Gethsemane's Rose

“And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we saw His glory,
glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth.”
John 1:14

It was a rakish crown--twisted, you know;
the slender thorns didn’t look so cruel all
bound up like that. The people said he seemed
more clown than king. The blood, of course, hurt the
effect. It was a little gruesome for
a summer’s afternoon. Not that they weren’t
all used to seeing the Romans’ criminals,
but this was different. The city knew
his death was theirs, not Rome’s. And so they would
have rather laughed than winced, when they saw him.
They focused on the crown, pathetic and
so tragic-comic as it made him. Poor
fool going to his death, and he the claimed
Messiah. So what could he promise now?
When all was done they took the placard that
their governor had ordered, and disposed
of it. The King of Jews indeed. The throne
of David wasn’t for him, nor any such
imposter coming powerless, without
an army at his back. What had this one?
A prophet, and some fishermen, the love
of harlots, and the testimony of
known lunatics? No man would follow him
after his death. And if he’d really been
a king? What kind of coronation was
that? Suffering for celebration, thorns
for jewels—how could these be royal marks?
One must wonder what people would accept,
what kingdom could be worth, that crown.


1999?

These Days

I wrote this one when I was about sixteen. If I felt that way then, imagine how I feel now!

Time is slipping!
Like
sand,
silvered sand,
though
our fingers.
And though
we try to
grasp it,
it keeps on
slipping
down
in a
silken ribbon
of
moments gone
fading
rushing by like the wind as it blows.
These days
that are
so precious?
We cannot
keep them
but can only
gaze
in delight
while
we have them
and then
we can remember.

Doxology-- A prose poem in 3 parts

Part I

Alpha.
Almighty.
Apostle and High Priest.
Son of God.
Word of God,
Living Water.
The consolation of Israel.

If I had a voice, I would sing of the wondrous Lord Who crucified the flesh of many men. I would sing of His salvation, of His wisdom, of the surpassing righteousness of His every thought and desire, and the splendid, awesome wrath that He brings on those who dare to trespass against His purity.

I would sing, had I voice, of earth’s liberation—of the King of Kings, and His two thorny crowns (one to tear the flesh, and one to rend the soul). I would sing of the Lamb of God so sinlessly slain that while His blood stained the alter, His glory set it flaming. The force of His holy ardor dug out a font of life for a race all born dead.

If I could sing, I would sing a lament for those other songs never sung, hymns aborted before conception by a single sin that rendered infertile the minds and hearts of all men. If God had given me the knowledge, I would move the church to weep for every insult offered to Him, for every word that wasn’t spoken, every act that wasn’t done for the praise of His glory. Have you not heard, o man? No other treasure will endure. At the sounding of the trumpet, the First and Last will burn the chaff of human history, and only gold bought from Him will survive.

Part II

Immanuel,
Creator.
Cornerstone.
Morning Star.
Justifier!
Mighty Fortress.
Lord of the Harvest,
Avenger.
Holy One,
Head of the church,
Heir of all.

That single Event that happened one afternoon outside a little Middle Eastern city stands now as the vortex of history. Every land is caught by its power, and every event. Time is counted by it, cultures are changed and lives are driven. The births and deaths of governments, the germination and decay of whole peoples have been carried out in its shadow. The roots of the Cross go down to the very heart of the earth, and its arms straddle the sky. It rises high like a gaunt specter, reeking of blood: the stench of death to those who hate it, but the fragrance of life to those who follow it. Truth lies in its path, cutting a line across the earth, dividing the righteous from the unrighteous, and securing the Lord’s own.

This—this herald of God’s mercy and promise of God’s wrath, this troubling, ugly, glorious, confounding thing has wrought upon the world a change such as those who stood and watched Jesus die could never have guessed. Those who mocked Him never thought their words would resonate across the centuries; those who condemned Him knew not how many would condemn them. But still we see record of their deeds, printed on the rice-paper pages of our Bibles, and through them, poor vessels of wrath, God has brought Himself undying praise. To a people led back from the darkness, He is the Dayspring, the source of the morning! Proclaimed as Redeemer, worshipped as Servant, the Son of God is now the Lamb that Sits at the Center of the Throne, and this title is His highest crown.

Sing! Sing, oh nations, and shout oh people of God! Sing aloud, and shout! The chorus of many races shall rise someday, many tribes as one Chosen People, one Holy Nation, one Royal Priesthood. For the glory of God, and of God alone, the Triune Untied One, perfection compounded twice, shall the light of His love rain upon the heads of a wretched multitude, and make their sorrow joy. From now until the end of time, and from then into eternity, shall saints say and angels affirm the intrinsic beauty of every Thought of God, the justice of His Words, the excellence of His lasting renown. He is our Hope and our Salvation. He is the exquisite Pearl of very Great Price. He is the eternal, incandescent flame, and we like moths shall forever be flying toward Him.

Part III

Refiner.
Righteous One,
the Bread of Life.
Intercessor.
Lover of our souls,
He who heals.
Our Hope!
Faithful God.
Jealous God.
Forgiving God.

I would sing, if I could, of His song. I would sing of the great symphony He is making from time, as every day that passes adds a note to His staff, and every eon forms a new movement. Vast, spectacular, in a tapestry huger than the heavens, He has spun out melody and harmony, orchestrating creation, and wooing the world by His power. The overbearing theme of this symphony is His Glory: it sounds and repeats, echoing off the walls of the universe, escalating into the deafening climax of Christ’s death on the hill called Golgotha, when perfect love did perfect justice meet. Now, it resounds still, recurring like a fugue in the ears of those who can hear it.

Many men have lived and many tales have been told. The writing of many books is endless, says the Teacher, and meaningless. People have worshipped God, and they have hated Him. His Name has been foully spat on. The Hands that Bled have been arrogantly scorned. All men have hated Him, our blessed Redeemer, and only some have loved Him. Yet what, after all, is the conclusion to the babble that has filled this planet and now howls louder than before? God in His grace and in His inscrutable, incorruptible righteousness still stands, unmoved, immutable, and His is the anthem that the nations will sing. All these songs have been sung, and here sing I now mine, but in the end there is no song but His. And the flawless execution of His immaculate plan will be seen, and wondered at, and praised, and acknowledged, and then every person who has ever refuted the truth of His Word, every eye that ever was closed to His Sovereignty, every tongue that failed, as mine has, to give Him the praise and the thunderous applause that He so deserves, all together will cry,

“Glory!
Worship the Lord God of Hosts!
Kneel before Him,
Come in the Joy of His Splendor or
the Fear of His Wrath for He is
Pure
and the Might of His Honor is like an Army of Warriors.”
“Holy,” cry the people of God,
“Holiness is His banner!”
“Lord!” cry even those who despised Him,
“Lord is He, Christ, the Son of God,
Jesus Christ the crucified is Lord indeed!”

And the Radiance and Representation of God’s own Being will rise like the blinding, unveiled sun over the line of the earth’s horizon, Incandescent and Holy, and men will fall prostrate, and seraphim will shout, and then we will know.

The Lord Saves.
Omega.
Amen.

Genesis 40

Just musings...

How quickly dreams are forgotten—
even prophetic ones.
The shadow of death had passed,
and the cupbearer went his way, forgetting
the Hebrew in his dungeon.
How long and lonely Joseph must have felt,
serving his sentence for righteousness.
“Was it for this that you brought me here, O God?”
Perhaps he thought, perhaps not.
But the boy became a man no longer arrogant,
And when at last God’s hour came
He (the Lord that is) lifted his head,
Saved the land, and even those
who threw him in the pit
became recipients of His mercy.
Divine, forgiving God, to bless their bloody hands…
but not until
the lesson was learned, of course.
“Poetic justice” doesn’t really do it justice.

The Last Word

This is a work in progress, and you must forgive the limitations of this blog. Much of my poetry has to be altered when I post it here, because it won't let me indent anything, or center part of it without centering the whole thing, and it often eliminates spaces between lines for me. The original version is a little easier to read because of these things, but I hope you will enjoy it anyway.

“Behold, I am the Lord your God.
I, the Lord, am the maker of all things,
I am He.
I am He who forms light and creates darkness.
I, even I, am the Lord,
and there is no savior besides Me.”

“It is I who have declared and saved and proclaimed—
who is there who speaks and it comes to pass,
unless the Lord has commanded it?
Is it not from mouth of the Most High
— there is none who can deliver out of My hand—
that both good and ill go forth?
—I act and who can reverse it?”

Then the angel said to them,
“Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of
great joy which will be to all people. For there is
born to you this day in the city of David
a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”

Thus says the Lord,
Who makes a way through the sea
And a path through the mighty
waters,
Who brings forth the chariot and the horse,
The army and the mighty man,
“I, even I, am the one who
wipes out your transgressions
for My own sake.
Is My hand so short that it cannot ransom?
Do not tremble, and do not
be afraid.
I am the first—
Is it not from the mouth of the Most High
—and I am the last—
that both calamities and good things come?
—And there is no God besides Me!”

“For My own sake,
for My own sake, I will act;
For how can My name be profaned?
And My glory
I will not give to another.”
.
What shall we say, then?
There is no injustice with God, is there?...
May it never be!

“Blessed are you when men hate you, and when they exclude you,
And revile you, and cast out your name as evil,
for the Son of Man’s sake. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy!
For indeed your reward is great in heaven.”

And the Word of the Lord came to me,
saying,
“Son of man, the house of Israel has become dross
to Me, therefore
--Then they will know
I will gather you in My anger
--that I am the Lord
and in My wrath and I
--their God.
will lay you there and melt you.”
For, says the Lord,
“I, I will vindicate the HOLINESS
of My Name.
I, the Lord, who brought you out of Egypt.”

“Hear, O Israel,
the LORD your God is
one God.”

BUT NOW
the righteousness of God
apart from the law
--O the depth of the riches
of the wisdom and knowledge of God! --
is revealed;
Even the righteousness of God, through
faith in Jesus Christ
--So His visage was marred more than any man,
And His form more than the sons of men; --
to all and
on all
who believe, for there is no difference:
For all have sinned, and fall short of the glory of God;
--How unsearchable are His judgments--
being justified freely by His grace
through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus,
--and His ways past finding out! --
Whom God set forth
--He was oppressed, and He was afflicted
yet He opened not His mouth--
as a propitiation by His blood,
--He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter;--
through faith,
to demonstrate His righteousness, because
in His forbearance God had passed over
the sins that were previously committed,
--But He was wounded for our transgressions,--
to demonstrate at the present time
--He was bruised for our iniquities--
His righteousness, that He
--The chastisement for our peace was upon Him--
might be JUST, and
the JUSTIFIER
of the one who has faith in Jesus.
--And by His stripes we are healed.

Who are you, O man, who
answers back to God?
For from Him and through Him
and to Him are all things!

“Have you ever in your life
commanded the morning,
and caused the dawn to
know its place?
You shall not make other gods
of silver or gold,
for I am He.

“Whoever comes to Me,
and hears My sayings
and does them,
I will show you whom he is like:
He is like a man
building a house,
who dug deep
and laid the foundation on the rock.”

In triumph I will parcel out
Shechem,
and measure off the Valley of Succoth.
Gilead is mine, and Manesseh
is mine;
Ephraim is my helmet,
Judah is my sceptor.
Moab is my washbasin,
upon Edom I toss my sandal;
over Philistia I shout in triumph.”

nightfears

How long
have you strode
in the streets
of the night

like a man
in a dream
who is dazed
by his fright?

Did you pray,
when you lost,
and your eyes
turned from life

to the rope
at your feet
and the edge
of the knife

that will wait
for your fall?
Will you wake,
do you sleep,

is this day,
is it real?
Is the hope
worth the leap

and your life
worth the pain?
Is there more?
Do you lack?

Are you blind
from your fear
or more blind
from the black

of a world
that’s so sure,
does not ask,
will not think,

but just want?
Do you grope
in the dark,
would you blink

in the sun,
or is noon
what you’ve got,
and the best

of the deal
is the play
and the feel,
and the rest

is a ghost?
Do you know,
have you found,
do you stride

in the streets,
is there sense
in this world,
do you hide

from your mind?
What is truth?
Is it here?
Have you found

what you seek?
Will your strength
last the fight
that you’re bound

to meet soon,
if you live?
If you die?
Would you sell

all your wealth
just to speak
to the man
who could tell

where to find
in the blare
peace of mind? …

[Breathe.]

Will you pray,
can you weep?

Does the truth
come too late?
Is there way
through your sleep—

Will you live,
and leave death,
will you breathe,
and know breath?

If by truth
you can break
all these lies
so you wake
from your night,
you will find
in the light
peace of mind. . . .

and live.

1999

Letter to an Unseen Love

A couple of weeks ago my husband and I celebrated our eighth wedding anniversary. In honor of that, I thought I would post this poem, written in the year before our marriage, when he was just another aquaintance. It is a poem about why I stayed single, why I waited and hoped and prayed for a man that God would clearly show to me, rather than compromising and just "dating around." I put all of my girlish longings into it, never knowing that my husband was, in fact, literally "next year."


You are the strut in my step.
You are my fingers in my hair.
You are the secret smile through talk of romance,
and the waiting out of quiet frenzies.
You kiss me in the car, in the kitchen, and in my bed.

You are the dream of my silence,
the taste of my desire.
It is you who compel my beauty,
my hope of being woman.
I have always dressed for you, painted my lips
and bejeweled my ankles for you: there is no other.
When laughing at eyes, I am thinking of you.

You are girlish plans, adolescent sighs,
and a woman’s longing.
You have ever been real to me.
However unseen your face,
your presence shadows my eyes,
and though I never see you,
I will always remember.

You, my love, seal my purity,
and our coming promise binds me now.
If not, then the dream of you binds me.
You are half my dances,
and all my love songs sung so throatily in the shower.
You are more than I could have guessed.
If I am always looking over my shoulder for you,
it is because I see your silhouette before me,
and feel your breath.

I have never had a lover, only a husband,
and if you are not, then I am no less married.
You are the strut, and the preen, and the smile.
You are Christ, you are prayers,
you are long anticipated,
but here made real by hope.

You are now, not only next year.

Naaman's Rebirth

He emerged
like a baby
as if from the water of birth

new skin
heart
the old decaying carcass
left
in the river.

“Now I know that there is no God on earth but in Israel.”

He went back
to serve
his king

worshipped with
his slave girl
his face toward
Jerusalem.