Alex Mathew - Jesus is My God Lyrics

Video

Alex Jean - Matthew 18:20 (Official Video)

Meaning & Inspiration

Most days, I don’t feel like a child. I feel like a runaway who hasn’t quite shaken the dust of the pigpen off his boots. You spend enough time trying to survive on husks, and your skin gets tough, your eyes get hard. Then you hear something like Alex Jean singing, “I am Your child, You are my father,” and it’s like a punch to the gut.

It’s too simple, isn’t it? That’s what irritates me about it. We want complex theology, we want to explain away why we left, why we stayed gone so long. But the lyrics don't give me room for that. They just drop the fact of the relationship right in the middle of the mess. I am Your child. I didn’t earn that. I certainly didn’t act like one. In Luke 15, the boy comes back with a speech prepared, ready to negotiate for a servant’s wage, and the Father cuts him off with a robe and a ring. The Father doesn’t care about the resume of my failures; He just cares that I’m standing there, breathing.

Then there’s that line: “I request You oh Lord, You come and dwell in me.”

I’ve been in places where the air was thick with smoke, where the neon lights were the only things that felt real. You get used to that kind of presence—the kind that leaves you hollow. The idea that the One who created the stars actually wants to take up residence in the same chest that’s been holding all this resentment and regret… it’s scandalous. It’s invasive. I keep thinking about the temple veil tearing in two. There wasn’t supposed to be an opening, but there it is.

I’m still shaking off the night. I don’t have all the answers for why I was running, and I definitely don’t have a clean record. But when Jean sings about resting in the Lord, it’s not some peaceful, Sunday-morning-on-the-front-porch vibe for me. It’s the kind of rest a man takes after running a marathon until his lungs burn, finally collapsing because he knows the chasers can’t reach him here.

I think about Matthew 18:20, the verse this track hangs on. Where two or three are gathered. I’m alone in my room, listening to this, but the promise isn’t about the size of the crowd; it’s about the fact that He actually shows up. He doesn’t wait for me to wash up. He doesn’t wait for me to get my life in order. He just sits in the mud with me.

It’s uncomfortable, being found. It means I can’t hide anymore. I don’t know if I’m ready for that, but the song isn’t asking if I’m ready. It’s just stating the truth, over and over, until the Hallelujahs start to sound like they might actually be for someone like me. Maybe that’s the point—that the rescue is bigger than my ability to understand it.