Praise the Lord! Sing to the Lord a new song, His praise in the assembly of the godly! Let Israel be glad in his Maker; let the children of Zion rejoice in their King! Let them praise His name with dancing, making melody to Him with tambourine and lyre! (Verses 1-3)
I waited patiently for the Lord; He inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear, and put their trust in the Lord. Psalm 40 Italics, mine
What's the old song? The one we sang before our deliverance from all that binds us here on Earth? The piper played and we danced...nearly to the edge of the cliff. And somehow, for some strange reason, just before we leapt over the edge, we heard it. Strains of freedom that made us pause as the others ran into us or over us onward toward their end. "Move!" they cried as we hesitated, listening with more than our ears. This is the way, walk in it. But we had to break ranks to follow a winding path that led into the hills. Many of us had to fight our way out of the throng that ran after the piper, navigate treacherous territory with only the hope the voice we heard would lead us to higher plains. It would be a while before we got the old song, a dirge, really, out of our hearts and minds. We were used to singing it, the familiar chords pushing us forward, mesmerizing us so that we didn't consider where it led. The lyrics, lies from the pit.
Come away with me, my minions,
I will meet your every need.
Listen to this song I sing you,
It your very soul will feed.
Dance away in wild abandon,
Give no thought to life today.
If you follow where I lead you,
All your pain will go away.
Say farewell to all your sorrows,
I control all your tomorrows.
And so many of us did. Danced right over the edge, as our feet stomped to the rhythm of our own destruction. Addicted, trapped, lonely and afraid, the only song we knew now still on our lips but not ringing true. And the pain? Well, it takes more than the song to cover it. We have stumbled over the cliff and understand, at least to some degree, that the piper fooled us. But some of us still hope the lyrics were the truth. That the syringe we hold in our hands or the person we gave it all up for will somehow give us a better song to sing. One of joy and peace. But new songs don't emerge from old tunes sung in dungeons.
Come away with me, my Beloved,
I will lift you from this mire.
Take my hand that reaches for you.
I will set your soul on fire.
I have loved you from before
This world was ever made.
I have freed you from this prison.
Your sentence has been paid.
Your are beautiful in my sight.
Let me set all things right.
Can we believe the new song? So trapped by the old that we sit in our specific prisons staring down the darkness thinking there will never be light again. Holding onto a false promise because it's more comfortable, more familiar, than change. Believing somehow, some way, we will still get what we jumped over the edge to gain. The strains of hope come faint at first. Tiny rays of light...just enough to see the desperation of our lives. Won't you put all that behind? Beloved you are Mine. Never before had we seen quite so clearly the folly of our tune. The light dawning on our darkest needs.
It's why when we see our Deliverance come, streaming light and trumpet sound, that we dance and play the tambourine in streets surely paved with gold. Who does that? Comes to free us from jail? Pays our debt and wipes it clean? Who joys in our freedom more than we? Who trades our orange jail jumpsuits for dresses of purest white? How come? What for? It's not a lie!
The joy of laying our old song down to march to a different tune will cause us to pick up guitar and drums as we sing as loud as we can. I am my Beloved's and He is mine! Our Maker has seen our plight! He will not lead us over the cliff but into His kingdom bright!
I waited patiently for the Lord; He inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear, and put their trust in the Lord. Psalm 40 Italics, mine
What's the old song? The one we sang before our deliverance from all that binds us here on Earth? The piper played and we danced...nearly to the edge of the cliff. And somehow, for some strange reason, just before we leapt over the edge, we heard it. Strains of freedom that made us pause as the others ran into us or over us onward toward their end. "Move!" they cried as we hesitated, listening with more than our ears. This is the way, walk in it. But we had to break ranks to follow a winding path that led into the hills. Many of us had to fight our way out of the throng that ran after the piper, navigate treacherous territory with only the hope the voice we heard would lead us to higher plains. It would be a while before we got the old song, a dirge, really, out of our hearts and minds. We were used to singing it, the familiar chords pushing us forward, mesmerizing us so that we didn't consider where it led. The lyrics, lies from the pit.
Come away with me, my minions,
I will meet your every need.
Listen to this song I sing you,
It your very soul will feed.
Dance away in wild abandon,
Give no thought to life today.
If you follow where I lead you,
All your pain will go away.
Say farewell to all your sorrows,
I control all your tomorrows.
And so many of us did. Danced right over the edge, as our feet stomped to the rhythm of our own destruction. Addicted, trapped, lonely and afraid, the only song we knew now still on our lips but not ringing true. And the pain? Well, it takes more than the song to cover it. We have stumbled over the cliff and understand, at least to some degree, that the piper fooled us. But some of us still hope the lyrics were the truth. That the syringe we hold in our hands or the person we gave it all up for will somehow give us a better song to sing. One of joy and peace. But new songs don't emerge from old tunes sung in dungeons.
Come away with me, my Beloved,
I will lift you from this mire.
Take my hand that reaches for you.
I will set your soul on fire.
I have loved you from before
This world was ever made.
I have freed you from this prison.
Your sentence has been paid.
Your are beautiful in my sight.
Let me set all things right.
Can we believe the new song? So trapped by the old that we sit in our specific prisons staring down the darkness thinking there will never be light again. Holding onto a false promise because it's more comfortable, more familiar, than change. Believing somehow, some way, we will still get what we jumped over the edge to gain. The strains of hope come faint at first. Tiny rays of light...just enough to see the desperation of our lives. Won't you put all that behind? Beloved you are Mine. Never before had we seen quite so clearly the folly of our tune. The light dawning on our darkest needs.
It's why when we see our Deliverance come, streaming light and trumpet sound, that we dance and play the tambourine in streets surely paved with gold. Who does that? Comes to free us from jail? Pays our debt and wipes it clean? Who joys in our freedom more than we? Who trades our orange jail jumpsuits for dresses of purest white? How come? What for? It's not a lie!
The joy of laying our old song down to march to a different tune will cause us to pick up guitar and drums as we sing as loud as we can. I am my Beloved's and He is mine! Our Maker has seen our plight! He will not lead us over the cliff but into His kingdom bright!
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