Lost Tribe

As Christmas is right around the corner, I find that the bliss of the season contributes to deep joy in my soul and an outpouring of melodies. If you know me, you know I sing all the time. Literally all. the. time. Biblically, Psalm 96, 98, and 149 prescribe the reader to sing a new song to the Lord; our doxology is great medicine to the soul and establishes our hearts and minds on the truths of the Son.

“...our doxology is great medicine to the soul and establishes our hearts and minds on the truths of the Son.”

As we worship the Son this season I have one question when it comes to our worship...well...I have many questions, but only one here that I am going to pose. Psalm 96:9 reads, "Worship the Lord in the splendor of holiness; tremble before him, all the earth!" When was the last time our worship caused us to tremble? When the wise men saw Jesus, their immediate response was face falling worship. Do our Christmas songs and worship sets on Sunday morning lead us to this kind of place?

Short thought for this post, because the actual reason for this entry is to put up some poetry (and hopefully, soon to be song). I hope that you, in your Christmasy splendor and singing, can sing, write, and dance to the Lord a new song this holiday. Here is the song the Lord has given me.

So great a work behind, within, and below the stars

who shine mercy upon a full and brimming manger,

Showing us that the humble will see and all the weak and wise will worship

You, lowering yourself from heavenly dwelling

leveraged the terror to turn into glory,

became way, truth, life. Displayed

A scandalous love anticipating freedom, but not able to justly deliver

So great a love could never free us

Only death of the One who could truly be us

Could open us up, open our ribs

And let the poison out.

The only One whole could bear the weight of the Holy

And now he holds us, his throne, and all authority

and graces us with visions of glory

Displaying them on a cross, in a manger, on a prophesy

And now we, born into a lost tribe

Born into wicked eyes

Laid bare before the open skies

Can be humble and weak and worship

So Set your eyes, Set your eyes

On Our king, our song, our victory