…– Silence is a word, a world separated from the source that gives its pulsing veins the life to joy inside its God. – Silence is a grave. a tomb, a stony slab of quiet. Come to stay forever in the night: the pulsing vain-ness of a life lived outside its Lord. – – – […]Read more "SIlence"
Dear cross, I too, with tangled view would bow before the beams which held the body of our mutual lord and king. – The every lash, of my tongue’s cash of caramelized iniquity I come in anxious sorrowful to bring – Whole storms of lust, at every thrust that felled my heart’s façade of good […]Read more "Dear Cross"
Smooth and warm the satin drape of darkness spread around the ancient Olive Tree that like a hoary grand-sire droops majestically, shadowed in the night, as rumbling voices gradually give way to silent prayer, then sleep. – The Sleepless, kneels, His words a rote of darkness pressed upon His soul beneath the tree— that like […]Read more "Sleep"
He wars with words, and with His words he silences the scholars. He speaks the word, and single words now open wide the scriptures – A carpenter From Nazareth Disproving all the masters – He tells the truth, and all His truth like tested steel is ringing. Sharp as ancient, fresh as dawn Truly, truly […]Read more "Blessed is He who Comes"
Every eye transfixed above, the clouds proclaim: The Son of God. The very sky cries out in language only God can understand. People crowd to see the Servant King now alone, apart from all the world. The cross of law and love. Soldiers dazzled by the sight, a prophecy fulfilled. Sufferer—living, dying. Thus it always […]Read more "Mirrored Mercy"
All things die: the strongest ox that pulls the plow, the laughing girl in the olive tree, the peaceful doves beside the road. All things die—but not my Lord. – All things die, and lie forgotten in the ground and join the elements of earth: the thronging crowds that hear Him preach will soon be […]Read more "Death"
It always seemed the lamb should die at night with dark like curtains, solemn, wrapped around, while pools of crimson gathered on the ground. Instead he died in milling crowds—and light. The priests were quick; their bloody hands a flight of flashing knives. The bleating sheep! The sound of death that pinched my beating […]Read more "The Last Lamb"