Holy holy holy God we sing;
It means He’s separate, set apart. Everything
We know of him says he’s over there
High and lifted up. We’re down here
We abase ourselves.He’s not like us:
He’s righteous, we’re shadow; he’s forever, we’re dust.
And sometimes we feel in his holiness
Being set apart we believe he’ll miss
The fact that we need him here.
We wonder does the holy care?
Surrounded by angel armies there
Where there’s no darkness, and the air
Is filled with voices that sing unending
Praise to this ancient King,
Does He see us- that we’ve lost everything?
There are prophets that answered all these questions
When they wrote of the Holy pierced for our transgressions-
And foretold God come to earth as man.
We still ask whether the Holy can
Take in our pain and eat our sin,
Can the Holy taste death, would He rise again?
He did, and we call him Emmanuel!
Jesus stood between us and hell;
A king with a crown of thorns, God with a battered face-
That is holy love. This is holy grace:
To have Holy arms around us, nailed in place!
Three days later death lost its sting,
This is why Holy holy God we sing!
That first Easter morning, the only person able to remain calm was the guy who had been crucified and buried.
How is your psyche today? Time spent meditating on this weekend’s story of the Christ would be time well spent, I think. The stone wasn’t rolled away so that Jesus could leave his grave; it was set aside so that we could explore and believe, finding life and power and peace.
Friday the cross, Saturday the remnants of our old cold ways of worship, and Sunday the Unexpected – where do you find yourself?