Church of the City - La Bondad De Dios Lyrics

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La Bondad De Dios (feat. Ileia Sharaé) | Church of the City

Meaning & Inspiration

I’m still shaking the dust off my coat from the road. Honestly, most days I don't feel like I belong in a room where people sing songs like this. My hands are still stained from the mess I made of my life, and there’s a bitterness in my throat that I can’t quite swallow. But then there’s this line in the version Church of the City does with Ileia Sharaé: “Tu fidelidad sigue persiguiéndome.”

Your faithfulness keeps chasing me.

That word—persiguiéndome—it hits different when you’ve spent half your life running. We usually talk about "seeking God," like He’s some treasure we have to go find, or like we’re playing hide and seek. But that’s not it. I’ve been hiding in the dark, in the bottles, in the noise, in the places where I thought I could outrun the wreckage of my choices. I wasn't seeking. I was fleeing.

And yet, He was the one moving.

It reminds me of that Psalm—the one about being chased by goodness and mercy all the days of my life. Most people read that like a gentle shepherd walking behind them. When I read it, I see a relentless, headstrong God who refuses to let me stay lost in the woods. It’s scandalous, really. After everything I did, after I burned the bridges and slept in the pig pen, He didn't wait for me to get my act together. He just kept walking, kept tracking my scent, until He found me sitting in the dirt.

“Me has guiado por el fuego.” (You have guided me through the fire.)

That one stings. I look at my life and I see the fire I started myself. I see the things I scorched because I was too arrogant to listen, too hungry for things that didn't fill me. But then I hear these lyrics and it feels like the narrative is being rewritten. Did He guide me through it? Or did He just show up in the middle of it, right when the flames were licking at my heels, and pull me out?

Maybe it’s both. Maybe the fire I started became the furnace where He burned off the junk I was clinging to.

I don’t know. I’m not smart enough to figure out how a holy God stays near a guy like me without getting his hands dirty, but He does. When I listen to this, I’m not thinking about some "worship experience." I’m thinking about the fact that I’m still breathing. I’m thinking about the fact that even when I was at my worst, the pursuit didn't stop.

I’m tired of running. I think that’s all this surrender really is—me finally realizing I’m not fast enough to outrun His mercy anyway. It’s a terrifying thought, but it’s the only thing keeping me standing today.