I am the ruined temple one that stood glorious before

I am the broken vessel, a bag torn and tattered in which nothing can be stored

I am cursed and hopeless as I reap little of what I have sown

I stand unclean before You, tainted, and unworthy before Your throne

You commission me to build a new temple one that will be filled with glory greater than what once stood

One built with lesser material, one of common stones and wood

I stand before You bitter, not moved to perform this task

For what benefit is it to build of the least and carry out what You ask?

Forsaken I truly am, left in ruin beyond repair

For what profit is it to build lesser and be seen as the weeds and tares

How can a place be Holy, unless it be greatly adorned?

How can I stand before others as nothing, an object open to be scorned?

How will others know that I serve the Almighty God

When the temple you instruct me to build is no greater than the rubble and sod?

How can we stand in power, or as a blessing to the world?

When we stand as a remnant, outcast in lands where foreign flags are unfurled?

How may we bring in Your kingdom when we have not a king to reign?

We have nothing but a broken city being rebuilt in vain

Still I hear You call, from the messenger you have sent

I am stirred by your faithfulness and by his persistence I am bent

Consider your ways, this is what the Lord of host has said

You have dwelt to long in ruin, in a covering that will not cover the bed

For in this meek and lowly temple, there is greater glory to be shown

For within this temple God will eternally be seated upon His throne

A temple less adorned but covered in His love

A temple with the greater glory of God from above

For what can be said about the least among the people?

What can be said of the remnant congregating under a worn steeple?

For we know the greater glory goes to the meekest of them all

The one full of power, that upon the cross chose to fall

A man born of a virgin, of a woman of no fame or great descent

A common man of Nazareth, a Galilean, a teacher, a sacrifice to be lent

For what can a man say, of what we now hold inside?

A dwelling, a new temple that the Almighty God will forever abide

For no matter what glory we attain, or what fame we can accrue

Nothing transcends the glory of the most holy temple broken for you

Broken on a cross, a common tree for criminals and the defamed

Broken by a spear spilling out the very blood by which we are now covered and named

I make all things New it is His promise as the temple was restored after three days

Surrender your all to Christ and in your temple he will establish His ways

For no matter how lowly or mundane we think we stand

We are the temple of greater glory the broken temple redeemed by nailed scarred hands