But His name is Jesus

Every word I write seems empty of usefulness.
But his name is Jesus and he is exulted to his Father’s throne.
He is the Word-confess him.

Every thought I have lies silent, unshaped.
But his name is Jesus; all things were created by him and for him.
He is the Word-confess him.

Everyplace my hands move grief follows hope.
But his name is Jesus; he saves his people from sin, giving a new name.
He is the Word-confess him.

Perhaps, because it is Lent, darkness rides on our shoulders?
But he, Jesus, King of peace rides into Jerusalem on a donkey,
And the children outdo our stony hearts; they cry hosanna.
His is the word-praise him.

Perhaps, because it is Lent, we sleep, over our meatless words?
But he, Jesus, the Bread of God, feeds the hungry with his flesh.
He wakes the sinner and tells them eat and drink.
His is the word-praise him.

Perhaps, because it is Lent, tomorrow is unwelcome?
But he, Jesus, the beloved Son of the Father loves us from eternity,
And will love us in all tomorrows.
He is the Word-love him.