this world’s winds and waves, untouched by time’s inevitable erosion. And that’s enough for me. I have everything I need in Jesus, which means I’ll have everything I need in 2026. My prayer is that He’ll be enough for you in the new year, too.

By the way, if your church doesn’t offer a New Year’s Eve service, stop by Our Savior Evangelical Lutheran Church in Hartland, Michigan. Ours is at 4:30 pm. For the record, I’ve never met anyone who was disappointed they went to church on New Year’s Eve.

New Year’s Eve 2024

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Truth be told, it’s been years since Jennifer and I have stayed up until midnight on New Year’s Eve. I’ll take the blame for that. I’m usually spent by 9 PM, no matter what day it is. Although, on New Year’s Eve, I have been known to survive until 10:00 PM, but that’s only because I practiced the week before with the 10:00 PM Christmas Eve service. Either way, the hours I’m actually awake on New Year’s Eve are well spent. Once we get home from evening worship, like most folks, we spend precious time together as a family. Among other things, we play games and eat snacks. And, wow, do we eat! I love those crisply baked bacon-wrapped chestnuts and the miniature sausages slathered in sweetened barbeque sauce. Jennifer usually makes both. I am blessed. Of course, the snacks are nice, but the better blessing is our togetherness.

The days before Christmas, Madeline asked me more than once what I wanted as a gift. She wanted to make sure to get just the right thing for her dad. I was no help. Each time she asked, I told her I didn’t know. But actually, I did. It’s just that my answer would’ve sounded syrupy. Really, the only thing I want, no matter what day of the year it might be, is to be with them—to sit back and listen to them talking and laughing and enjoying one another’s company. That’s a gift enough for me. And to unwrap it, no matter when during the year it’s happening, is to mingle a silent prayer of thanksgiving to God, the gift’s true giver.

New Year’s Eve has the potential for a similar prayer.

Tonight, the world races toward the year’s final chime. I suppose for many, the hours before midnight form a unique crossroad. We stand, one foot planted firmly in the closing chapters of the past while the other steps into the uncertain expanse of tomorrow. This can be a precarious, almost bipolar, place to stand. When I say this, I speak from experience.

At the edge of one year becoming the next, there is the temptation to think backward to bygone days. The older I get, the more I think about when Jennifer and I were younger, and our kids were little. Those days seem so far away, and the in-between space is so easily filled with thoughts that the best days have passed. Simultaneously, New Year’s Eve nudges me onto my tiptoes. I look up and over its horizon toward the unknown. As I do, my sin-nature prompts concern. What’s coming my way? What does the future hold for me, for my family, for you, for our nation, for our world?

If left to myself, in a sense, the New Year’s Eve countdown can sometimes feel a little more like the moments before a ticking time bomb reaches 0:00.

But I’m a Christian, and there’s something I know. While the surrounding world counts down to midnight, for me, time begins to blur a little at the new year, especially if I’m observing it as I should—which is through a Gospel lens. Yes, the calendar is changing. Yes, a new year is beginning. However, I know by faith in Christ that God has already gathered up my past, present, and future into the arms of His love. The death of Jesus Christ was the hour of hours. Paul said as much in Romans 13:11 when he wrote, “Besides this, you know the time, that the hour has come for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed.” The word he uses for “time” is καιρόν (kairon). That’s not the word for sequential time. It’s a word referring to a season marked by a moment of critical importance.

We know what that critical moment was. It was the death of God’s Son for sinners. Born from that moment, Christians exist in faith’s season leading toward salvation—eternal life. Now, standing at every New Year’s crossroads, there is the confidence that sequential time and all its happenings are held by the One who is eternal. Jesus Christ—the same yesterday, today, and forever—is the anchor of a Christian’s life story, and we know He can be trusted to write every forthcoming chapter.

My prayer for you tonight is that New Year’s Eve will be an opportunity, not for wishing for days past or fearing what lies ahead, but for resting in the steadfastness of God’s continued love. I hope that it’ll be a chance for you to remember that each new year, like each new day, is a gift wrapped in His mercies, which are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23).

With that, don’t forget about our New Year’s Eve service today at 4:30 PM. If your church is not offering a worship service, feel free to stop by and join us here at Our Savior. One attendee or two hundred, we wouldn’t think of starting a new year any other way. (By the way, we offer a service tomorrow, too. That one is at 10:00 AM.) Again, we’re located at 13667 Highland Road, Hartland, MI 48353. I hope you can make it. God will certainly make it worth your while, being sure to situate you with the timeless assurance that in Christ, all things are made new—not just at the turning of a calendar page, but every remaining moment of your mortal life until the life to come.

New Year’s Eve, 2023

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What I’m about to share happened while waiting in line at the Ace Hardware near my home a few days before Christmas. Jennifer and I stopped there for some miscellaneous items. Essentially, the visit went as follows:

Finishing the sale and handing the man in sleep pants his receipt, the youthful cashier said with a smile, “Thanks for coming in. And Merry Christmas.”

His trajectory already toward the door, the man stopped mid-stride and turned back, pausing long enough to stir concern among us for what he might say.

“Ma’am,” he started, “thanks for saying that.” But before relief could form in any of us, he continued, “You know, I’m so G*# D@*%ed tired of people saying ‘Happy Holidays’! It’s Christmas, for cryin’ out loud! People need to stop with the ‘Happy Holidays’ %*@# and say ‘Merry Christmas’!”

Nodding to the elderly woman in line behind him as if expecting her agreement, he looked back to the cashier. “Keep it up,” he said, walking backward toward the door. “You’re doin’ God’s work.”

Forcing her smile, the cashier replied, “Thanks again,” followed by an equally strained, “Merry Christmas.”

The elderly woman was visibly bothered. And why wouldn’t she be? She comes from a strange and alien land by comparison. Where she’s from, they don’t speak that way to one another, let alone adorn Christmas in vernacular sludge. I’m an inhabitant of a similar land, often considering myself a part-time resident of the 21st century. In many ways, I only visit out of necessity. I said as much to the woman in line.

“I’m not from that man’s world.”

She knew what I meant, responding, “Me either.”

Before I go any further, it might surprise you that I’m skipping over the man’s vocabulary choices. That seems too easy. You already know that his defense of “Merry Christmas” was an obnoxious contradiction in terms (Romans 12:1-2). Instead, I prefer to approach the event from a less obvious angle: the man’s sleep pants.

For starters, I know that 21st-century culture prides itself on self-pleasing individualism. That pride sometimes produces a desire to buck the system. Admittedly, bucking the system is sometimes required. But that’s not necessarily self-pleasing individualism. It can sometimes be a response born from the knowledge of right and wrong. God’s Law is written on our hearts (2 Corinthians 3:3), and if a person digs deeply enough, he’ll know when to abide and when to push back. Examining the strata, he’ll also discover that societies have their written and unwritten rules. It might not seem all that important, but I’m pretty sure an unwritten rule common to most is that what a person wears to bed is not what he or she should wear in public. The rule has little to do with what a person may or may not find most comfortable. Instead, it deals with liberty’s responsibility, namely, one’s role relative to context and the people in it.

No, sleep pants in specific public settings aren’t inherently wrong. A person wrestling with illness might be found wearing them at a doctor’s office. But that same person, healthy or sick, would not wear them to a court appearance or wedding.

Why?

Most normal folks don’t need to be told the answer, which proves the unspoken rule—the innate standard that fosters and preserves dignity, resulting in mutual respect. In its simplest and most broad-sweeping form, it knows that a society of conscientious and dignified citizens makes life better for everyone. More precisely, it understands that personal liberty does not mean a person is free to do whatever he or she wants. Liberty comes with responsibility. A society of citizens who think they can be, do, and say anything they want without consequence is doomed to act in ridiculous and contradictory ways. It’ll end up insisting that men can be women and women can be men, and it’ll expect everyone to agree. On the road toward doom, it will have increased its production and acceptability of crass scenarios like the one in Ace Hardware. That was a snapshot of the confused self-centeredness that acts without any concern for the people around it, that paradoxically slathers the dignified greeting “Merry Christmas” with the foulest words any world’s vocabulary can afford and then, unsurprisingly, nods to others, expecting them to praise its irreverence as noble.

What foolishness.

A new year begins tomorrow. An online friend shared the following quotation: “Every year, you resolve to change yourself. This year, resolve to be yourself.” I don’t know who spoke those words initially, but I disagree. I don’t want to settle for being myself. I want to be better than myself. This isn’t only for my benefit but for yours, too.

I’ve written plenty about how New Year’s resolutions are a good practice. Every year, I attempt to make personal changes. I do this because I know myself. I know I’m incredibly flawed. And so, by faith, I’m less inclined to remain settled in these flaws. I want to fight them (Galatians 5:16-18). I want to be better. I want to reach higher, just as Saint Paul encouraged: “If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth” (Colossians 3:1-4).

However, remember: “Whoever walks with the wise becomes wise, but the companion of fools will suffer harm” (Proverbs 13:20). In other words, to change, sometimes one’s surroundings must first be changed.

Thinking about the man at Ace Hardware, if I could make a resolution for him, it would be to spend a little time each day with citizens of the alien worlds owned by the elderly woman behind him in line. I’d have him binge-watch I Love Lucy or Bonanza instead of the drivel on Netflix. Or better yet, I’d send him to Dickens and Twain, to Austen and Fitzgerald. I’d send him to places where men respected shop clerks and the elderly, where men were women’s protectors, where language mattered, and so on. I’d send him to those distant realms for a few moments each day of the forthcoming year.

I don’t know what the effects might be. Still, it couldn’t hurt. I know someone who once spent a year in England and returned with the hint of a British accent and afternoon tea as routine. We become that in which we immerse ourselves.

Since we’re talking about it, how about this for a New Year’s resolution?

If you’re a Christian who’s been apart from your church family for a while, imagine how you’ve changed since you’ve been away. Now, imagine the benefits of returning. Imagine the eternal value of regular visits with the Gospel of Christ’s wonderful forgiveness. By extension, I’ll bet it wouldn’t be long before certain tendencies were traded away as strangely foreign. Receiving a steady diet of Christ’s forgiveness (which God’s Word promises will produce fruits of faithfulness [Galatians 5:22-23]), a person is bound to stumble into agreement with Saint Paul’s instruction to “not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Romans 12:2). That same person will likely align with Paul’s instruction to “stand firm and hold to the traditions that you were taught by us, either by our spoken word or by our letter” (2 Thessalonians 2:15), and to “let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear” (Ephesians 4:29).

Who knows? Either way, it’s worth considering. And may I suggest giving it a try in the New Year?