Aline Barros - Ressuscita-Me Lyrics
Lyrics
Mestre, eu preciso de um milagre Transforma minha vida, meu estado Faz tempo que eu não vejo a luz do dia Estão tentando sepultar minha alegria Tentando ver meus sonhos cancelados Lázaro ouviu a Sua voz Quando aquela pedra removeu Depois de quatro dias ele reviveu Mestre, não há outro que possa fazer Aquilo que só o Teu nome tem todo poder Eu preciso tanto de um milagre
Remove a minha pedra Me chama pelo nome Muda a minha história Ressuscita os meus sonhos Transforma a minha vida Me faz um milagre Me toca nessa hora Me chama para fora Ressuscita-me
Mestre, eu preciso de um milagre Transforma minha vida, meu estado Faz tempo que eu não vejo a luz do dia Estão tentando sepultar minha alegria Tentando ver meus sonhos cancelados Lázaro ouviu a Sua voz Quando aquela pedra removeu Depois de quatro dias ele reviveu Mestre, não há outro que possa fazer Aquilo que só o Teu nome tem todo poder Eu preciso tanto de um milagre
Tu És a própria vida A força que há em mim Tu És o Filho de Deus Que me ergue pra vencer Senhor de tudo em mim Já ouço a Tua voz Me chamando pra viver Uma história de poder
Video
Aline Barros - Ressuscita-me (Clipe Oficial MK Music HD)
Meaning & Inspiration
My hands are spotted now, the skin like parchment paper that’s been folded too many times. I spend a lot of time sitting in this old wingback chair, listening to the silence of the house, and sometimes, letting Aline Barros pull me back into the messy, desperate ache of needing God.
"Remove a minha pedra." It’s a simple request, isn’t it? But when you’ve lived long enough, you realize those stones aren't just sitting in front of a tomb. They’re the calcified bitterness of old losses, the heavy weight of regrets I thought I’d buried, and the quiet pride that keeps me from admitting I’m still lost. We talk about the tomb of Lazarus as if it were a clean, dramatic moment, but in the thick of a long life, the tomb is often a place we walk into willingly. We pull the stone over ourselves because it’s dark, and the dark is quieter than the world outside.
When I hear her sing those lines, I’m not thinking about the spectacle of a miracle. I’m thinking about the smell of death that Lazarus carried with him when he finally stepped out. That’s the part the songs often leave out—the grave clothes. Even after the miracle happens, even after the voice calls you out, you’re still wrapped in the stench of where you’ve been. You don’t just walk out perfect. You walk out needing to be unwound.
The Gospel of John tells us that after Jesus called him, Lazarus came out, his hands and feet wrapped in linen strips. He was alive, yes, but he was still bound. That’s where the real faith starts, I think. It’s not just in the calling; it’s in the messy, awkward process of letting the community help you loosen the rags that kept you confined for four days.
"Me chama pelo nome." Sometimes, when the night is heavy, I wonder if I can still hear that voice over the hum of the air conditioner and the rattling in my own chest. Is it still a voice, or is it just the memory of a voice?
I don’t know if I have the answer to that. Some days, I feel like I’m standing right at the mouth of that cave, waiting for the stone to shift. Other days, I feel like I’m already out, stumbling through the garden, still trying to shake off the dust of the past. It’s a strange thing to be a believer in the twilight—you’ve seen enough miracles to know He’s real, but you’ve also seen enough sunsets to know that the night comes for us all eventually.
Aline’s song doesn’t offer a pat answer. It just offers a plea. And at my age, a plea is a lot more honest than a victory lap. Maybe the miracle isn't that the darkness never touches us; maybe the miracle is simply that we keep listening for the One who has the power to call us out, again and again, until we’re finally, fully, home.