Christ at the Crossroad

I have stood at many crossroads in my life,
But never one so rife with pain and agony,
O my Beloved, which you faced that night
In the lonely Garden, so iconic of fair Eden
Now fallen, in which you had the choice
To make between life and horrible death,
And with every breath you did wage war,
Sweating blood for humanity you adored;
In the end you said, ‘Send me to the cross;
Not my will but yours be done, my Father!’
How can I begin to comprehend that night?
All sensibility takes flight as the light fades
Into shades of darkness at the sight of you,
My Beloved, kneeling and reeling in blood
Seeping from the very pores of your skin
Knowing that you would begin the journey
To the very Pit, to Sheol, to the belly of hell
To overcome death by your death and life
In resurrection . . .
No, never will I fully know how much love
You did show that night filled with blight,
And never will I or anyone stand at this
Crossroad
. . .
But I do know you could have said ‘No!’

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Prayer to the Living God

You’re untamed and wild and I but your child,
So I don’t say what I may want you to be to me,
For I’m not free to shake you and remake you;
I take you for who you are, my Morning Star,
Gratefully, not hatefully, ravished by your love,
Mindful you are far above me in your holiness,
And are blameless and shameless in all you do;
So, too, I worship you and praise you for being
Not only true but also Truth,
As well as Love and Beauty,
And it’s my duty and privilege to belong to you,
Eternal One, whom I’ve only just begun to love

No Need to Worry

No Need to Worry

‘Do not hurry, scurry and worry,’ You clearly say
To keep at bay all doubt and fear as You are near;
‘I have all of this in hand with but three demands:
Look to Me and trust Me and obey my commands,’
And I know with this I am able to face all the days
Of my life in all the ways I travel . . . You have me!
Thank you, Lord, for being very near and so dear!

Bramble Bush Christian

You play your golf on the country club course
As an expensive source of pleasure, but then
Turn your back on the beggar with no remorse;
You eat your ribeye steak and drink fine wine,
But never consider the starving child
In the cold, wild streets of your city;
You have no pity, no remorse for the course
You have taken in life, and never think twice
About vice as you sit in your nice, plush pew
In church and only lurch forward in sleep,
Then awaken to peep at your golden watch,
Counting the time till the church bells chime;
You pay half your tithe and care even less;
After all, the mess in the world’s not your fault;
It’s the worthless bums and scum of the earth
Who persist to insist on homes, food and water,
And you curse at their plight as you nurse anger,
Hoping they’ll eventually take flight elsewhere,
But you do pray and pay your bills and play
With your kids after making your best bids
On the next football game, and pride yourself
For taming your bad appetites (mostly, at least)
Claiming fame in the community as a good man,
An unsullied citizen, honorable community man,
An elder in the congregation,
Who votes right in every election,
And . . .
You’re no more than a bramble bush Christian!

Figs are not gathered from thorns, nor are grapes picked from a bramble bush.
Gospel of Luke 6. 44


Note: Originally published in September 2016, now republished due to some renewed interest as well as for new reader-followers (as, hopefully, an humble blessing.) Peace to one and all!

Fighting Fierce Fear

Fear is powerful, towering over you leading to cowering,
Making you wonder what’ll happen in misshapen reality,
Flapping his black wings, laughing until life’s maddening,
Wrapping his talons round you, crushing your very soul;
Fear is like a dragon in passion, cracking your own spirit,
Spitting fire, making all look dire, tiring your very heart;
And he does not slacken his grip on your wearisome life;
Ah! But perfect Love cast out fear, and Love is ever near!
One Voice rings above the cacophony caused by raw fear
Saying, ‘I am always with you, every day along this way;’
And He who promises such is true
And that is much to be cherished!
So Fear may come knock; only lock your door with Love!
Lay claim to the Power that towers far above dark fear!

Returning to Your Vomit

Dogs return to their vomit, as the proverb says, and you to your poisoned well
To sell your soul once again for a bowl of rancid stew you knew would be foul;
And so you make yourself sick once again and begin again your trek to death,
Smelling the foul breath of the wraith who serves you from his black cauldron;
Will you ever learn and turn away from the sickness ‘n thickness of darkness?
How can it be that you’re still addicted to the demon after being so convicted?
God will not keep applying grace when you’re not trying but lying to yourself!
Yes, indeed, dogs return to their vomit and you to your perverse poisoned well
How long? Oh, how long until you realize who you are and where you belong?
But for now . . . for now you feed your very soul from the bowl of rancid stew!