Hillsong Worship - Heart Like Heaven - SINGING HOLY Lyrics
Lyrics
Verse 1 Holy, no measure knows Your worth Face down where mercy finds me first
Whoa If you sought perfection I’d die trying to reach it Whoa But this broken heart is all You want
Singing holy, heart like heaven Singing holy, God almighty own this Heart broke sound Singing holy is Your Name Singing holy is Your Name
Own the sound forever Heart and heaven together Singing “Holy is Your Name” And if it lifts You higher Burn in me Your desire A passion worthy of Your Name Own the sound forever Heart and heaven together Singing “Holy is Your Name” And if it lifts You higher Burn in me Your desire A passion worthy of Your Name
For You are worthy Jesus, Saviour You are worthy, King forever Hear my soul cry out Singing holy is Your name
Video
Heart Like Heaven - Hillsong Worship
Meaning & Inspiration
"Face down where mercy finds me first."
That’s where it starts. It’s an evocative image, isn't it? The physical act of being "face down"—pressed into the dirt or the floorboards—strips away the posturing we usually bring to God. But what catches me is the word "first."
"Mercy finds me first."
If I’m honest, I usually assume I find mercy. I assume I’m the active agent, the one who goes searching for forgiveness after a mistake. But Hillsong Worship suggests that before I even hit the floor, before I even register my own need, mercy has already tracked me down. It’s a pursuit. It turns the idea of repentance on its head: I’m not the hunter of grace; I’m the quarry.
It reminds me of Romans 5:8, where Paul writes that God demonstrates his own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. "While" is the heavy lifting in that verse, much like "first" is the pivot point here. It removes the pressure of having to get my act together before I can approach the throne. If mercy finds me while my face is in the dirt, it implies that my failure wasn't a barrier to entry, but the very place where the encounter happened.
Yet, there’s a strange tension here. If mercy is always there, waiting to catch us "first," does that make our struggle against sin feel trivial? If the mercy is already present before I repent, how do I actually move forward? I find myself sitting with that paradox. It feels like a relief, but it’s also a bit unsettling. It demands a surrender that isn't just about saying sorry; it’s about acknowledging that I never really had the upper hand to begin with.
Then there’s that other line: "But this broken heart is all You want."
We hear that phrase in church so often it risks becoming a cliché, a soft-focus sentiment meant to make us feel better about our mess. But stop and actually look at the claim. "All You want." Does God really want my brokenness? Usually, when I’m broken, my first impulse is to fix it, to hide it, or to trade it in for a better version of myself. But the lyrics insist that the fragmentation itself is the offering. It’s not the healed version of me that God is after; it’s the jagged, incomplete, frustrated version.
It’s a difficult thing to actually believe on a Tuesday morning. We’re taught to value utility, completion, and strength. If something is broken, we discard it or repair it. The idea that the Creator of the universe is looking at my scattered pieces and calling them a "sound" worth owning—that feels almost dangerous. It suggests that my pain isn't just something to be endured; it’s a language.
I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with that. There’s a raw vulnerability in the writing here that refuses to let the listener slide into easy comfort. It leaves me wondering if I’m actually willing to let Him own the sound, or if I’m just waiting for the song to end so I can pick up the pieces and try to glue them back together in my own image.