Our stories revolve around the sons of…
Of harpy and of Jacob
From which fathers are they?
Is their devotion to violence in the alley
Merely a skewed reading of scripture
They call themselves the sons of…
Of ones whose hearts are all-consuming fire
And disgust in the bedrooms.
Their loyalty unfaltering, unmoved, and solid
Their causes horrifically misplaced
These are the sons of…
Broken men following broken men following broken men
But believing in something real.
Enforcing the laws of the land
They forget the good news that made them
The person and work of Jesus Christ –
His sinless life –
Can be yours
By faith alone
And I’m spiteful
And I’m so angry
And my heart is rotten
And I fall short every day
But you love me. All is well.
Words? In devotion to me?
No. No my name is small and can’t be heard
Yes, yes, yes, Your name
Should be sung loud
Let us sing loud!
“O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be…”
Which facet of this Diamond should we sing of tonight?
What color is Your character?
What color do you see, brother?
Every color is beautiful
In its own way
And we look to this, our Prism
The grace-giving summation of everything good
We look to Him
I look to Him
Without Him, none of this means anything
It’s all just a useless few years
In which we keep yelling our names
Never to be heard
Moses struck the rock and dispersed water
The cool stuff of life freely given
The Spirit in the rock from the father
God’s gift and the flesh interwoven
Jacob, in distress, chose to flee
Stopped in Luz to rest his head
Experienced dreams from the Head of three
On a pile of rocks made his Heavenly bed
A rock is not merely a rock
As Christ is the Rock of Ages
The mission of the Spirit Christ’s body unlocked
And on Christ’s body did Jacob lay his
I was working in the yard
With earth up to my elbows
The dirt was dark and cool
Figure eights between my
Fingers. Beetles came to
The surface to inspect. My
Knees were deep in the dirt
I filled my hands with scoops
of land. I washed them with
Cold water. It all brought true
Satisfaction and it occurred to
Me what God must have felt
When he was at work, seeing
Creatures come into being.
Feeling land between his
Fingers and cold water clean.
I’m envious of the Maker
Of all things.
Photo credit: “baby grass [mother’s day present]” by Flickr user woodleywonderworks
I remembered this today:
My buddy and I would stand and stay
In the dark we would sneak cigarettes in the backyard
We would criticize Christ
We would laugh hysterically at the absurdity of God
We would snarl our smoke yellow teeth between coughs
We would share bewilderment that anyone could believe
Something so obviously impossible
We would open another pack and pass the lighter
Back and forth back and forth back and forth
Into the black night we would hurl our insults
Hoping to God that someone would hear us
We were proud enemies of God proud enemies
Of the truth
When we were spent we would walk inside leaving behind us trails of ash
We reeked of smoke and sadness
Photo credit: “Ashtray” by Flickr user Franco Dal Molin
The father; the first
The creator of all things
He gave us his son,
His mission: to liberate
Died on the cross. And
Promised his Spirit
Which dwells inside all of us
The giver of life
My God, how I can see your marvelous gifts
Your unending love and care for what you make
You give us life and help us grow, even though
We go astray and spit in your face
You promise us a mighty victory when
The end of days does finally come
You’ll pick us up and hold us as your children
As the old world is swallowed and left to soak in sin
I continually rub the sleep from my eyes
Too blind to see your powerful work,
To sense your subtle nudges in the right direction
I don’t take the time to remember that you are here, you are working
Thank you, God. Thank you for caring.
Thank you for thinking up redemption.
Thank you for sacrificing yourself for the weak.
Thank you for mending the broken. Thank you for love.
I’m not so concerned with what my tombstone will read
Whether or not the granite will be clean
If I get a plot with a view
If there’s a bench with my name on a plaque
If I’m laid by a busy road
I don’t even care about the bones within
I only care that the owner of those bones was found acceptable to God
That he followed Christ until the end of his days
That he was able to finally be called righteous