Save My Soul

Every now and then, a song comes along that speaks not just to the ears, but to the heart. Noah Rinker’s “Save My Soul” is one of those songs. I encourage you to go to YouTube and find the song and listen to it then reread my reflection. It echoes with the cry of someone who, like so many of us, has walked a winding path—bruised, broken, and uncertain—but still dares to hope that God is listening.

The song opens with a line we all can relate to: “Gone by day and gone by night. It’s not an easy road that leads you to the light.” The Christian life is not always smooth or simple. There are times when it feels like the darkness outweighs the light, when the journey feels too long or the obstacles too great. Yet the song continues with faith: “It’s worth it on the other side when He brings that city down.” Here, we’re reminded of the promise of Revelation—the holy city, the new Jerusalem—where every tear will be wiped away. The road may be rough, but the destination is holy.

One of the most powerful moments in the song is the raw plea: “Lord, take me now, I’m broken and bruised. Can you save my soul?” It is the very prayer of the tax collector in Jesus’ parable—the one who beats his breast and says, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.” There’s no pretense in that kind of prayer. It’s the cry of someone who knows their need for God, and that is a sacred place to be. When we come before the Lord in our weakness, we meet not judgment, but mercy.

Rinker also sings, “I’m no good and I’m no saint. I won’t pretend to be somebody I ain’t.” What honesty. And how refreshing in a world so often marked by image, performance, and masks. The saint themselves did not become holy by pretending to be perfect, but by clinging to God in their              imperfection. Holiness begins with honesty—with the courage to be who we truly are before God.

Perhaps the most striking verse is this one: “I have seen some people in a pew stand up on their         pedestal and look down at me and you. I’m not perfect and I never claimed to be, but I’m so glad the Good Lord is makin’ time for me.” This cuts right to the heart of something we all need to examine: our tendency to judge. The Church is not a museum of saints, but a hospital for sinners. When we forget that when we push people away. But when we live in the spirit of Christ—humble, welcoming, merciful—we make space for those who, like Rinker, are searching for something real.

And isn’t that all of us?

This song is not just a tune—it’s a testimony. It’s the voice of the prodigal son, the lost sheep, the    wounded heart. And it’s a reminder that no matter how far we’ve strayed, no matter how many bruises we carry, God is still making time for us.

Let this be our prayer this week: that we would come before the Lord as we are—honest, imperfect, and hopeful—and find in Him the healing only He can offer.

Blessings,

Deacon Mike