Justice (A Poem)

"With the merciful you show yourself merciful;
   with the blameless man you show yourself blameless;
with the purified you show yourself pure;
   and with the crooked you make yourself seem tortuous.
For you save a humble people,
   but the haughty eyes you bring down." ~Psalm 18:25-27

Justice

By Truth wrapped in mortality
The Deceiver was deceived, and bold
To kill God's Son

But missing the Divinity,
Death swallowed what it could not hold
And was undone.

Longsuffering

Matthew 18:21-35, Galatians 5:22-23

My God, there is no patience left in me But some in You there still must be For You have not yet slaughtered me. Though I -- who am so unforgiving, still And hard-hearted, against Your will -- Find all my impulse is to kill And crush these wretched fools for whom You died To save and raise them to reside With You, and in Your love abide. While I, o’er whom that love should hold all sway Would sooner follow my own way In rage, to make offenders pay As though Your sacrifice were not enough: God satisfied, shall I rebuff Forgiveness I, too, have need of? And having been by You forgiven all Shall I now for full payment call From my fellows? Oh God, forestall My folly! Am I not but one of them-- A fool in need of grace? So then, Why am I so impatient when All the mercy that they need Is no more than You've given me?

Matthew 10:8 

(In)Sufficiency

This life of love, it is so hard consistently to live
(But not, my Lord, for You)
[While You, from all eternity]

To all of myself selflessly at ev'ry moment give
(Who bore even the cross)
[Exist as selfless, out-poured Gift]

And in my finite imperfection so much falls between the cracks.
(To make all things anew)
[And now Your love, to heal our rift]

Have mercy, Lord of love: Let Your perfections make up for my lacks.
(Redeeming ev'ry loss.)
[Has made Your Spirit dwell in me.]

O Wake Your Eyes

O Wake your eyes, to drink the light
With vision deeper than mere sight
That sees the love in fire furled
Unrolled in beams that light the world
And more: your soul, if you can see
Through them the God from whom proceed
All good and perfect gifts, whose Word
Sustains all light and life, toward
Which we should ever gaze, until
Our lives conform to all His will.

So wake your heart, to drink like wine
In light the gift of Love Divine
Who gives and undergirds all things
Whose flesh is food, whose blood true drink:
The bread of new, unending life
To raise the dead beyond all strife;
A tonic to heal ev'ry wound
In which sin's poison can be found.

O wake your soul, to drink this Light
Until it all in you abide
In all Its uncreated bright-
ness. Not all those with eyes have sight,
But if you're one with ears to hear
Then wake your eyes, and drink, my Dear.

Temples (A Poem, Regarding Beauty and Worth)

(Dedicated to all of my brothers and, especially, sisters in Christ.)

"Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, whom you have from God?" 
~1 Corinthians 6:19

Temples

Every single part of you

-- not only soul, but body, too --

is Sacred Temple, Holy Ground:

the Garden in which Christ is found

walking, and there He is met

in outward form and lineament.

In your smile Love Himself is seen,

with pow'r to heal, grace to redeem,

and in your laughter, free, unfurled

rings the Delight that made the world

and makes it still. Beauty Himself

dwells in you, making all your self

a well of that Uncreate Spring

which lesser beauties mean, and sing.

And for this dying world, Life treads

loudly enough to wake the dead

in your footsteps, and in your hands

is th' touch of mercy He commands.

No Israelite would curse the place

where God chose to reveal His face

nor scorn the arches, pillars, stones

which God had chosen as His own.

Curse not, then, yours, where Christ is found,

for all of you is Holy Ground.

A Blessing

May your eyes be as bright
As the rising sunlight
And your heart radiant as the dawn
Joined to the fellowship,
Filled with the life
Of the Father, the Spirit, the Son.

A Willing Quill (A Sonnet)

A Willing Quill


Since Thou hast made it all Thy work and art
to write “Redemption” here in ev’ry part
of all Creation, which Thy Word hast made --
each story inkéd in Thine own Son's blood,
which lettering can neither fail nor fade --
and since Thine hands unfailingly can use
as many pens at once as Thou shalt choose,
Lord, let me also be a willing quill,
and dip and fill me in that crimson flood
to write with my life as Thy nib, until
it’s spent. For what more glory can there be
Than that Thou shouldst take up and write again
(though it include all His rejection, pain,
and tomb) Thine own Son’s story, but with me.



Amen.