For praise He bore the shame

-A poem on Psalm 22

The Son we did despise

God heard not his cries

A Father turned away

As men went out to slay

He died without a friend

To such a bitter end

Why would he leave it all

To save us from the fall?

A Father’s glory awaited

And so for us was hated

We were not the cause

He rescued from hell’s jaws

The cross was for the glory

Of the wonder His story

It was for God He died

For glory crucified

There is no greater mystery

Than God at work in history

To save those under wrath

No one could do the math

For we deserved no kindness

In our willful blindness

His hands and feet were nailed

My death was there impaled

Blood erased my blame

A river of grace now came

Out of the grave He rose

Vanquished all our foes

He loved me for the goal

So grace I would extol

He made me to delight

In Him who is so right

Adopted as a son

In mercy it was done

For praise He bore the shame

To the glory of the Name

My Hate is Now Delight- A poem on Psalm 69

If God became a man

Surely we would plan

To love Him all the more

For all the sins He bore

Yet it was not in love

We gave His face a shove

How we loved to hate

And did not hesitate

Despising every trace

We spit upon his grace

And gave a bloody blow

To love that reached so low

Still He drank the bitter cup

When He was lifted up

On a cross was crushed

A last breath hushed

Judgment now is done

It has fallen on the Son

But to all who would refuse

They will forever lose

Blotted out of life

Into eternal strife

I was one who hated

My end had all been slated

Yet sins were washed away

Why I could not say

But Oh I am so glad

God is no longer mad

His wrath is satisfied

For Christ has justified

For the glory of his Name

There is longer blame

I stand forever right

My hate is now delight

Cruise Ship Worship Services

Is there a sense of urgency in your church's worship service? Is there a sense that large, eternal things hang in the balance with the preaching of the Word? Or is there a rather easy, breezy feel to it all- even an amusing feel to everything. Is there an overarching desire to make everyone comfortable? Or does it have both gladness and gravity? Joy (not "fun") and soul gripping seriousness?

Dan Phillips over at Pyromaniacs blog has nailed it with these comments about worship and the Word.....

Never forget: each confrontation with the Word is a crisis.Crisis

comes straight from the Greek krisis, which means judgment. God's word is living, powerful, unimaginably sharp, and it judges us (Hebrews 4:12).Jesus' words judge us (John 12:48). Angels apparently watch (1 Corinthians 11:10;Ephesians 3:10; 1 Timothy 5:21), and wonder (1 Peter 1:12). Souls hang in the balance, lives are at unknown crossroads. This tidy fellow may be on the verge of a heart-attack; that polite couple could be headed for divorce; this young single might be hovering at the brink of a terrible decision; that young lady could be desperately snared in the jaws of a deep, dark, papered-over depression....

It's not teatime on the deck of some luxury cruiser. It ain't Oprah. It's strategy-time, for soldiers under fire, in the midst of a war.

I need a new birth

A Poem on Psalm 78

If I had all blessing

I’d still be redressing

My complaint about God

O’er mercy run roughshod

Though mercies unfold

My heart is still cold

I want it my way

God as valet

He should supply

And not question why

Let Him show wonders

And ignore all my blunders

My heart so dark

There is not a spark

Of love for the Throne

There’s sin to the bone

Good gifts won’t create

Nor my sins to negate

I must be made new

A clean heart to debut

What I need is a change

Sovereign grace to arrange

A new second birth

But not from the earth

For if I am to live

The Spirit must give

That birth must precede

For faith to proceed

No blessings will save

My soul from the grave

But a new life must come

All of grace to be from

A Sick "god"

Eighty five year-old Satya Sai Baba is believed by many to be the incarnation of a Hindu god. Headlines today read "Indian 'living god' in critical condition". The headline is both a knee slapper and a tragedy. How comic that a so-called god is sick and how tragic that men settle for sick gods.

Paul revealed this tragic reality in Romans 1:21-23

For even though they knew God, they did not honor Him as God or give thanks, but they became futile in their speculations, and their foolish heart was darkened.

Professing to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the incorruptible God for an image in the form of corruptible man and of birds and four-footed animals and crawling creatures.

Why are the Wicked Well? - a poem on Psalm 73

Why are the wicked well

Why are they not in hell

Why do they have no pain

Why do they always gain

How can they survive

Why do the boastful thrive

Have I obeyed in vain

And kept heart from stain

Is God just or not

Am I left to rot?

Now I see all straight

God will surely vindicate

His justice though delayed

Will find the wicked slayed

I’ve seen their end

Though they condescend

In a sudden crash

Their teeth will gnash

God will remove their place

From the human race

They cannot last

And will soon be past

Their foot will slip

They will lose their grip

I must not doubt

God will find them out

He is dreadfully provoked

His wrath is now stoked

While men do wrong

God is yet strong

Evil made to conform

His work to perform

In the cross I see

Death brings mercy

God indeed reigns

The I AM ordains

To God I belong

My portion and my song