Josh Wilson - That Was Then, This Is Now Lyrics
Lyrics
We used to hide from the light
We made friends with the night
We were headed the wrong way on a one way track
Going nowhere fast
We got used to the dark
We thought this is who we are
And we figured that we were just too far gone
But we were wrong
Cause love came running like a river
And we got washed in the water
Then He said you're forgiven
Your sins are gone
That was then, this is now
You’re bought by the blood, saved by the Son the saints all sing about
That was lost, this is found
And it’s time to say goodbye to the old you now
So go ahead, put the past in the past
Box it up like an old photograph
You don’t have to go back
Cause that was then and this is now
We've been remade by grace
We've all got new names
And nothing we do could ever change
What He did that day
When love came running like a river
And we got washed in the water
Then He said you’re forgiven
And you belong
That was then, this is now
You’re bought by the blood, saved by the Son the saints all sing about
That was lost, this is found
And it’s time to say goodbye to the old you now
So go ahead, put the past in the past
Box it up like an old photograph
You don’t have to go back
Cause that was then
If we turn and confess every unrighteousness
He is faithful and just to forgive
Oh, so turn and confess every wrong and regret
And see what it means to live
That was then, this is now
You’re bought by the blood, saved by the Son the saints all sing about
That was lost, this is found
And it’s time to say goodbye to the old you now
So go ahead, put the past in the past
Box it up like an old photograph
You don’t have to go back
Cause that was then and this is now
So go ahead, put the past in the past
Box it up like an old photograph
You don’t have to go back
‘Cause that was then and this is now
Video
Josh Wilson - That Was Then, This Is Now
Meaning & Inspiration
Josh Wilson’s “That Was Then, This Is Now” hits all the right notes for a high-energy, Sunday-morning radio slot. It’s got that upbeat, driving rhythm that makes you want to tap your steering wheel. But when I’m sitting in my kitchen at 3:00 a.m. because the silence is too loud, or when I’m staring at a layoff notice, the command to “box it up like an old photograph” feels a little bit like a dismissive wave of the hand.
The lyrics insist: “So go ahead, put the past in the past / Box it up like an old photograph.” It sounds clean. It sounds efficient. But does it actually work like that? If you’ve ever sat at a funeral for someone you didn’t get to make peace with, you know that the past doesn't just sit politely in a cardboard box. It follows you into the room, sits at the dinner table, and stares you down while you try to drink your coffee. Telling someone to simply “box it up” feels dangerously close to Cheap Grace—the kind of spiritual shorthand that prioritizes moving on over doing the hard, messy work of integration.
The Apostle John writes, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). This is the bedrock. It’s solid. But notice that confession happens in the present tense. It’s an ongoing act of naming the “wrong and regret,” not necessarily burying it in a closet.
Wilson sings, “We’ve all got new names / And nothing we do could ever change / What He did that day.” I want to believe that. I really do. But the “old you” has a way of showing up when the bank account hits zero or when the old patterns of self-destruction creep back in. If the gospel is just about tucking the past into a box, then what happens when the box bursts open?
Real faith isn't about pretending the past didn't happen or that it no longer leaves a mark. It’s about holding the weight of who we were alongside the promise of who we are. I’m not sure “boxing it up” is the move. Maybe it’s more about laying those jagged, unhealed, ugly parts of our history at the feet of the One who actually has the capacity to hold them, rather than trying to hide them in a shoebox under the bed.
If we don't allow room for the struggle—the reality that we are saints who still stumble—then these lyrics risk becoming just another upbeat anthem that leaves us feeling lonelier when the music stops and the “old me” starts talking back. I hope the “new name” has a little more grit than this song suggests. I need a God who deals with the past, not just one who tells me to store it in the attic.