O God who thunders on the mountain,
You carried Israel on eagle’s wings,
not to wander endlessly,
but to bring them to Yourself.
You freed them from Pharaoh,
but Your goal was fellowship with You.
You called them Your treasured possession,
a kingdom of priests,
a holy nation set apart.
And yet, Lord, like them we answer too quickly
“All that the LORD has spoken we will do.”
Our mouths speak bold vows,
but our hearts tremble before obedience.
We sing of holiness,
but we do not wash our garments.
We treat Your covenant like suggestion,
and Your presence like common ground.
O Lord, forgive us.
The Church in America is stained with pride.
We do not tremble at Your voice;
we treat lightly what is sacred.
We are quick to claim the blessings of covenant,
but slow to live as priests before the world.
We boast of freedom,
but we use it to indulge the flesh.
We shout of grace,
but we mock holiness with our lives.
Have mercy, Lord.
Bring us again to the foot of the mountain.
Let us feel the thunder that shakes the ground,
the trumpet that grows louder and louder,
the cloud that hides yet reveals Your glory.
Teach us once more that You are not safe
but You are good.
That You invite us near
but never without consecration.
Wash us, Lord
not only garments, but souls.
Cleanse our pulpits and our pews.
Break the arrogance that struts into Your presence.
Restore reverence where we have grown casual.
Set boundaries around our lives
that keep us from trampling Your holiness.
Father, I cry with David
“Who shall ascend the hill of the LORD?
And who shall stand in His holy place?
He who has clean hands and a pure heart.” (Ps. 24:3–4)
Give us such hands.
Give us such hearts.
Make us a people who tremble rightly
awed, washed, consecrated, and near.
In the name of Jesus,
the Mediator who brings us to God,
the High Priest who makes us holy,
the King who makes us His own,
Amen.