The Dunaways Return With New Single “That Sounds Like God To Me”

Some groups have a confidence that comes from decades of experience. The Dunaways have that kind of confidence. So does Les Butler, the Hall of Fame producer who’s been in their corner since the songs started climbing charts back in the early 2000s. Now the two are reuniting for the family group’s first new single in years, and by the sound of it, nobody involved is treating this as a comeback so much as a continuation.

“That Sounds Like God To Me,” set to hit Southern Gospel radio in late summer 2026, was written by Tammy Dunaway and Marcia Henry after a real-life moment convinced them God’s fingerprints are all over the ordinary stuff of daily living. It’s not a flashy premise. It’s a familiar one, delivered with the kind of warmth that’s made the Dunaways a fixture in the genre since the turn of the millennium.

Butler, who produced the track, doesn’t hide his enthusiasm. “I can’t tell you how excited I am to create new music with one of the most talented families I’ve ever been privileged to work with,” he says. “The Dunaways are special. If you don’t believe me, go check out the catalogue of music we produced together, 2000-2020. It will bless your soul!”

That catalogue is substantial: number one songs, national radio play, and multiple placements on Gaither Music Group’s “Shout” series, the annual showcase of Southern Gospel’s best. It’s the kind of resume that makes a reunion feel less like a gamble and more like a homecoming.

For Randall, Tammy, and Kanah Dunaway, the sentiment runs both ways. “We are honored to once again partner with Les Butler and Family Music Group,” Tammy says. “Les has been a faithful friend and supporter of our ministry for many years. We are grateful for this opportunity and pray, ‘That Sounds Like God To Me’ will encourage hearts, strengthen faith, and remind listeners that God is always at work around us.”

The track features Kanah Dunaway on lead vocals, a choice that signals where the family’s sound is headed even as it stays rooted in the harmonies longtime fans know well. It’s a melody built for radio, and given the group’s track record, it seems likely to find its audience fast once it starts reaching stations this summer.

Through it all, the throughline stays the same as it’s always been for the Dunaways: Christ centered music, close family harmony, and a ministry that’s spanned churches, concerts, and conferences across the country for more than thirty years. New single, same mission.

What Jesus was really saying in Matthew 7:1 when he said “judge not”

JEFF TURNER

Matthew 7:1, “Judge not, that you be not judged,” is probably one of the verses most often pulled out of context in everyday conversation. Many people use it to argue that Christians should never criticise anyone or declare one view better than another on any topic. But that reading falls apart the moment you look at what Jesus said just a few verses later in the very same passage, where he tells his listeners to watch for false teachers and identify them by their fruit.

Jesus was not telling his listeners to stop making judgements. He was addressing people who believed they had the authority to render final verdicts on others, specifically the religious leaders of his day who saw themselves as the ultimate judges of all people. His point was that God alone holds that position, and anyone who tries to claim it for themselves will face divine judgement for doing so. Discernment, evaluation, and even calling out false teaching are all things scripture encourages. What Jesus was pushing back against was the arrogance of placing yourself in the seat that belongs only to God.

Do not judge by the outward appearance, but judge with righteous judgment.”

John 7:24

Leviathan, the beast, and the God who holds all things

JOHN COPIC

Scripture has never been afraid of monsters. From the primordial depths of Job’s poetry to the apocalyptic visions of John on Patmos, the Bible sets before us a creature of terrifying proportion: Leviathan, that coiling, fleeing serpent, that dragon in the sea. Do not mistake this for mythology borrowed carelessly from surrounding cultures. This is the language of sovereignty, pressed into poetic form to declare a truth that no philosophical argument could carry so forcefully: chaos has a limit, and that limit is God himself. In Job 41, the Lord asks with quiet thunder, “Who then is he who can stand before me?” No human hand can hook Leviathan. No harpoon can pierce him. Yet the God who made him holds him as a man holds a sparrow. The monster that terrifies creation is, to its Creator, a creature on a leash.

What Isaiah prophesies in chapter 27 is not a quaint mythological aside; it is the thread that, pulled carefully, unravels all the way to the book of Revelation. The beast that rises from the sea in Revelation 13, with its ten horns and seven heads and blasphemous names, is Leviathan wearing a new face. It is the same chaos, the same devouring power, the same human wickedness dressed in political and religious authority, demanding worship it was never owed.

And yet here is the startling thing. The vineyard in Isaiah 27 is tended. Every moment, the Lord waters it. He keeps it day and night. While Leviathan coils and the beast rages and false religion spreads its flattering poison, God is quietly, persistently, sovereignly keeping his people. The exile to Babylon was not abandonment; it was purging. When the scattered people of Israel returned to their land, the Asherah poles were gone. The altars to Baal had crumbled. Idolatry, that stubborn weed, had been scorched from the soil. The exile that looked like catastrophe was the very instrument of cleansing, the fierce east wind that removed what gentler breezes could not. God’s severity and God’s tenderness, it turns out, are not in contradiction. They are both expressions of his love for his vineyard.

The fruit that Israel failed to produce has now been scattered across the earth through the gospel of Jesus Christ. What Colossians 1 captures so beautifully, that the word of truth is “bearing fruit and increasing” throughout the whole world, is the fulfilment of what Isaiah saw from a distance.

The final word, however, belongs to Revelation 20. The devil who deceived, the beast who dominated, the false prophet who flattered, all are cast into the lake of fire. And then death itself follows. What remains is order, the order of a new heaven and a new earth, governed by the God who never once lost control. We are, right now, living in the middle of this story. The chaos is real. But the verdict has already been rendered, pronounced from before the foundation of the world and sealed at an empty tomb on the third day. The one who said “I will raise him up on the last day” will do exactly that. Come then to him, be reconciled to this God, and find yourself on the right side of that last and final morning.

For He must reign until He has put all His enemies under His feet. The last enemy that will be abolished is death.

1 Corinthians 15:25-26

What Paul’s instructions about head coverings in 1 Corinthians 11 mean for believers today

JEFF TURNER

The passage in 1 Corinthians 11 where Paul instructs women to wear head coverings in church is one that raises questions about how much of it applies today, but the underlying principle it is built on has not changed at all. In the culture of Corinth, a woman’s head covering was an outward sign of her submission to male leadership. It was a visible symbol that communicated something real about the order God had established. The symbol may look different today, but the principle behind it is not cultural; it is rooted in the way God created men and women to relate to one another.

I believe Paul’s concern was not the specific clothing custom itself but what it represented. A man covering his head in that setting would have reversed the order, and a woman removing her covering would have been a public act of rejection toward God’s design. Today’s cultures use different outward markers to communicate similar things, and Paul’s point is that whatever those markers are, believers should not use their appearance to send a message of rebellion against God’s order. The submission itself, grounded in how God made human beings, is what matters, and nothing outward should contradict it.

Do you disagree? Please leave comments below.

But I want you to understand that Christ is the head of every man, and the man is the head of a woman, and God is the head of Christ.

1 Corinthians 11:3

Why Tribute Quartet’s new mountain song rolls away instead of climbing

AMY TURNER

There’s something every songwriter chases: the instant a familiar story turns sideways and suddenly means something new. For Tribute Quartet’s Josh Singletary, that came while thinking about the stone in front of Jesus’s tomb, and just how little that stone actually mattered.

The group already has a mountain in its catalog of songs. “Halfway Up the Mountain” climbed to number one on the Singing News chart, the kind of song that becomes a signature. So when Tribute Quartet went looking for another mountain image, Singletary knew comparisons were inevitable. He also knew the new song had almost nothing in common with the old one.

“The great thing about this song, compared to Halfway Up the Mountain, is just the concept of it was a stone that rolled away,” Singletary explains. “It was a stone that was in front of the tomb. It could have been a mountain in front of the whole of that tomb, and it wouldn’t have mattered. It still would have moved.”

Provided to YouTube by Daywind Records
It Could Have Been A Mountain · Tribute Quartet
Forever
â„— 2026 Daywind Records
Released on: 2026-01-30

That idea became “It Could Have Been a Mountain,” a title that flips the usual mountain metaphor on its head. Where “Halfway Up the Mountain” is about the climb, the new song is about the size of the obstacle not mattering at all. Scale a mile high, seal it shut, do whatever you want to it; the resurrection happens anyway. The lyrics lean hard into that contrast, pairing images of the tomb sealed and guarded with the plain fact that none of it held. The hook repeats like a testimony being worked out in real time: it could have been a mountain, but it still rolled away.

There’s also a second layer built into the song, one that pulls the story out of scripture and into the pews. Verses about facing “a night” where “hope is failing,” about feeling “buried in your fear,” turn the empty tomb into a template for whatever mountain a listener happens to be carrying. It’s a familiar move in southern gospel writing, taking a doctrinal moment and making it personal, but Singletary’s framing gives it a sharper edge than most: the size of your mountain was never really the point.

Singletary himself is something of a study in scale versus substance. He was born in Raiford, Florida, a town small enough that it barely shows up on a map, and there’s nothing small about what he’s built since. As Tribute Quartet’s baritone and pianist, he’s also become one of the genre’s steadier utility players, working as an arranger, producer, and studio musician on projects well outside his own group’s output. He now lives in Lebanon, Tennessee, with his wife, Kahlie, and their dog, Hovie, close enough to Nashville’s session rooms to keep that side of his career humming alongside the road schedule.

That dual life, road quartet member and behind-the-scenes producer, tends to show up in the songs he helps shape. “It Could Have Been a Mountain” has the structural instincts of someone who thinks about arrangement as much as message: a repeated hook built for a room to sing back, a bridge that widens the story from history to personal application, an ending that just keeps rolling the phrase away until it feels less like a chorus and more like a release.

Whether it reaches the chart peak “Halfway Up the Mountain” did remains to be seen. But for Singletary, the comparison was never really the goal. The whole point of the new song is that the mountain, and the number attached to it, was never the thing that mattered.