God’s love, in every key

In jazz, the music moves through every key – major and minor, dissonant and sweet – but it remains one piece, writes Captain Amanda Hart.

This piece was first delivered as a sermon by Captain Amanda Hart, South Coast Gippsland Corps Officer, at the 2025 Inverloch Music Festival in Victoria. She has kindly shared it with us, and we’ve adapted it to encourage you to reflect on your own journey of life – in the major and minor keys.

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CAPTAIN AMANDA HART

There’s something about jazz that feels alive. It doesn’t rush to tidy things up. It allows for space – space to breathe, space to listen, space for honesty. 

Jazz can hold joy and sorrow in the same song, swinging between playfulness and lament in a way that feels deeply human.

And in that way, jazz mirrors life. 

Life moves through seasons – some bright, some heavy. Sometimes we know where we’re going; other times we’re improvising, hoping the next note makes sense. And sometimes, like in jazz, the beauty comes not from perfection but from honesty – from playing what’s real in the moment.

This passage from Romans 8:31-39 speaks into that same reality. Paul isn’t writing from a place of comfort; he’s writing to people under pressure – people trying to follow Jesus while living through hardship and uncertainty.

And to them – and to us – Paul says: there is something that holds steady. Something that does not let go, no matter the key you find yourself in. Nothing can separate us from the love of God.

When life feels bright – the major keys

There are seasons that feel like they’re written in a major key – days that are lighter, when laughter comes easily and joy feels close.

In those moments, faith – if we have it – often feels simple. Gratitude comes naturally. We see beauty and think: This must be what life is for.

It’s worth pausing in those seasons and noticing them. Giving thanks. Letting them remind us that good things are still real and beauty hasn’t left the world.

But Paul’s words aren’t just for the good seasons. They’re for when the key changes – when life shifts into something harder to sing along to.

When life turns - the minor keys

We all know what that feels like:

The phone call you didn’t expect.

The diagnosis.

The loss.

The relationship that breaks down.

Or maybe it’s just the slow ache of exhaustion, anxiety, or isolation – days that blur together, the quiet thought that whispers: Is this all there is?

Paul doesn’t shy away from that reality. He names it – hardship, distress, danger. He acknowledges life can be brutal. And that honesty matters.

Because what we need in those moments isn’t someone telling us to cheer up or have more faith. We need something solid. A love that meets us where we are – in the middle of the mess – and stays with us there.

A groove that holds it all together

If you’ve ever listened closely to jazz, you’ll hear something subtle under the melody – a rhythm, a bassline, a groove that anchors everything even as the notes on top wander and change.

That’s the picture I get when I read Paul’s words here.

Life’s melody moves – sometimes smooth, sometimes jagged. The key changes. The tempo shifts. But underneath it all, there is something steady. A love that does not let go.

This love doesn’t wait until we’re sorted out or strong enough or faithful enough. It doesn’t disappear when we’re angry, doubting, or at the end of ourselves. It stays. It goes with us into the hardest places and refuses to abandon us there.

I know this because I’ve lived it.

My story

For a long time, I lived like I had to prove myself to God. I didn’t doubt He existed – I doubted He could love someone like me.

I thought if I could just be good enough, maybe I’d finally earn His love. But living that way eventually left me in the deepest pits of depression.

My self-esteem was almost non-existent. I was exhausted, ashamed, and convinced I’d failed at life and faith.

And it was in that place – when I was still a mess, when I had nothing to give – that I encountered God’s love in a way I never had before.

It wasn’t loud or flashy. It didn’t come because I’d finally cleaned myself up. It came right there in the pit. Quiet. Steady. Real.

And I realised: this love wasn’t something I had to earn. It was already reaching out to me. It stayed when I couldn’t hold on. It refused to let go.

That’s the kind of love Paul is talking about — a love that doesn’t wait until we’re sorted or strong or have all the answers. A love that meets us in the middle of our chaos and holds steady.

Improvising our way forward

One of the beautiful things about jazz is that it makes space for improvisation. There’s structure, yes – but there’s also freedom. Musicians respond to what’s happening in real time. They listen to each other. They trust the groove and find their way forward, one note at a time.

Faith can look like that too. For some of us, faith isn’t neat or scripted. It doesn’t always follow a set pattern. Sometimes it’s improvised – halting, questioning, finding its way forward slowly. And that’s okay.

If you’re unsure what you believe, if you’ve walked away from faith for a while, or if you’re simply reading this because you love jazz – that’s okay. You don’t need to have everything figured out. You don’t need perfect words or perfect belief.

The point of the Romans passage isn’t that we climb our way to God, it’s that nothing can separate us from the love already reaching toward us.

Love in every key

Paul’s words reach a crescendo at the end:

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

It’s as if Paul is saying: Name anything you can think of - the worst, the hardest, the most impossible - and God’s love is still bigger.

In jazz, the music moves through every key – major and minor, dissonant and sweet – but it remains one piece. In the same way, Paul reminds us: our lives are held together by love, even when they move through very different keys.

Why this matters

This isn’t just theory. It matters.

It matters to the person who’s grieving. It matters to the one celebrating. It matters to the person holding things together on the outside but falling apart on the inside. It matters to those wondering if they belong in church at all.

Because if what Paul says is true – that nothing can separate us from God’s love – we can stop pretending.

We can bring the real version of ourselves: the one that laughs, the one that doubts, the one that cries in the car on the way home – and trust we’re already loved.

That changes things. It gives us courage. It means we can face the unknown, not because we have everything under control, but because we’re not alone in it.

So, here’s the invitation today: Whatever key your life is in – major or minor, joyful or heavy, certain or questioning – may you know this: there is a love that holds steady beneath it all. You may not always feel it. You may not always believe it. But it’s there. It’s playing. It’s for you.

You don’t have to earn it. You don’t have to chase it. You don’t have to fix yourself first. You are already loved.

And it doesn’t matter where you’re at today – whether your faith feels strong, fragile, or still searching. There is a love that will not let you go. A love that has a name: Jesus.

This is the love Paul speaks of – a love so deep and unshakable that nothing can separate us from it. Not our doubts. Not our failures. Not the hardest thing we’ve walked through or the darkest valley we’ve faced.

So may you leave here today with this promise echoing in your heart:

Nothing – no height, no depth, no present, no future – nothing in all creation can separate you from the love of God that is yours in Christ Jesus.

And may that love, steady in every key, lead you forward from here.