How great are you? Creator God.
You spoke the world into existence.
You crafted the Heavens of the universe.
Oceans and Sky.
Sun and Moon.
Beast of Earth and Sea.
From dust you made Man. And breathed life into his nostrils.
All of these are crafted from your mouth.
Mighty is the Word of the Creator God Almighty.
What is a man’s work compared to you God?
All a man’s toil is meaningless, all turns to ash.
From dust we are made, to dust we will become and all in our wake is ash.
Cities created, and by the winds of the west, cities destroyed.
Nations rise up, and by the winds of the east are blown away.
Men can build great legacies and bring glory to themselves.
But in the end all is folly.
A mere generation can destroy everything a mighty man makes.
Their inheritance wasted, their empires crumble, their works thrown away in the bin.
And all that remains is a footnote in forgotten books in forgotten tongues.
The mightiest works of men are nothing but filthy rags to your sight oh God.
A wretched stench it brings forth.
Unsightly to your eyes.
Blashemphy to your ears.
Tasteless, and unfeeling.
It is written that man’s pride is an abomination to you Almighty God.
Yet we erect our pride like a statue in a city.
Haughty and arrogant.
How horrible is it, the hearts of man, oh God?
We build with our hands idols to satisfy our own desires.
Wicked is the man who creates their own gods and chases after them.
Their bellies are never filled.
Their members are never satisfied.
A constant chasing after wind is their life.
A constant yearning for flesh that dies.
In the end we build with our hands darkened hearts.
Hearts that are hardened by life’s iniquity that we drink desperately like water.
Our work turns to weapons. Our tongues spit out daggers.
No mercy, no remorse, unforgiving, unloving, and with no appreciation.
In the end the building that is our heart crashes down by the storms of life.
Because that house was not built on the rock, but the sand.
You Lord, are the crusher of idols!
With your powerful hammer you break a man’s spirit.
The wicked have no rest, the unjust have no quarter.
The wise man who builds libraries has become a fool.
The Rich man who has built treasure in their houses has become poor.
Those who amass the praises of men have become infamous in a blink of an eye.
Those who build their lives on seeking the pleasures of this life die soulless.
Those who sow the wind against you, have reaped the whirlwind of your wrath.
The wages of a man’s sinful work is death.
His body deteriorates
His mind grows dim.
His love waxes cold.
We chase after the wind of our youth but in the end we end up our sinful hopes and dream of iniquities crumble into the dust we were made. To dust we are made to dust we will become.
The soul that sins dies.
In the end the hearts we craft in our own image are abominable, disgusting, abhorrent, and wretched.
What man can compare to the mighty works of the living God?
Who can compare to God’s masterpiece? The cross of His only Begotten Son.
From the moment man fell, you began a great work to bring redemption.
Though the Earth was flooded by the waters of your wrath, you merely cleared the foundation.
Through an old woman’s dead womb, you brought forth the son of the promise.
Through your signs and wonders you brought your chosen people out of a powerful nation.
Year after year, generation after generation.
Your mighty judgement and redemption was echoed through the ages.
Until the final piece of your grand plan was erected.
The Son of God lifted up, crucified, as an atonement for our iniquities.
Though we were still sinners, the Christ, the Messiah, died for us.
The Ultimate work of your glory. The ultimate symbol of your infinite love.
Who can stand before this work that not even the angels can comprehend?
What man can truly comprehend the gospel? This masterpiece you have made?
For God can speak galaxies upon galaxies into existence.
But dare I say what makes you the most Holy of craftsman is what you do with man’s corrupt heart with the blood of your only begotten Son.
For with this blood you wash away a man’s sin and give him a new heart.
Not of stone, but of flesh, with your law written on it.
To break a prideful spirit into one that is poor and needy for your grace.
To give them a spirit of mourning, so you can comfort them.
To shatter their hatefulness and put in its place, meekness.
To put in them a thirst for righteousness.
To craft in them a spirit of mercy.
A pure heart you craft from an abominable heart.
A peacemaker you make them instead of a warmonger.
Sons of God you create from the ashes of a hellbound heart.
From a fearful heart, you made them bold in the face of persecution.
Blessed they truly are!
Holy is the Lord who saves the wretched man with the blood of the Lamb.
Holy is the Lord who wraps them with the Holy Spirit, who plants the seeds of his salvation.
Holy is the Lord God Almighty, who is all loving, all powerful, all merciful, who wipes the tears of those suffering a broken heart. In Him we find rest from our works. To those who trust in their own works, He will judge them accordingly, but to those who trust in the works of His only Begotten Son, He gives them eternal life, and the right to be called sons of God.
Jesus Christ Red Pill 