Jerusalem, My Happy Home

When I meet together with others in worship, confessing our sin, receiving absolution, and partaking in the elements of grace, I am overcome with a sense of peace, rest, and joy. I know this is true, why then am I reluctant to worship? My first response is that I’m just plain stupid—but then I am reminded I am not stupid, I am sinful. I covet my sin and love the disorder it brings. This is our defect—we both love and hate the disorder and suffering our sin brings us. We hate it and long for release, and yet we desire it and fear its absence.

Lord, give me your rest.


Jerusalem, My Happy Home

Jerusalem, my happy home,
When shall I come to thee?
When shall my sorrow have an end?
Thy joys when shall I see?

O happy harbor of the saints,
O sweet and pleasant soil!
In thee no sorrow may be found,
No grief, no care, no toil.

Thy gardens and thy gallant walks
Continually are green;
There grow such sweet and pleasant flow’rs
As nowhere else are seen.

There trees forevermore bear fruit
And evermore do spring;
There evermore the angels dwell
And evermore do sing.

Apostles, martyrs, prophets, there
Around my Savior stand;
And soon my friends in Christ below
Will join the glorious band.

O Christ, do Thou my soul prepare
For that bright home of love
That I may see Thee and adore
With all Thy saints above.

(F.B.P., c. 1580)