Phil Wickham - Great Things Lyrics

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Phil Wickham - Great Things (Official Lyric Video)

Meaning & Inspiration

I still have the dirt of the pigpen under my fingernails. Sometimes, when the house is quiet, I catch a whiff of the slop and the rot, and I remember exactly what I traded for that silence. I didn’t deserve a porch light left on, let alone a robe, and honestly, the sheer audacity of being “awake and alive” feels like a mistake I’m constantly waiting to be corrected.

Phil Wickham sings about a “Hero of Heaven” who “conquers the grave” and “breaks every chain.” It’s easy to let those words float by as background noise, but when you’ve spent your life knotting the chains yourself, you hear them differently.

There’s this line in his song Living Hope—Wait, no, he’s singing about the “great things” here—but it’s the same God, the one who doesn't mind getting His hands filthy. He says, “You free every captive and break every chain.” I’ve spent so much time hiding in the shadows, convinced that if He knew the specific stains on my jacket, He’d bolt the door. But the song doesn’t say He waits for me to clean up before He starts the work. He just shows up and snaps the iron. It’s scandalous. It’s like the guy in Luke 15 who runs—actually runs—toward the son who smells like bad choices and failure. The father didn't ask for a resume or a clean bill of health. He just interrupted the shame.

I look at the line, “I know You will do it again,” and my gut twists. I’m not as sure as Wickham sounds. I keep wondering if I’ve pushed the envelope too far this time, if the grace is going to run dry because I keep needing more of it. It’s hard to believe in the “Yes and Amen” of God’s promises when your own track record is a long string of “No” and “I quit.”

But then I think about the grave. If He actually conquered that—if He actually stared down the thing that ends everyone else’s story and walked right out—then maybe my mess isn’t as big as I think it is. Maybe the “great things” aren’t just miracles on a grand scale; maybe the greatest thing is that He pulled me out of the ditch and didn't ask for the mud back.

I’m standing in the living room, listening to this, and I don't feel like dancing. I feel like sitting on the floor and just breathing. The chains are off, even if I still reach for them every time I hear a loud noise. He says He’s faithful “through every storm,” even the ones I brought on myself. I don’t know how the math works on that kind of mercy. I just know it’s the only thing keeping my head above water.