The Dark, Cold Waters of Depravity

On the day I should be humble, Lord

Stricken with grief and despair

I find myself looking up at You and

mocking you with my stare.

“If you are the son of God,” I yell

“then get off that cross. Do SOMEthing.

Save yourself. Call the angels. How foolish

that you do nothing!”

I watch you speak to the criminals as your lungs start to collapse,

offering a seat in Paradise? Please. You’re nothing but a man.

Eventually you die and as the sky and ground split in two,

I shrug off the scream of creation, my eyes are fixed only on you.

You are dead, Jesus. That’s what I see.

I feel nothing but disappointed.

What a joke I played on my heart, to think you were somehow anointed.

Now here I am, generations removed from the actual moment that you died

and I am so so angry Lord. I want to do nothing but scream and cry.

At You.

It alarms me because I have always been for you, with you, trusting every move you have made.

Now I find myself retreating from the wings that gave me shade.

Do you see what’s happening around here, God? Do you hear the bombs and screams?

As girls are ripped from their innocence and the heads of children fill the streets?

I’m back at the foot of the Cross and I am yelling at you again to move, to ACT

my voice catches in my throat because it’s actually desperation I feel. Not anger.

I am so tired of holding out nothing but hope. It seems so not enough for that mourning mother.

What of that child who watched themselves become an orphan? WHAT ARE YOU DOING FOR THEM?

For years I have recited the rhetoric. I have looked at the cross with deep sorrow yet JOY.

But this year, God I am struggling SO HARD to believe this isn’t just a big ploy.

I have broken down for the broken down and feel entirely spent.

I know you offer eternal life, but does it matter when this life, for so many, is hell?

Yet, before your eyes close in death on the cross, before you surrender your life,

You look down into my hateful heart and am compelled, for me, to die.

You know that I will doubt you, that I will try and flee from your presence.

You have gone with me every place I am, You will continue into the next one.

God I weep at my unbelief, at the doubt I have nurtured, coddled and kept

But just as you saw me, clear as day on that cross, you saw billions and billions… and wept.

So even though sometimes it’s hard to swallow the truth lodged in my imperfect, wayward spirit,

I will proclaim to the nations, to neighbors, to friends, to anyone who will hear it:

God saw and He moved and He entered into our hate. He suffocated under our darkness.

Today, RIGHT NOW, the Enemy tears through flesh and nations to convince us that our God is absent.

Oh friend, skeptic, critic, and saint – do not be deceived any longer.

The glimpses of terror we have seen in our time, are a fraction of what laid on Christ’s shoulders.

We will not ever fully know the dark, cold waters of our depravity, as Christ has known them.

The Enemy likes to make us think those waters will drown us in despair and pain,

But Jesus’ death gives every soul the chance to come up for air, and remain.

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Grace Makes Room

Forgive my fickle faith, Lord.

How it ebbs and flows with the tides of this world.

Forgive my cries of “Hosanna!” that melted into “Crucify Him!’

Forgive the blackness of my heart, shrouded in suffocating robes of sin.

Forgive my spit upon your face, my doubt that sheaths your grace.

Forgive my bitter spirit for producing such toxic words of hate.

Forgive my finger-pointing, and my pouting when you ask me to wait.

Forgive those thoughts that I entertain, that belong in the depths of hell.

Forgive those sins I love to hold. The ones you know so well.

Forgive my small attempts at reconciliation as I silently plot revenge.

Forgive my limping heart as it struggles to make amends.

Forgive the twisted humor that delights my depraved mind.

Forgive the state of my weakened resolve, forgive the mess within me that you find.

Oh God! How you forgave me this, and things I won’t even say out loud.

How you forgave this girl, this hypocrite, cheering in the crowd.

Oh how deep the grace that poured from the veins of your own Son.

Oh how blind, and mute, and deaf to your suffering I was.

Yet no rivers made from tears of my regret, will overwhelm this flood of grace.

For though I mourn on Friday, yet on Sunday I’ll see your face!

Sweet Lord whose blood was spilled on wood to set this captive free,

Thank you for not turning from the road to Calvary.

If it was I in your shoes, I know I would have changed my course.

But only you know the pain and joy of perfect love, for  you alone are its source.

Teach me Spirit, day by day, to turn away from lies.

Teach me how to see the world through my kind Savior’s eyes.

Teach me how to die to self, with Christ as my example.

Bring me to repentance when my sin, on Him, does trample.

Bring me to the foot of the cross, but don’t let me forget the empty tomb.

Remind me to rise up again, for every sinner, grace makes room.