The world is groaning, we are groaning, but God is protecting us, forging our faith on the anvil of affliction because of his love for us and because of a passion for his own glory. Charles Spurgeon once said that God’s sovereignty is a doctrine for rough weather; “God Moves” is a hymn for stormy days, and there are many such days in a fallen world.

God Moves in a Mysterious Way  by William CowperGod moves in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform; he plants his footsteps in the sea, and rides upon the storm.Deep in unfathomable mines, of never-failing skill; he fashions up his bright designs, and works his sovereign will.Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, the clouds that you much dread, are big with mercy and will break in blessings on your head.Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, but trust him for his grace; behind a frowning providence, he hides a smiling face.His purposes will ripen fast, unfolding every hour; the bud may have a bitter taste, but sweet will be the flower.Blind unbelief is sure to err, and scan his work in vain; God is his own interpreter, and he will make it plain.
I love this hymn for the same reason I love Romans 8 and country music. I’m not talking about modern-day country music, the kind that is slick and well-packaged, the sort that is merely countrified pop music. By country music, I mean Hank (Senior), Cash, Jones, the Hag. Legends, all, whose lives were marked by the profound suffering and searching of which they sang. They were not dime store cowboys and neither was the author of “God Moves in a Mysterious Way.”
In some ways, the British poet William Cowper is to classic, Reformation-tradition hymnody what Hank Williams was to country music: both men perennially suffered deep, dark depression and anguish of soul. Out of their pain, each man wrote deeply emotional, heart-felt poetry that was set to music. Of course, their biographies part ways there: both diagnosed the illness that drove their angst in a deeply fallen world, but only Cowper found the transformative cure, locating his healing balm in the old rugged cross. Sadly, Hank sought solace in the bottom of a whiskey bottle and died of an overdose of alcohol and pain killers at 29. Hank sang “I Saw the Light,” but never seems to have run to it.
Two bruised reeds, two smoking flaxes, two different outcomes, but two men who were unsentimental about the mysteries of life and God’s providence east of Eden. “God Moves” is my favorite for two fundamental reasons: the story of the man behind the lyrics and the robust theology of Romans 8 that it expresses in unforgettable poetry. Every time I sing it in corporate or family worship (and I love the revised tune by Bob Kauflin and our friends at Sovereign Grace Music), I think of its author, and I am strengthened by the grace of which it speaks.
Embattled Soul
John Calvin referred to fallen humanity and the world in which we live as broken actors performing on a broken-down stage. Cowper’s brokenness was as profound as it was palpable. In his excellent biographical essay on the life of William Cowper, John Piper wrote of him, “The battles in this man’s soul were of epic proportions.” Indeed.
Cowper lived from 1731 to 1800, a contemporary to John Wesley and George Whitefield in England and Jonathan Edwards in America. Heartache was his handmaiden virtually from birth. William and his brother John were the only two among seven siblings to survive past infancy. At age 6, his mother died giving birth to John, leaving William deeply distraught. Cowper moved from school to school before landing at Westminster school in 1742 where he was bullied mercilessly by older students. While studying for a career in law as a young adult, he fell in love with his cousin Theodora and sought her hand in marriage. Her father refused to consent to the union and nuptials were never exchanged. Lost love left him crestfallen.
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Here is the truth: You don’t have to sin anymore! You are no longer a slave to sin as a ruler, but you are a slave to Christ and His grace. You have a choice and a power that you never had. You have been made right because of Christ, and you can use each day for His glory, others’ good, and your growth!

I was once discipling a man who had come to Christ years earlier but had never realized all that had happened to him. Each week he became more excited as he discovered what God had done for him. He told me, “I feel like I received a glorious present years ago, but I am just now unwrapping it!”
If God’s grace has saved you through trust in Him, several astounding, eternal changes have occurred.
A New Position
Your spiritual position before God has forever changed. You were once sinful, condemned, and cut off from the presence of God. You couldn’t do what God desired because you were separated from Him. You were enslaved to sin as a ruling principle.
Now, as Romans 5 describes, you have peace facing God! You can stand in His throne room anytime and are invited there because of the introduction you’ve received through Christ by faith. You now stand in a state of grace, forgiven, uncondemned, and welcomed!
A New Man
But there is more. If you are in Christ, the old man you once were has died. Paul describes this “old man” in Romans 6. Think of the word translated “baptism” in these verses in its original meaning: immersion.
Therefore, we have been buried with Him through baptism (immersion) into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have become united with Him in the likeness of His death, certainly we shall also be in the likeness of His resurrection, knowing this, that our old self was crucified with Him, in order that our body of sin might be done away with (literally, rendered powerless), so that we would no longer be slaves to sin; for he who has died is freed from sin. (Romans 6:4–7).
When Christ died on the cross, who you were in your sins was joined to Him. He stood before God on the cross and bore the penalty you should have endured, the righteous judgment of God against sin. This penalty was separation from God and is heard in Christ’s cry on the cross, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?” The One who had forever been with God was separated because of our sin.
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I’m captivated by this moment on the Sea of Galilee in John 21. Whether intentional or not, I love the image of Peter diving into the water. He’s still audacious, but he’s not grandiose. He does not attempt to run across the water or make a leap of faith or stand proudly at the bow. He knows he is a mere swimmer. He dives into the water with the unrestrained joy of a child. He just wants to be with Jesus. The cross means participation in future glory, for sure, but too often we gloss over the gritty reality of whips and nails. 

Luke tells a story in the fifth chapter of his Gospel. Jesus was in Galilee teaching, the crowds pressing in to the point of overwhelming him. Peter (then called Simon) had been fishing all night and was nearby washing his nets. His boat sat empty on the shoreline, and Jesus asked if he’d take him out a little way on the water so his voice would carry as he taught. Simon did as he was told. When Jesus was done teaching, he told him to go out further and cast his nets. Peter was tired. He’d fished all night and had just cleaned his nets; he’d have to repeat the whole exercise and as an experienced fisherman, he knew that the effort was pointless. Fishing had been fruitless the night before; it was the wrong time of day to be casting nets anyway. But he did as he was told and cast the nets again. The nets almost tore with the weight of the fish, and his partners had to come to help them bring in the catch. 
Three years later John saw the mysterious figure on the shoreline and the overflowing nets after a hapless night. He turned to Peter and said, “It’s the Lord” (v. 7). 
Peter dove right into the water and swam to shore. 
* * *
I’ll admit that this may well be overreading the text, but I can’t help but obsess with one detail in this account: Peter leaping into the water. 
Maybe it’s a superfluous detail, maybe it shows Peter’s impulsiveness once again. But when I read it, I can’t help but think of yet a third moment between Jesus and Peter on the Sea of Galilee—one recounted in Matthew 14. 
Jesus had performed the miracle of feeding the five thousand but had done so with grief in his heart. He’d just gotten word that his cousin, John the Baptist, had been beheaded. As Jesus dismissed the crowds, he sent the disciples ahead of him across the sea while he retreated into the mountains to pray. Late in the evening he watched their boat on the water, moving slowly because the waves and winds were against them. Jesus set out after them, walking across the waves. 
The disciples were terrified when he came into view, certain that he was a ghost. Jesus calmed them down, assuring them it was him. Peter said, “If it’s really you, tell me to come to you, walking on the water” (v. 28). 
“Come,” Jesus said. 
Moments later, Peter stepped out of the boat, took a few steps, and then, seeing the waves and wind, grew afraid and began to sink. Jesus grabbed him by the hand. “You of little faith,” he said. “Why did you doubt?” (v. 31). They walked to the boat and continued the journey across the Sea of Galilee. 
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