God of burning bushes, smoking mountains,
Clouds and flaming pillars in the distance,
God who spoke the earth into existence,
Calling from dry rocks fresh, flowing fountains,
Are you just as present in the present,
In the average and ordinary?
Does your presence with us ever vary
If our days are boring or unpleasant?
For, it seems, our lives are unexciting,
Work and worship in a world of faces–
Seems so commonplace, these common places.
Is it true, O God, you are inviting
Those with ears to hear to live in wonder?
In our silence, might we hear your thunder?
Photo by Jeff Sheldon on Unsplash
You spoke, and all that is began to be,
Yet you are uncreated, without end.
The voice with which you rule eternity
Is present in the whisper of the wind.
In sov’reignty, you raise and lower kings.
No power can contest your ruling right.
For you are he of whom creation sings,
The power that ordains the day and night.
And yet you clothe the flowers of the ground,
And yet you feed the sparrows of the sky.
You care for your creation all around
So much you sent your sinless son to die.
It matters not how much I may rehearse:
Your greatness, God, I cannot grasp in verse.