He sings to me

I'm a sucker for old hymns. I think they're beautiful, and cut straight to he heart of theology and salvation and the richness of a relationship with Jesus Christ.

I love old hymns because I can't put into words how much Jesus really means to me. I love Him so much, guys. I wish I could love Him more. I hurt Him, I break His heart, I insult Him, I spit in His face, I pierce His heart; but every time, just as He did 2,000 years ago at Calvary, He submits Himself to it all in order to claim me for His own and redeem me from my brokenness. He takes everything I am, everything I have, and turns it toward my good, toward Himself, toward the endless aching yearning restlessness which is His desire for my affection.

I can stumble over these words all I want, but they'll never be as beautiful as:

"Heart of my own heart, whatever befall, still be my Vision, O Ruler of all."

"Perverse and foolish, oft I strayed. But yet, in love, He sought me, and on His shoulder gently laid, and home rejoicing brought me."

"Jesus sought me when a stranger, wand'ring from the fold of God; He to reacue me from danger interposed His precious blood."

*melts*

I fully realize that these lyrics hold a special significance for me that they may not hold for you. God speaks to each of us in our own "language," so to speak, and my language is beautiful music.

And God's language is Jesus Christ. His Living Word. He sings to me because speaking isn't exactly my forte. He sang to me in the dawn of creation, in the Incarnation within Mary's womb, in the life He lived and the love He bore, from the pillar as the whips and claws of my sin and wretchedness left Him shredded and torn, and He sang to me from the cross, from the grave, and in the Resurrection.

And sometimes, there are no words -- just music. Just the beautiful rhythm of His concern and care for me.

And I really just can't get over it.