Sabbath Psalm 13 (from the song ‘Glorious Disgrace’)
You don’t need my songs—You see through my Sunday best. You don’t need my works to compliment Your righteousness; You don’t need my words—my poetry does not impress You, God. You don’t need my faith—You still move despite my doubt; You don’t need my voice—the rocks and trees are crying out; You don’t need my love—that’s not what this is all about, O God.
It’s hard to face this; but when I see Your face, I see what grace is. It’s such a glorious disgrace: that You would condescend to love me, You would condescend to love me. When You’re the Author of all the good I’ve ever done; and all I offer is borrowed breath from borrowed lungs. But You still condescend to love me, You still condescend to love me.
Without Your breath in my lungs, without Your word on my tongue, without Your voice speaking all things; without Your blood in my heart, without Your cross as my mark, without Your fire in the off’ring; without Your love I am nothing. I am nothing.