O Sovereign God, Holy and high, yet near and merciful, We come as dust—breathed on by grace, We come as sinners—redeemed by blood.
You are the Author of history, the One who aligns centuries like stones in a temple wall. Before time began, You wrote a story not of perfect people, but of perfect mercy.
You called Abraham, flawed and fearful. You wrestled Jacob into a blessing. You spoke through stammering Moses, and crowned David, even with blood on his hands. You chose a teenage girl from Nazareth, and entrusted her with the Holy One.
O God, You have always used the broken. You have always worked through the least, and we—fragile, stumbling, unsure—are still part of Your plan. We marvel: You use us.
We remember how You walked to Bethany just days before the crowds would cry “Hosanna.” You wept beside Lazarus’s tomb (John 11:35), and in that sacred grief, You revealed Your heart beats with ours.
You called a dead man out of the grave (John 11:43), and in doing so, You sealed Your own path to Calvary. The plot to kill You was set. But still, You did not run. Still, You moved forward—with purpose, with love.
In the house of Your friends, Mary broke her alabaster jar (John 12:3), anointing You for death while others grumbled. She gave everything. And so must we.
O Jesus, Lamb of God, You did not ride into Jerusalem to conquer with force, but with gentleness, fulfilling every word spoken by the prophets (Zechariah 9:9). You are the King who wears a crown of thorns. The Messiah who dies to make rebels into sons.
You could have called angels. You could have ended history. But instead, You let nails pierce You— to heal us.
We thank You, Lord. With trembling hearts and tearful awe, we thank You.
Thank You for choosing us. For redeeming every failure. For writing glory through brokenness. For using sinful people to carry an eternal gospel.
Even now, we ask: Take our lives—flawed, messy, surrendered— and make them instruments of Your mercy. Let our worship be like Mary's: costly and pure. Let our faith be like Lazarus's: risen and bold. Let our hearts be like Yours: willing to walk the road of obedience, even when it leads through suffering.
Forgive us, O God, for every time we’ve chosen comfort over calling, pride over repentance, silence over witness. Cleanse us anew. Give us hearts that burn again.
We are not worthy. But You are.
So we say together, with every trembling heart: Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord (John 12:13). Hosanna in the highest. Come, Lord Jesus.
Amen.