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Simply Grace

| Renco Schoemaker |
Tussen al die harde christelijke herrie zitten vaak ook rustige nummers. Om even op adem te komen. Vandaag Simply Grace van Mouth of the South.

Zoals jullie misschien inmiddels wel weten houd ik va stevige christelijke muziek, het liefst met een overtuigende boodschap. Soms ben ik bereid die in te leveren voor puur muzikale pracht. Op deze stevige albums staan vaak erg inspirerende nummers ondanks vooroordelen die er misschien mogen zijn tegenover dit genre. Onlangs ontdekte ik de band Mouth of the South nav hun nieuwe album Struggle Well. Nummer 5 heet Simply Grace. Lees en luister.


O little man, what know you of our patience?
Talk to us about time as if you know I AM, the one who made it
Talk to us about pain as if you know I AM, the one who laid it
All down for you at the crown of the place, stripped of its flesh,
The hill without a face, to give you a foundation of mercy
To carve into your hands, valleys for our grace.
We can see that you are hurting,
Suffocating in your tightly woven mask.
It is enough to keep you breathing, but not near enough to last
If you keep asking all these questions
One of you will die of asphyxiation
You lead a double life, and only do half the living.

We said to be like Christ, you cannot be like the trinity.
Of a single mind, yet thrice, you’ve not uncovered that mystery
Only we can be three in one without anything spilling
Where we do not absolutely intend it to be.

Have you started reaching for the ties behind your head?
Or do your fingers fumble scratching your eyes out instead?
Have you learned nothing? O man, listen to what we said!
Trade your trying for trusting, and let us do the rest.


And just so you know we intend to spill all over creation
But for some reason you are not making the connection
That includes you
Which of our actions has ever led you to believe
Our intentions are to exclude?

What makes you think that we exude anything other
than unmerited favor toward the entirety of your endeavors?
Historically, when have we ever proved to be anything less
than your forever victorious Savior?

Was it the beginning when we made man in our likeness?
Or on the ark of Noah when we saved you from the torrents?
Perhaps it was when we promised the land of milk and honey?
Or delivered you from your enemies and closed on them, the sea?
And you ask for your chains back! You have loved a new slavery!

No matter how much you nag, we will not place you on that tree!
You cannot sacrifice your words and acts! You cannot convince us of your piety!
You can be still, relax, let us sing to you our poetry.
We could speak in the way you ask, but what would you hear more audibly?

(musical interlude)

Have you started reaching for the ties behind your head?
Or do your fingers fumble scratching your eyes out instead?
Have you learned nothing? O man, listen to what we said!
Trade your trying for trusting, and let us do the rest.

I will condescend my finger tip
To graciously fold your hip
You have fought for long enough
I see your seam starting to rip
Let me cut the strings you strung
Stretching from the corners of your lips
And separate the plastic grafted
To your cheeks, ears, nose, and chin
It will hurt at first, but trust me,
Your flesh must be stripped
Be ready with the oil
and keep your lamp well trimmed
Wait for me eagerly, I will send the second skin
You knot this thing thoroughly,
But it is not a match for the One who will undo all the damage that you did
He will take the hewn with open wounds and sew your folds back into Him
Your tattered attempts to mend the holes
will soon hold inside the hem of his robe
made white by his life,
red in his death,
whole at moment I chose to resurrect,
then yours the second you accept
that i want nothing less than the best
for all my elect.
I have the authority to command
and the power to affect,
The strength to defend,
The compassion to protect
You work futility to its end
And forsake the day of rest
But when you grow tired again
I’ll be there to help you unforget…

It’s my hands that formed you out of clay
(It’s your hands that formed me from the clay)
It’s my hands that lavish you with love and grace
(Those same hands are filled with love and grace)
My hands were held by nails to the tree
(It’s your hands held by nails up on that tree)
It’s my hands that will bring you back to me
(Those same hands are stretching toward me)

De komende tijd zal ik meer van dit soort parels (naar mijn bescheiden mening) online plaatsen.

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Meer over Renco Schoemaker

Renco is ruim 35 jaar, man en vader van twee. Hij was eerder jeugdouderling in zijn gemeente in Zwolle. Hij mag graag fietsen, hardlopen, tv series kijken en bloggen. Luistert tot slot graag naar harde christelijke herrie.