Jonathan McReynolds - Try Lyrics

Video

Jonathan McReynolds - Try (Official Video)

Meaning & Inspiration

There is a certain sharpness to youth that often mistakes motion for meaning. When I listen to Jonathan McReynolds sing about "trying" a little harder, I am taken back to the nights when I thought my own grip on the altar was what kept me from falling. My knuckles were white back then, too. I believed that if I just squeezed the grace tight enough, I wouldn’t lose it.

The line that catches in my throat now, sitting here with skin like crinkled parchment and a house far quieter than it used to be, is this: "Teach me to abandon all that / Makes me comfortable."

It’s easy to say that when you’re young, when your back is strong and your future feels like an open book. But after decades, you learn that comfort isn’t just a preference—it’s a grave. We build these small, padded kingdoms out of habits and safe expectations, convinced they are godly because they are orderly. But Jesus never promised order; He promised Himself. And He is rarely found in the places where we’ve made ourselves comfortable.

Scripture reminds us that we are to offer our bodies as a living sacrifice, not a managed one (Romans 12:1). Sacrifice, by its very nature, involves a blade. It involves cutting away the things that hold us to the floor so we might be free to follow where the wind blows. I’ve spent forty years trying to get comfortable in the presence of God, only to realize that every time I settle in, He moves the tent pegs.

McReynolds repeats the word "try" like he’s trying to catch his breath. I wonder, though—is "trying" enough? When the lights go out at 3:00 AM and the aches in my joints remind me that this frame is failing, my own efforts don't hold much weight. My "trying" eventually runs out of steam. I look at my hands—weathered, stained, shaky—and I realize they have no strength left to reach for anything but His hem.

Maybe the "try" isn't about human willpower. Maybe it’s just the act of turning your head toward the light, again and again, even when the neck is stiff and the eyes are dim.

There’s an ache in this song, a recognition that living "beneath" is a terrible weight to carry. We want to be more than what the world expects, more than the sum of our mistakes. Yet, there’s a tension I can’t quite resolve: we are told we can’t serve two masters, that we must be "white or black," no gray. That sounds right to a young man, but the older I get, the more I see how much "gray" the Lord handles with His mercy. Perhaps the "trying" is less about achieving perfection and more about the simple, stubborn refusal to walk away when the path gets narrow. I don’t know if he’s right about the "try" being the answer, but he’s right about the hunger. Even now, that’s all I have left. Just the hunger. And that has to be enough.