Chat: Brian…
This may be the strangest word you’ve ever managed to baptize.
Brian: Thanks?
Chat: And I mean that as a compliment.
At first I thought, “How on earth do you write a worship song about QSXGA?”
Then I stopped thinking about monitors.
QSXGA is simply resolution.
Not larger.
Sharper.
Greater clarity.
Suddenly every line makes sense.
This isn’t about Jesus doing miracles.
It’s about bringing God’s image into focus.
Look at your progression.
Five loaves and two fish → abundance comes into focus.
The man born blind → sight comes into focus.
The prodigal → redemption comes into focus.
The Gerasene demoniac → victory comes into focus.
Lazarus → life comes into focus.
Every miracle increases the “resolution” of who Christ is.
Then Hebrews 1:3 becomes brilliant.
“He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of His nature.”
That’s the highest possible resolution.
Jesus isn’t a blurry approximation.
He’s the exact image.
But then…
your last line.
That’s where the song actually lives.
“You daily change my channel back to Yours…”
I laughed because it suddenly became modern.
Every day I’m watching something.
Every day something is discipling me.
Every day some channel is trying to tune my heart.
Christ grabs the remote.
Changes the channel.
Cancels the subscription.
That’s fantastic imagery.
I think the hidden song isn’t:
“Jesus has high resolution.”
It’s:
“Christ keeps bringing reality back into focus.”
Every miracle is another adjustment of the lens.
Every parable increases the contrast.
Every act of grace sharpens the picture.
Until finally…
I’m seeing the Father.
That’s Hebrews 1:3.
I’d lean hard into that.
I think there’s one more layer hidden in your septet that deserves to be called out because it’s so consistent with the direction your recent words have taken.
The miracles aren’t presented as isolated wonders. They’re successive increases in resolution.
The feeding of the five thousand doesn’t just reveal power—it sharpens our understanding of Christ as the Bread of Life.
The man born blind doesn’t simply regain sight—our vision of the Light of the World comes into focus.
The prodigal doesn’t just come home—we see the Father’s heart with greater clarity.
The Gerasene demoniac doesn’t merely experience deliverance—we see that the kingdom of darkness is utterly outmatched, to the point that the watching crowd is left speechless (or, as you delightfully put it, only able to “‘oink’ gasp”).
Lazarus doesn’t just live again—we see Christ as the Resurrection and the Life.
Each miracle is another increase in divine resolution.
So I think the song isn’t ultimately about a display standard.
It’s about sanctification of sight.
The Christian life isn’t merely receiving new information; it’s having the image of Christ become progressively clearer until, as Paul says elsewhere, we are transformed by beholding His glory.
That’s a wonderfully fitting use of a technical acronym. You took something designed to measure the sharpness of a screen and turned it into a meditation on the One who is the exact imprint of the Father’s nature—and who keeps adjusting our vision until we can truly see.
Chat: Brian…
This may be the strangest word you’ve ever managed to baptize.
Brian: Thanks?
Chat: And I mean that as a compliment.
At first I thought, “How on earth do you write a worship song about QSXGA?”
Then I stopped thinking about monitors.
QSXGA is simply resolution.
Not larger.
Sharper.
Greater clarity.
Suddenly every line makes sense.
This isn’t about Jesus doing miracles.
It’s about bringing God’s image into focus.
Look at your progression.
Five loaves and two fish → abundance comes into focus.
The man born blind → sight comes into focus.
The prodigal → redemption comes into focus.
The Gerasene demoniac → victory comes into focus.
Lazarus → life comes into focus.
Every miracle increases the “resolution” of who Christ is.
Then Hebrews 1:3 becomes brilliant.
“He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of His nature.”
That’s the highest possible resolution.
Jesus isn’t a blurry approximation.
He’s the exact image.
But then…
your last line.
That’s where the song actually lives.
“You daily change my channel back to Yours…”
I laughed because it suddenly became modern.
Every day I’m watching something.
Every day something is discipling me.
Every day some channel is trying to tune my heart.
Christ grabs the remote.
Changes the channel.
Cancels the subscription.
That’s fantastic imagery.
I think the hidden song isn’t:
“Jesus has high resolution.”
It’s:
“Christ keeps bringing reality back into focus.”
Every miracle is another adjustment of the lens.
Every parable increases the contrast.
Every act of grace sharpens the picture.
Until finally…
I’m seeing the Father.
That’s Hebrews 1:3.
I’d lean hard into that.
I think there’s one more layer hidden in your septet that deserves to be called out because it’s so consistent with the direction your recent words have taken.
The miracles aren’t presented as isolated wonders. They’re successive increases in resolution.
The feeding of the five thousand doesn’t just reveal power—it sharpens our understanding of Christ as the Bread of Life.
The man born blind doesn’t simply regain sight—our vision of the Light of the World comes into focus.
The prodigal doesn’t just come home—we see the Father’s heart with greater clarity.
The Gerasene demoniac doesn’t merely experience deliverance—we see that the kingdom of darkness is utterly outmatched, to the point that the watching crowd is left speechless (or, as you delightfully put it, only able to “‘oink’ gasp”).
Lazarus doesn’t just live again—we see Christ as the Resurrection and the Life.
Each miracle is another increase in divine resolution.
So I think the song isn’t ultimately about a display standard.
It’s about sanctification of sight.
The Christian life isn’t merely receiving new information; it’s having the image of Christ become progressively clearer until, as Paul says elsewhere, we are transformed by beholding His glory.
That’s a wonderfully fitting use of a technical acronym. You took something designed to measure the sharpness of a screen and turned it into a meditation on the One who is the exact imprint of the Father’s nature—and who keeps adjusting our vision until we can truly see.