It’s 11:55pm on a Friday at the time I’m writing this and I’m sitting here in my bed soaking Brooke Ligertwood’s album, SEVEN, and I simply want to reflect on some of the songs on this album—I’ve had many of them on repeat, blaring them over my speaker and filling my apartment with this anointed gift of worship. I’ve been dancing and singing and reading the lyrics over again and again—in full appreciation of this artistic and reverent expression of worship.

Charles Spurgeon writes, “I can admire the solemn and stately language of worship that recognizes the greatness of God, but it will not warm my heart or express my soul until it has also blended therewith the joyful nearness of that perfect love that casts out fear and ventures to speak with our Father in heaven as a child speaks with its father on earth. My brother, no veil remains.” No veil, no veil, no veil. Brooke leads us into this intimate place of oneness, of beholding, of silent adoration, of opening up our yearning hearts, our empty hands. If one thing is clear, it is that these are songs about God and God alone. The focus is entirely on Him—His goodness, His holiness, His perfect sacrifice, His love. There’s not a moment in listening that one loses track of the Subject of our admiration, our Father, King Jesus.   

The title of the album, SEVEN, is from the book of Revelation where John shares visions addressed to the Seven churches: “Then I turned to see the voice that was speaking to me, and on turning I saw seven golden lampstands, and in the midst of the lampstands one clothed like a son of man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash around his chest.” (Rev 1:12-13) Given the seemingly apocalyptic nature of this book of the Bible and its heavy symbolic language, it is truly the last place I imagined one would be led to create music from, but Brooke, through God, ushers a message of hope, a reminder of the assurance of the deliverance to come. In an interview with Sadie Robertson, Brooke says, “Seven means complete. Jesus is standing in the middle of His complete church—the church far and wide, across time and history. Jesus is standing—not far off observing, not uncaring, not helpless, but He stands as the risen and reigning lamp right in the middle of all this mess.” Her diligence with the Word, her keen regard for theology seals the whole collection as a work of art that solely exists within the knowledge the God, songs formed and lifted from His very breath.

The album begins with songs of ascent, a true call for praise, proclaiming God’s name, declaring His splendor. “Ancient Gates,” “Banner” and “A Thousand Hallelujahs” rest on His holiness, His everlasting existence, His glorious nature with “blazing eyes,” the honor and praise-worthiness of His name: a thousand hallelujahs, a thousand more. Praise immeasurable and irrepressible—as vast and endless as His reign over all the earth. There is “Communion,” which sent me sobbing on my first listen: A song that draws our eyes to the death of Christ, to lead us to remember the sacrifice of love, the blood poured out for us, the only Son of God upon the cross. At the heart of this song is a true remembrance of our salvation, of the reward bestowed us at the most painful price. We are invited to the table to dine—just as we are, wounds and shame all, to “partake in the gift of friendship, truest salvation.” She captures the reward at calvary and draws our attention to the new life at hand, the mercy, the healing, the power that flows from this moment of sacrifice. It is a story most Christians know all too well, but the intimacy these lyrics offer is profound, and the message of invitation, the privilege of pulling a seat at this table is clear. It is one that humbles us, breaks our hearts wide open for more.

Songs like “Nineveh” and “Burn” have long been anthems of my heart. Words about God’s constant pursuit of us even when we turn away, His patience when we fall short, His compassion when we rebel, His patience when we wander. And Brooke’s earnest prayer echoes many of mine:

I appreciate that while she magnifies God’s perfect love and grace, she also makes her yearning known. For indeed, our knowledge of God ought to change us, His love for us ought to move us, turn our hearts toward Him. The mercy of the King of Kings will not be taken for granted and His sovereign grace will not be cheapened, yet when we fall short, may we be quick to turn from our violence for “out of the ashes, He will revive you.”

“I belong to Jesus” might be my favorite song on the album (next to Communion). I love the Father-child relational portrait it captures, how it boldly testifies our identity in Christ, our utter surrender in Him, the perfect reflection of the One who has our hearts, the One who possesses all our affections and delights most in us. Our rock and our hiding place. Our strength and our song. And of course, there’s “Honey in the Rock” from Psalm 81:16 “But I would feed you with the finest of the wheat, And with honey from the rock I would satisfy you.” A precious reminder of our provision in God, of the abundance in Him, and our utmost reliance on a Father who cares and withholds no good thing from us. There is honey in the rock, water in stone, manna on the ground—in the barren seasons, in the darkness, in the places we least expect, in the unbearable waiting, on the other side of perseverance, first, God is right there in the thick of it, and in Him, we have all we need to satisfy our longing hearts.

I’ll end on this lovely note of recent discovery: the Greek word for worship is “proskuneo,” which means “to move toward as if to kiss.” Seven is exactly the kind of album that ushers one into this significant heart posture: to lead ourselves to our Father with an earnest desire to sit at His feet, sing His praise, to behold Him, to open our whole hearts before Him and delight in who He is: our Living and Reigning King, our good and faithful Father, our One First Love and Eternal Hope, of Whom, nothing and no one compares. May the Lord be praised in all the earth!