entries on wickedness
Mirror, mirror on the wall. Among this brood of vipers, you’re vile above them all.
I see the Pharisees of today calling out, “Holy,” condemning other all. Have they forgotten? Not one’s exempt from the Fall. I want to call them out- Let none escape their crime. The moment I reach for the speck in the offender’s eye, I’m reminded of the plank in mine. Mirror, mirror- Here I am. My own sin, I can hardly stand. I look to you to find you staring back at me. Why so seldom do I feel good ‘bout what I see? Despair in the eyes- the horror of sin lingering around, I turn my gaze away and fall upon the ground… crying, “Jesus, help me!” I’ve fallen once more, again. Won’t you reach for me, though I’m the lowest of all men?
My sin seems so great
I know I can’t bear it
If I wore burlap
You know I would tear it
Put ashes on my head
Bury my face in the dirt
My heart constantly aches
Not only me do I hurt
How can your grace stretch so far as to reach inside of me? There’s still so much darkness. Have I come along at all? The darkness seeps deep down. In your Great Light the evil flees. You’ve freed me. To you alone I’m pleading. Deliver me again!
Why O God was I born unto these wicked days? Why does no one pursue your Holy ways? Cursed be all who proclaim blessings and peace when this world is nothing but death, destruction, and torment. These days are wicked beyond all measure. No man seeks your face. The pursuit of blessing comes in offerings made to false gods. None call to you. None know your decrees. Your word is absent from the hearts of the religious. Bitter as bile, it spews from their lips. They do not meditate on your word. You are a stumbling block to all who hear, but do not listen. I am no better. My couch is comfortable and my belly is full. I seek you in times of need, but neglect the secret place as I sense prosperity. You wait in the temple to join me. I stray away to chase worthless idols. Hear my cry, O Lord- that I may return to your favor by repenting of my sins. To you I give glory, honor, and praise. To you alone I lift my hands in worship. No longer shall I stand for the praises of men- who speak your words then prostitute themselves to hollow desires. Cursed are these days. These days reach beyond number. Come quickly Lord.
I see the Pharisees of today calling out, “Holy,” condemning other all. Have they forgotten? Not one’s exempt from the Fall. I want to call them out- Let none escape their crime. The moment I reach for the speck in the offender’s eye, I’m reminded of the plank in mine. Mirror, mirror- Here I am. My own sin, I can hardly stand. I look to you to find you staring back at me. Why so seldom do I feel good ‘bout what I see? Despair in the eyes- the horror of sin lingering around, I turn my gaze away and fall upon the ground… crying, “Jesus, help me!” I’ve fallen once more, again. Won’t you reach for me, though I’m the lowest of all men?
My sin seems so great
I know I can’t bear it
If I wore burlap
You know I would tear it
Put ashes on my head
Bury my face in the dirt
My heart constantly aches
Not only me do I hurt
How can your grace stretch so far as to reach inside of me? There’s still so much darkness. Have I come along at all? The darkness seeps deep down. In your Great Light the evil flees. You’ve freed me. To you alone I’m pleading. Deliver me again!
Why O God was I born unto these wicked days? Why does no one pursue your Holy ways? Cursed be all who proclaim blessings and peace when this world is nothing but death, destruction, and torment. These days are wicked beyond all measure. No man seeks your face. The pursuit of blessing comes in offerings made to false gods. None call to you. None know your decrees. Your word is absent from the hearts of the religious. Bitter as bile, it spews from their lips. They do not meditate on your word. You are a stumbling block to all who hear, but do not listen. I am no better. My couch is comfortable and my belly is full. I seek you in times of need, but neglect the secret place as I sense prosperity. You wait in the temple to join me. I stray away to chase worthless idols. Hear my cry, O Lord- that I may return to your favor by repenting of my sins. To you I give glory, honor, and praise. To you alone I lift my hands in worship. No longer shall I stand for the praises of men- who speak your words then prostitute themselves to hollow desires. Cursed are these days. These days reach beyond number. Come quickly Lord.
posted by Gregg @ 11:59 AM
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