God, Who is Like You?

Holy God, with eyes like fire,

What could I do to please You?

Is there anything in me You could desire?

Is there any good that I could do?

Entangled in sin up to my eyes,

Even my “good” deeds are as filth.

I'm worth nothing but the pyre.

O God, who am I before You?

Mighty God, with eyes of flame,

Who am I before You?

I look at the many works that You have made

There is nothing You can't do.

Your deeds are marvelous,

Your wonders are grand,

And I am but a rebellious slave.

What is my worth before You?

Gracious God, who formed my being,

What is my worth before You?

Surely I am dust and filthy as the lowest thing,

And unable to stand before You.

But You formed my inward parts,

And knit me together in the womb.

Every part of me You have always seen.

How do You not see my sin?

Glorious God, with radiant face,

How do you not see my sin?

From my egregious evil You turned Your eyes away.

As Jesus took my place, condemned.

His righteousness now mine,

My penalty paid by Him.

Your holy wrath is now assuaged.

O God, do You love me so?

Wondrous God, who sent Your Son,

Do You love me so?

Five wounds attest the answer yes, the vict'ry's won

You've washed me white as snow.

Nothing in me but what You've done

In You only is my hope.

Bought by Your grace,

You've made me Your son,

God, who is like You?

-Nathan C. Matthews

Solace of Silence

Solace of Silence

Silence.

Quiet.

Calm.

To where have they gone?

Though we long, we yearn... we scream for them,

Instead we’re encased

in this cacophony of

DRIP! DRIP! DROP!

CLICK! CLICK! CLACK!

CLING! KINK! CLANG!

Bustling, hustling and jostling around us.

A swarm, a tempest, a tsunamic wave

Crashes upon our ears,

Splinters our thoughts,

Corrodes our concentration,

And attacks our minds.

Where is the peace

Of a cool summer breeze?

Where is the serenity

Of a mountain lake?

Where is the mute

Solace of silence

That brings lucidity, clarity, and health to our souls?

It is not to be found, my friend,

On the lofty peaks of the Rockies,

In the deep valleys of Appalachia;

Neither in the trees of the Amazon,

Nor in the waters of Lake Victoria,

No, no, it cannot be found there

For even there the tranquility will end

Even there Noise will intrude,

For our lack is within us,

Though our desire without,

And that need of calmness only One can fill:

The One who still cries out

“Be still!”

And bids these waves of clamor subside

-Nathan C. Matthews

A Good Friday Poem

I was there in the crowd when my Savior died.
I am the man who yelled “crucify!”
I am the soldier who pierced His bloodied side
I am the one who His name denied.

I am the one who falsely accused.
I am the one who jeered and abused.
I am the one without an excuse
As I abandoned Him to the crowd's woos.

I betrayed Him with a kiss.
I gave Him up for less than He is.

I am the one who plucked His beard
I am the one who mocked and cheered
But I am the one who should have feared.
While in pity, His heavenly eyes teared

He took the path I should have tread;
I am the criminal who should have gone instead
But even as I placed the thorns on His head
I was the one who should have been dead.

And though it was my sins that sent Him to Calvary,
It was all according to His perfect plan
And though His death was because of me,
No detail escaped His sovereign hand.

He chose to die so that I might live.
When I took his life away, He chose to give.
I am the captive that He set free
By suffering Hell and giving His life...for me.

-Nathan C. Matthews