Take me to the Place where the saints gather,
To the convention of the just made perfect;
Where the clouds of glory settle and tongues of fire dance;
To the atmosphere so pure that I come undone to be refined.
It is where David dances and Solomon sits to be taught;
A place whose gates Sampson’s strength does not qualify him to guard.
Worship is me – good ol’ me, lying late and rising early
Thinking and writing about worship at the break of dawn;
It is you reading my words and reflecting on the nature
Of the worship you’ve offered and desire to offer.
I’ve hungered and thirsted for expression;
Let Your manifest presence descend and remain,
Even as our worship ascends in harmony;
For You abide in the praises of Your people,
And are faithful and merciful, gracious and mighty.
To the Ever-present Help in times of trouble;
The King Eternal, All-Mighty, Gracious, Kind;
He whose Glory fills the earth to saturation,
Each square inch, phenomena, snippet of time
And space and breath and thought, captivated.
Many hearts and minds, with hands and lips,
Everything that has not breath, and some that do,
Rejoice at the Gift from above, come to
Reclaim all of creation – salvage via salvation;
Yea, herein lies the mystery of the gift of grace.
The road to the hall of fame of faith is paved with obedience.
By faith mortals grab a hold of the divine;
Looking beyond the visible, tangible, and expressible.
In obedience the substance of faith is tried and tested;
Proven beyond doubt, honoured without reproach;
Consigned to the realms of the visible.
When my heart becomes Yours and Your taste lingers on my tongue;
Because You’ve wooed me, and called me to taste and see how sweet.
When I breathe in Your presence with each passing breath;
Feel it pass from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet – empowering.
When I feel Your caress with every rubbing of my clothes,
Reminding me even in the darkest of moments how close You really are.
When the dawn rises,
Glimpses of golden rays fall
Shimmering on diamond dews;
Beautiful Hope is nature’s prophecy,
Cast in stone and light and time.
Living portraits of timeless testimonies.
Ever new, ever changing, never despairing.
Are there words enough,
To describe the works of His hands;
To list and ascribe the honour due Him
From ages past to the very next breath?
It is not a matter of length,
For even in every single breath,
Lies an enigma simply stated, but utterly confounding.
Are there words enough?
“…If Your presence doesn’t go with me,
Don’t carry us up from here.”
For in Your presence is liberty,
I know because I had been bound,
In more ways than I knew how to count.
It is Your presence that makes holy,
And You found me before I knew I was looking,
Or even what I was looking for.