The poetry of repentance

Two men went up into the
temple to pray
One a Pharisee and the
other a tax collector.

The Pharisee, standing
by himself, prayed thus:
‘God, I thank you that I
am not like other men
Extortioners, unjust,
adulterers
Or even like this tax
collector.’

‘I fast twice a week
I give tithes of all
that I get.’

But the tax collector,
standing far off
Would not even lift up
his eyes to heaven
But beat his breast,
saying:
‘God, be merciful to me,
a sinner!’

I tell you, this man
went down to his house justified
Rather than the other
For everyone who exalts
himself will be humbled
But the one who humbles
himself will be exalted.

Luke 18:10-14

Oh mercy fall on me
Like a warm blanket
On my cold, cold heart

Clean me with your blood
That turns me white on
the inside
I’m on my knees again
Because I’m breaking
Your heart

Put in me what I cannot
buy with gold
Put in me, O God–come
restore my broken soul
Put in me what I cannot
give myself
Put in me a clean heart

I know all my broken
places
Like the back of my hand
I slapped Your face again

Wash me in your love
And hold me tight like a
baby
With no memory
Of ever breaking Your
heart

Put in me what I cannot
buy with gold
Put in me, O God–come
restore my broken soul
Put in me what I cannot
give myself
Put in me a clean heart

Put in Me (Psalm 51)
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