That our God would give us His written word in the form of scriptures to teach us and guide us…and that He would speak to us through those words…is a gift that I often take for granted.
I love to write. Writing is how I process this life…this world. It is how I pray, it is how I study, it is how I try to pour out what is in my soul and mind. I don’t write publicly as much as I once used to….though I am trying to take steps to make more room in my life for writing here at this tiny corner of the vast interwebz. I do write daily, however, through my personal study and prayer time…files and files and files upon files of written prayers and study. That’s said not to be impressive, because I assure you it is not. There are some mornings when I have not gotten past putting the date on the page, because either there was nothing in my soul to write, or there was so much that I could put two words together that made sense.
I love written words. I cherish written words.
I think that’s why I am so grateful that God has given us His written word – from the narratives to the dry and seemingly endless and tedious book of Leviticus, to the poetry of the Psalms and the letters of Paul – and everything in between.
This morning during worship, we sang a hymn that I hadn’t thought about in a very long time – The Love of God is Greater Far – written by Frederick Martin Lehman, a Nazarene pastor and hymn writer who lived for quite some time in Iowa (which just happens to be my home state).
This morning, it was the third verse of this hymn that caused me to pause my normally loud singing, with just a bit of a catch in my voice and lump in my throat – because never have I found anything that truly captures the weight of God compared to all I have ever written and all that I continue to write about the Savior of my Soul, as what is penned by Lehman in this hymn:
Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made;
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.
Oh, my soul.
Think about it – think of all the books written about our God. Think of all the sermons written week after week after week. The blog posts, such as this one. I think of the letters written by C.S. Lewis (I have a 3-volume set, and they are not small volumes), of letters written by missionaries, of letters written by grandparents to their grandchildren, telling them that God loves them. Think of the seminary curriculum…the poems…the Tweets and other social media posts.
Billions upon Billions of Words – and I don’t think that is an exaggeration.
And then Scripture – the Bible – “…breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work. (2nd Timothy 3:16-17). A gift of grace and mercy for you. And for me.
The ESV translation is said to contain 757,439 words.
Let that sink in.
And yet, all the words written through all of eternity to this very Sunday, and all of the words that will be written from tomorrow through Christ’s return….they will not every come close to capturing all of God’s glory or the depths of his riches and love for you and I.
That, my friend, is overwhelming, and beautiful. Reassuring and unsettling.
To write the love of God above would drain the ocean dry.
Now there are also many other things that Jesus did. Were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written. John 21:25
The love of God is greater farThan tongue or pen can ever tell.
It goes beyond the highest star
And reaches to the lowest hell.
The guilty pair, bowed down with care,
God gave His Son to win;
His erring child He reconciled
And pardoned from his sin.
O love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure—
The saints’ and angels’ song.
When hoary time shall pass away,
And earthly thrones and kingdoms fall;
When men who here refuse to pray,
On rocks and hills and mountains call;
God’s love, so sure, shall still endure,
All measureless and strong;
Redeeming grace to Adam’s race—
The saints’ and angels’ song.
Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made;
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.
