By Dan Hart

On March 3, 2014, a little-known indie rock band called Future Islands made their network television debut on the “Late Show with David Letterman.”

The YouTube clip of the band performing their song “Seasons (Waiting On You)” went mini-viral, mostly due to the dynamic energy and the giddy, emotional longing that lead singer Sam Herring displays as he shimmies, dances, and lunges back and forth across the stage in time with the propulsive beat, which at times came across as aggressive but ends up being endearingly honest, with a sense that Herring was genuinely baring his soul to the audience.

Letterman, the show’s weathered host who was 67 years old at the time and had been hosting late-night television for over three decades, had seen it all by this point — undoubtedly hundreds, if not thousands, of nervous, overwrought, self-indulgent rock and pop performances looking to milk every last second of national television exposure. But even he couldn’t help but react with fanboy-like exuberance after the song finished. “Oh buddy, c'mon!” he exclaimed, striding up to the stage to shake Herring’s hand with a smile from ear to ear. “Hey, thank you very much! Nice going! How ‘bout that? I’ll take all of that you got!”

But it wasn’t just the quirky, charmingly sincere showmanship of Herring or Letterman’s enthusiastic reaction that set the moment apart. It was the subtle potency of the song’s lyrics that added an arresting, primal compulsion to the performance, which delved into the inscrutable nature of time, the nostalgia of changing seasons, and the longing of unrequited love. The performance could be summed up as an anguished, hope-tinged reflection on the inevitability of change. Change will crush you, Herring seems to be saying, but there is purpose in it.

The pop culture moment came flooding back to me recently as fall envelops Virginia, which will soon harden into winter before I know it. Even though I find myself firmly ensconced in the crisp, fresh air with a hint of autumn decay, the back of my mind faintly glimmers with the knowledge that soon enough, I will be shivering through 20-degree mornings, staring at a cold wood-burning stove with an insatiable hunger for firewood.

Indeed, it is the inescapable change of the seasons that naturally clue us human beings in to an unchangeable fact: the world never stops changing. The tiny green buds of spring will soon enough fully bloom in summer, only to wrinkle in fall and die in winter. Even if we were to purposely sit and do nothing for hours on end inside a climate-controlled room with no hint of anything changing in our immediate vicinity, the created order hums along just feet away outside our walls, with the sun swiftly orbiting across the sky and the wind blowing wherever it wills.

In a seemingly parallel way, world events ceaselessly churn forward with mind-numbing speed, as wars and spasms of violence spring forth and the innocent are killed, world figures are ousted from their positions of power and others rush forward to take their place, and the rich and famous die of natural causes alongside the poor and anonymous.

We never stop changing either. Our bodies age without our permission, and our minds flit about, stressing over one thing and then moving on to stress over something else. We are often captive to our ever-changing emotions — one minute we are reveling in elation, and the next minute we are buried in worry and tedium. Indeed, the constant churn of life is often overwhelming.

But, why? Why must everything be constantly changing? We must turn to Scripture to find the deepest answers. The third chapter of Ecclesiastes assures us that “for everything there is a season” — “a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-4).

What’s more, Jesus Himself assures us that there is a divine reason behind change. In the Gospel of Matthew, while speaking of the signs that will appear at His second coming, he declares, “From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near” (24:32).

Indeed, the natural changes that occur in nature and the shifts of the seasons tell us that change is ordered and by design — and that this change is good. In the fall, the leaves that fall from trees land on the ground, decompose, and fertilize the soil. The snow and rain of winter further prepare the soil and dormant plants for the growth of spring. The increased sunlight, showers, and buds of spring are the precursors for vibrant growth of summer, which leads to the fall harvest. And so, the cycle repeats again and again and again.

The intrinsic change that is present in nature speaks to the incredible dynamism that God infused into creation — a kind of vitality that points to a truly alive creator, reminding us that our lives are not meant to be static or complacent. We are meant to strive for ever greater levels of virtue — wisdom, understanding, empathy, charity, hope, faith, and so much more. “You, therefore, must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect,” Jesus commands us (Mark 5:48).

Still, we live in a broken, sin-sick world that constantly writhes and contorts under its own power, with an adrift culture seeking change for its own sake rather than change toward revival. Humanity’s ongoing temptation is to be continually caught up in distractions — a disordered addiction to superficial change — flitting from one YouTube Short to the next, without ever pausing to reflect on what it’s all about.

At the same time, we perpetually live with the difficulty of living in a world that is constantly shifting underneath our feet. As technology surges to ever more head-spinning and frightening heights and as our political leaders continually overreach and abuse their power in corrupt ways, the temptation arises to live without boundaries ourselves, to the point of attempting to change the very meaning of being human through transgenderism and transhumanism.

But God offers us something far different and more fulfilling if we trust in His unchangeable goodness. The Psalmist declares that the Lord “hast been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting thou art God” (Psalm 90:1-2). In the same way, the Letter to the Hebrews reminds us that “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever” (Hebrews 13:8). Indeed, “Every good endowment and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change” (James 1:17).

The extreme changes that we endure in our lives may not seem like good endowments at first. We may have to traverse seasons of great suffering — an extended illness, a dying parent, marital strife, the loss of a job. But if we trust in God’s faithfulness through it all, that He will lead us to a place of even greater faith and virtue, we will look back and see His hand clearly leading us through an uncertain fog.

The changing seasons built within creation are indeed a reminder that the changing seasons of our own lives — and even the chaotic changes of a fallen world — are nothing to be afraid of. When we walk in the ways of righteousness revealed to us in the scriptures, we ground our lives in the One whose love for us never fails, the “everlasting rock” (Isaiah 26:4).

Dan Hart is senior editor at The Washington Stand.