Soul food

Last week I was looking at a huge list of items I needed to get for the house (tile, vanities, trim, hardware...) and preparing for this week of administering standardized testing to my kids.  I was overwhelmed, which made me anxious, which made me feel guilty because I'm not supposed to be anxious.

So I'm lying awake at night wondering how I'm going to do all this, avoiding praying about it, because what a petty thing to be worried about, right?  Jesus admonishes us not to worry about even the food we'll eat, and I'm worrying about accent tile for my very first-world house.

Enter Sunday, and the gathering of local saints into a service of worship.  How sweet is the grace of God to give us this day among all others, to gather with His people and sing together to remind each other of His good works.

Are your garments spotless?

Are they white as snow?

Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?

Answer:  Yes.  My garments are like snow, not because I trust God naturally with every uncertainty--but because of the blood of the Lamb.

Come ye weary, heavy laden,

Bruised and broken by the fall.

If you tarry til you're better,

You will never come at all.

Not the righteous, not the righteous,

Sinners Jesus came to call.

Let not conscience make you linger,

Nor of fitness fondly dream...

Lo! The Incarnate God, ascended;

Pleads the merit of His blood.

I am weary.  Weary of my indwelling sin that's all too ready to smother me with worry.  Weary of admitting the same guilt to God over and over.  But shall I wait until I succeed in banishing my sin before I come to my Savior?  Jesus came for sinners--me!--not the righteous.  The merit of His blood is enough to cover all my sin.

And Thy love, so pure, so changeless, 

Satisfies my heart;

Satisfies my deepest longings,

Meets, supplies its every need

With such an offer--to satisfy all my longings--why would I hold back from praying about all that is on my heart?

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood

Shall never lose its pow'r

No, never.  Not when I sin in the same way again.  Not when I forget His assurance of pardon.  Not when I weary myself with my own weaknesses.  His precious blood shall never lose its power to free me and make my heart rejoice.  Not even if by Sunday I've forgotten it again.


Because, Lord willing, this Sunday I'll come again to worship; to sing and remember all over again how glorious His grace really is.