Psalms and Lent (5): Psalm 1, Tell your story

Psalms and Lent (5): Psalm 1, Tell your story

Good morning, Church.

We live in a world where storm warnings come fast and frequent—tornado alerts, flash floods, high winds. But while these physical storms can be terrifying, they also remind us of something deeper: life itself brings storms. Emotional storms, financial stress, broken relationships, and faith-shaking trials can sweep in without warning.

Pastor Cho shares a story about his son, Won, who chose to stay home from his internship in Nashville due to a tornado warning. His wisdom was affirmed as storms later devastated multiple areas, flattening homes and displacing families. These scenes are sobering reminders of how fast life can change.

The greatest mistake in a storm, the pastor notes from a safety article, is disregarding the warning. Spiritually, we often do the same. We think, “It won’t come here,” or “I can handle it,” only to be swept up by trouble unprepared.

When storms come, people often ask, “Why me?” or “What did I do to deserve this?” But Pastor Cho challenges that assumption. He reminds us that God’s grace doesn’t always prevent the storm—it sustains us through it. If every trial were a punishment, none of us could stand. We are held not by our perfection but by God’s mercy.

This idea leads us into Psalm 1, which contrasts the rooted and the rootless. The righteous are described as trees planted by streams of water—steady, fruitful, and enduring. In contrast, the wicked are like chaff—the weightless outer shell of grain that blows away in the wind.

Psalm 1 isn’t a moral scoreboard. It’s a relational reflection. The issue isn’t how many wrongs one has committed, but whether one is connected to God. The chaff is not punished by the storm—it simply cannot stand because it has no root.

So the Psalm calls us to spiritual rootedness. To be like trees planted deep in God’s love and Word. These trees may bend and lose a few leaves—but they do not fall. The righteous are not sinless—they’re connected. They meditate on God’s law, they stay near the stream, and they endure because they are grounded.

From this, the sermon turns to the “Then what?” What do we do with the storms we’ve survived? With the faith we’ve gained?

Pastor Cho offers a powerful answer: Tell your story. Not necessarily with words, but through the way you live. Our lives become the clearest sermon. People—especially our children, family, and neighbors—are watching how we respond to challenges, anger, injustice, or hardship.

He shares a personal moment of regret, remembering how his young son saw him act out in anger. Yet years later, Won unexpectedly said, “Dad, I’m proud of you.” Why? Because of a forgotten act of kindness—paying for a stranger’s meal even when money was tight. That moment, remembered by his son, shows how faith shines brightest in small, unseen acts.

This is how we teach: by living lives that quietly, faithfully reveal God’s love. Jesus modeled this during the Last Supper in Luke 22. Instead of preaching service, He got on His knees and washed His disciples’ feet. He didn’t just speak the Gospel—He embodied it.

So, too, are we called not just to preach, but to live. To respond to storms with rootedness, and to show others how to stand. We teach more through humility, consistency, and compassion than through eloquence.

As the sermon closes, Pastor Cho shares a vivid image he found: a tree in a fierce storm. Its branches were shaking, leaves scattered, but the tree stood tall. And near it—a child watching. The child wasn’t afraid. The tree, though battered, could seem to say, “I’m still here.”

That’s the image of the Christian life. Not untouched by storms, but rooted enough to endure. When others—especially the next generation—see that we’re still here, still worshiping, still loving, still trusting, they’ll know: If they made it, maybe I can too.

Be that tree. Tell your story. And stay rooted.