San Francisco

I walk past wonderful, wounded people,
with nothing of worth but the words of my mouth.
Isn't there more than empty words?
Isn't there more to life than this?

Isn't there more to life than this?
Isn't there more to death than this?
Isn't there something worth dying for?
Isn't there something worth living for?

When will You bring us back to life?
Fill us with joy amid the strife?
Fill us with hope despite the struggle
of holding onto faith in You.

How can you allow the things I've seen??
Aren't you supposed to be more gracious than me?!?
But if I were God, I'd end the insanity against the humanity
whose only crime was being born in a world that hated them.

But if the cross rings true,
it must have hated You too,
and you loved it to death in response.
With nails in your hands and thorns in your hair,
You answered my fears right then and there
saying we won't suffer alone.

I asked you to move a mountain, and you gave me a shovel.
I asked YOU to be in this city, and you led ME here instead.

Maybe it's not that God doesn't care,
maybe we're just the answer to our own prayer.
What if he wants to bring light to his people, through his people, in his people,
sometimes even outside fo the steeple.

What if words could bring life?
A Name could bring light?
A story could come alive
to hipster and homeless alike?

In the Spirit of the God who suffers,
my words are far from empty.
In the Spirit of the God who died,
my hands are far from empty

cause they're carrying the cross of a homeless man
who bids us to come and die with him.
And only in the darkest depths of my grave,
have I fallen in love with the God who saves.

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