You are great,
You are great, oh Mighty God,
Your greatness does not depend on my faith,
But upon Your being.
You alone created the Universe,
Flung the stars, far among the heavens,
You alone, designed the tiny ant,
And moulded the highest mountains.
And yet, You were never alone,
You were three, but One,
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit;
Forever separate, forever joined.
You did not design us to be alone,
You made man;
Complete as long as he,
Remained a part of You.
But still You wanted more,
Three in one,
As You are One, but Three.
You took from man, one part,
Formed Your woman,
And gave her back,
Perfection in Your sight,
Man, woman, and God,
But blending into one.
Like grit in an oyster,
Like oil seeping into
A pure, pure, well.
Polluting, destroying, dividing,
Union no longer complete,
Long man wandered,
Uniting with woman,
But lacking something still.
You could not bear to join them,
Your place was taken,
Your home polluted,
Yet Your love for mankind,
Pulled You still,
Drove You to the depths of love,
You divided, stepped apart,
Sent Your Son, to save us;
Let Him become a man,
And risked Your heart.
You knew that man would kill Him,
That in their sin and shame,
Man could not look for long,
Upon this Holy God.
But, did You know for sure,
That all the God in Him,
You made Him fully man,
Though He was fully God,
He could be tempt by sin,
And, surely was.
He could have chosen ‘life’,
Have walked away from pain;
But though His body wept,
He claimed Your Name.
His mind tore at His heart,
And blood poured forth as sweat,
He knew that He could fail,
But yet, His face was set.
He set His face toward His goal,
His mind and body bent,
For they were surely bound to go,
Where ere His Spirit went.
He poured His Blood upon the ground,
In Gethsemane that night;
He ‘stood’ upon His knees and prayed,
And there He won the fight.
Yet still more of His Blood must fall,
More sacrifice required,
The Lamb of God must be displayed,
His body lifted higher.
They lifted Him upon a Cross,
That all around might jeer,
Fulfilling as they did that deed,
The words of their own seer.
Isaiah prophesied long past,
Of how their Lord would come,
And warned them if they cared to know,
Of what, to Him, would be done.
How must Your heart have torn that day,
As sin heaped on His back,
As filth and sickness poured on Him,
You had to turn, Your back.
You could not look upon the filth,
That drowned Your wondrous Son,
And from His lips came the saddest words,
Since ere the world begun,“
My God, My God, oh why,” He cried,
“Hast Thou forsaken Me?”
And yet, He knew, the shame He wore;
Thou couldst not bear to see.
His cloak was shame, and sin, and dirt,
Where Glory once He wore,
We helped to weave that cloak for Him,
Me, you, and many more.
He wore the sin of all the world,
That man could be washed clean,
And in their heart could You return,
To where You should have been.
But still to us, You give the choice,
To claim this Blood poured forth,
To cleanse our temple for Your home,
And recognise His worth.
For He is worthy to be Lord,
Of all our heart and home,
It’s up to us to bow our knee,
And claim Him for our own.
To bow our head, and bend our knee,
To wash in this Holy flow,
And claim His assurance, thus cleansed and renewed,
To Your throne, we boldly can go.
We can lift up our heart, our face and our hands,
Declare as upon You we wait,
You are God, You are Lord, and You love us each one,
Mighty God, You are great, You are great.
© Ailsa Yates 13/7/04 (4-5.30 am)