I’m sickened by the sin that still seeps out
Of unpatched cracks that mar this earthen pot.
The stench of stale, and festering slime could not
Be covered though the cracks were worked with grout.
Was not this heart already born again?
Was not the Spirit poured out over bone
And flesh, and wasn’t he to transform stone
To living, beating heart? And yet, there’s sin.
Oh, wicked, vile, wretched man am I!
Who brings new life to bodies dead in sin?
I praise our God it’s Jesus Christ our kin
Who died ’neath sin’s rank curse that we’d not die.
And clinging fast to Jesus’ cross, I see
It’s with my transformed mind I serve God’s law,
Yet in my flesh I’m held beneath sin’s claw.
One day he’ll fully set this captive free.
For now, we groan internally and wait
With hope for body’s crowned redemption bought
In full at Jesus’ cross and being wrought
In might, though slow may seem the Spirit’s gait.
So while this seeping sin still sickens me,
Each whiff’s a sweet reminder: Cast your hope
Again on Jesus’ gracious cross whose scope
Envelops filth for all eternity.
© 2011 Eric Evans