Song Blog: Cover the Earth
“Let me be an instrument
to exalt and to extend
Jesus’ name, globally
as the waters cover the sea.”
The lyrics of Lakewood’s 2003 worship song, “Cover the Earth,” hit me like a punch in the face. How long has it been since I heard such an earnest, sacrificial request of God in a worship song?
So much of today’s worship music is focused on what God has done—or what He can do for my situation. Rarely is there even a mention of what God might do through us corporately. Scripture certainly models worship that celebrates God’s faithfulness and provision, and that is a valid and necessary form of praise. But how often does a song so boldly ask God to do something that would require our daily lives to change so radically?
“Let Me Speak What You Say”
The first line of verse two could be its own song: “Let me speak what You say.” How often do we pause and wonder whether what’s coming out of our mouths is what Jesus would have said in the same circumstance? What if the only things coming out of our mouths were the kinds of things Jesus would say?
Now, I know what you’re thinking. When a friend asks whether you want Starbucks or Dunkin, how do you answer that like Jesus? “Man does not live on coffee alone”? “Father, forgive them, for they do not know of a better coffee shop”? No—that’s not the point.
I mean where it counts.
When conversations turn serious. When emotions run high. When fear, frustration, or anger are driving the discussion more than love. When we feel justified in speaking harshly because the stakes feel high and we are “defending the truth”. Yet Jesus consistently moves in the opposite direction.
Love your enemies.
Pray for those who persecute you.
Blessed are the gentle.
He told us that words reveal the heart. That out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks. That we will be held accountable not only for what we do, but for every careless word we say. He warned us that it is possible to honor God with our lips while our hearts are far from Him. That should sober us.
If we truly desire to “speak what You say,” then we must be willing to let Jesus shape not just our theology, but our tone. Not just our private beliefs, but our public speech—especially our public speech.
We cannot recognize the voice of Jesus if we rarely sit with His actual words—not filtered through personalities we admire, not reduced into slogans, but His words themselves. Slowly. Carefully. Honestly.
Take the Sermon on the Mount. Read it one sentence at a time. Sit with each one. Ask yourself—not defensively, but truthfully: Do I speak this way? Do the people I most admire speak this way?
“Let me speak what You say” is not a harmless lyric. It is a dangerous prayer.
If Jesus’ words feel foreign, uncomfortable, or impractical, it should set off alarm bells. Because the goal of following Christ was never just to believe correct things about Him, but to become like Him. The song says, “Let me be an instrument.” Instruments don’t choose the song. They don’t set the tempo. They don’t amplify their own voice. They submit to the hands of the one who plays them.
If we truly want Jesus’ name to cover the earth as the waters cover the sea, then our lives must look like His. Our words must sound like His. Our loves must look like His: sacrificial and humble. Next time you begin to open your mouth in a high-stakes conversation, the question is not, “Am I correct?” or “Does this make me feel good?”
The question is simpler—and harder:
Would Jesus say this?
Would Jesus do this?
Would Jesus recognize Himself in the fruit being produced?
Lord, teach us to love Your words enough to let them change the way we speak.