Sanctification

Evidence of Grace

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Evidence of Grace (poem within a poem) picture.jpg

I wonder whether I am growing here,
Or whether I am day by day the same.
I bow before his Spirit showing fear
While sin is showing me the way to shame.
Surrendering to sanctifying love,
I seek to know you by your book of truth.
Appearing as a heart defying dove,
You help my heart ‘scape ev’ry hook of youth.
Yet still I wonder, God of glory bright,
How can I know that you are here to stay
When messages of gospel music fight
To work their way in to my ear of clay?
Might I gain access to your kingdom then?
To find the ev’dence, I must look within.

Conviction

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God, guide your Word like a sword for my reckoning,
Wrecking all hopes in my heart for this waste.
Cut to the quick for the purpose of quickening
Works of your Spirit to sever the sickening
Sludge that I sought in my haste.

Clauses like claws are accustomed to scratch away
Any remainder of wretchedness here.
Tear away sin and, in so doing, tear a way
Through the commotion that coaxes my heart astray
Till I have learned how to fear.

Let ev’ry phrase of your holy book break my heart
For ev’ry way I dishonor your name.
Never relent; pierce my soul from the very start
Till I reflect your resplendence with ev’ry part,
Living as proof of your claim.

The Treasures of Tragedy

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O Father, I shudder with ev’ry affliction.
The day seems far dimmer than ever before.
Man is corrupted by sin’s contradiction.
The depths of depravity darken my door.
I know of no road to escape this great testing.
The cries and the chaos do threaten demise.
Sickness and sorrow are my heart arresting,
But within this furnace is found a great prize.
The treasures of tragedy truly perplex me:
I sought not a one, yet I value them all.
Verily does this perplexity vex me,
But ne’er would I waste e’en a drop of this gall.
I wish to be rid of this cup so revolting.
God, with ev’ry draught, I am drinking in death.
Yet you have suffered a far worse assaulting,
And yet you are with me with every breath.
You sanctify me through the seasons of suff’ring.
When all else around me gives way, you remain.
God, ‘gainst the enemy, you are my buff’ring,
And you will redeem ev’ry moment of pain.

Fellowship

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Frodo could not have made it to Mount Doom without the help of the fellowship. Sure, he wasn’t completely helpless on his own; he showed surprising resilience and courage throughout the journey. In fact, the strength of hobbits continually surprised the peoples of Middle Earth throughout the story of The Lord of the Rings. But the truth remains that the fellowship, that band of nine commissioned to carry the ring of power to its destruction, were crucial to Frodo’s success. The fellowship challenged Frodo to grow beyond what he had once thought possible for himself, and, because of their influence, he was able to complete his mission.

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Desensitized

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Why do we find such follies fun
And magnify the madness?
The filth from which we ought to run
Fills us with giddy gladness.
So should we not expect to find
That love for God is lacking?
And in the church we are not kind
But are ourselves attacking?
Oh can we not reject the dross
And seek sanctification?
Do not, for “fun,” reject the cross
Nor bask in your damnation.
For Christ has saved our souls from sin
That we might sin no longer.
Embrace his grace, his nail pierced skin,
And in his love grow stronger.

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Conform Me

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Let me learn to love your voice.
Help me look to things above.
Save me from the selfish choice.
Show me how to walk in love.
Lead me in the way of truth.
Break me from the idol’s hold.
Keep me from the lusts of youth.
Make me, for your kingdom, bold.
Help me keep my vision clear.
Make me humble, meek, and pure.
Help me know that you are near.
Let me, for your name, endure.
Make me always quick to give.
Let me ever testify.
Teach me how to truly live.
Teach me how to truly die.
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Though Man May Die

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The scalpel in my Father’s hand
Doth fill my soul with hope and dread:
Hope for the good that he hath planned;
Dread for the loss of what is dead.
Afflicted with a fearful faith,
The foreign and familiar fused-
The actions of the holy wraith
Obscured by actions unexcused.
Yet I am not accused by God,
Despite the sins I still commit.
I fall before the meas’ring rod,
But, by his grace, he doth remit.
His right hand of omnipotence
No longer waits with wrath for me:
The God-man, breathing holiness,
Bore holes and wrath upon the tree.
Now he upholds with righteous arm
The souls now saved from Sodom’s fate.
He works his purpose through each harm
As for his work we watch and wait.
So banish now these fleshly fears
And fear the holy God most high.
His work, though wrought with many tears,
Brings life to man though man may die.

Count It All Joy

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The tragedies and maladies of life
All serve a saving purpose for the saint
For struggles that surmount a life with strife
Become the hues with which our Lord doth paint
O’er ev’ry evil, Elohim prevails
Effulgent Savior, holy thaumaturge
From death’s embrace, the true Messiah hails
And makes what brought despair to heal and purge
Now watch as broken daughters rise to dance
Now see as sickly sons stand up to praise
The vilest horrors help to fix our stance
The worst oppression only lifts the haze
No pow’r is held by any enemy
All things do work as one for good to me