The beauty of God’s love is inexhaustible. On our best days, we seek him and find rest in him because we are so sure of his love for us. On our worst days, we need to know that the beauty of God’s love is bigger and brighter than the darkest trouble we face.
His love ought to surprise us. When I’m most aware of who I really am, I’m shocked and grieved to see how unlovable I am. I can’t think of a single reason that God should love me.
Yet still he loves me.
I am the epitome of a spoiled child, but I am loved by God, who is a kind, faithful, and steadfast father.
But it doesn’t stop there. His love will never wear thin. I tend to think of love as just one thing that we all do, at least a little bit. I love others, but the love I offer is inconsistent at best and self-serving at worst. My love (and my ability to love) is marred by my sin and the sin of those around me. But my love is only a shadow of God’s love. His love is unstained by sin. It is pure, beautiful, and timeless.
The words I speak, write, and sing cannot wear out the love of God. His love will never get tired, and will outlast everything else. It’s inexhaustible. We can try to capture all of the beauty of God’s love in words, but we will run out of words before God’s love runs out.
My response to this hymn: challenge accepted.
“The Love of God”
by Frederick M. Lehman
1 The love of God is greater far
Than 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.
Oh, love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure—
The saints’ and angels’ song.
2 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. [Refrain]
3 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. [Refrain]