Running

Bearing both mixed and shifting metaphors,
let us outrun those devils
pretending to be Marathon champions.

He who paces us has also cut the cords
that bound us to false followers, to tempters,
half-created archon remnants of a lost, unfinished universe
who lurk to frighten children
and hope to halt heart beats by hollow threats.

We run, we think, from destruction and danger,
but it is not so.

We run because that is our nature.
We run because we are both image and likeness
of One whose name is ‘He that runs.’

We run because we know He wants us.
He wants us to catch up to Him.
Yes, even to catch Him.

He paces us.
Always only a step or two ahead, He is not far.

He stays close, but He doesn’t relent, or slow, or stop.
Running is His nature,
and running is why He made us.

Walking in wisdom

Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus. Do not quench the spirit. Do not despise prophetic utterances. Test everything; retain what is good. Refrain from every kind of evil.
1 Thessalonians 5: 16-20

This poem is dedicated to ‘Aunt Melanie.’

Walking in wisdom,
it is the intention of the heart
that seeks to confess Christ before men,
without crucifying Him anew.

Impossible without grace,
impossible without immersion in the Word of God,
not as a study for knowledge,
but as a baptism into His death.

Quietness, pause, selah, hesychia, stillness, peace,
the way into the Father’s throne room,
as we venture in,
following the word of Jesus,

taking nothing with us,
unclothed except for the Lamb without spot,
Whose precious righteousness covers our sinful nature,
hiding it even from our own eyes,

alone,
alone except for Him walking inside and outside,
above and below,
to right, to left of us,
before, and after,
enclosing us in His love,
our rock and our shield.

Glory to You, O God, glory to You!

Bless this sister’s sharing of her vision of Your throne,
and enlighten our eyes,
undeceive us,
Father,
for by Your Light we see Light,
and we become what we see.

Glory!
Glory to You, O God!
xx

Beautiful

                              Beautiful, quiet tears
                              have been shared
                              between lovers,
                              one alone in his room,
                              the other in a garden,
                              missing in time's flow
                              their embrace
                              before the world ever was.

                              The past certain,
                              the future the same,
                              they shall be forever
                              quietly happy together,
                              but presently
                              in time flows
                              the loneliness
                              of tears.

                              The pain inside
                              turns quickly to joy,
                              not mere pleasure
                              which is too weak to share

                              When I think of you
                              flying over seas
                              and mountains
                              as I sit in my chair.

Amen

Source

This is the kind of world we live in:

When a man sets out to accomplish a great good,
All the forces that oppose goodness rally against him,
And in the end his efforts fail to bring about
The good he intended.
At times what is accomplished is actually evil,
The exact opposite of his intent,
And he is blamed by all.

He is not to be distinguished
From the man who determines to do evil; who,
When he sets out to perform his work perfidiously,
Is aided by every fierce, merciless force
That seeks to destroy the souls of men.

This is the kind of God we believe in:

When a man sets out to serve and please Him,
All the powers of earth and the underworld
That clamor against him, wound him,
Slander and betray him,
Conquer him, and even kill him,
Cannot harm him, cannot defraud him,
Cannot define him, cannot destroy him,
Because they cannot even see him;
He is hidden in God with Christ.

He is not to be distinguished
From the man who determines to deceive Him; who,
When he determines with all his might to defy God,
Disdain Him, desert and delay Him.
Even to defeat Him,
He is still pursued in his personal Hades,
Not by shafts of lightning, fiery hail,
Searing embers, dark clouds of smoke,
Or deafening trumpet blasts,
Not even by angels, those bodyless powers,
But by the Christ of God
Who descends to rescue him once and for all,
If he allow it,
From the outer darkness.

What of that dreadful Day,
The Day of mercy ending,
The Day of dread descending,
The Day of wrath,
The Son of Man sitting to split sheep from goat,
His angel hands harvesting the final field,
At last tirelessly tearing weed from wheat,
Irresistibly raking one into the grainery,
The other with chaff casting into the fire.
Shall this not be?

Amen,
He comes in glory to judge the quick and the dead,
Who is always with us who follow Him,
Whom only we may always see,
‘Lord, will You show Yourself only to us,
Or to the whole world?’

Amen,
He shall show Himself to all,
Amen,
To the world.
Amen,
Every eyes shall see Him then.
Amen,
The deeds of all shall be revealed.
Amen,
For us who believe, that Day is still bright,
By His mercy.
Amen,
Outside of that is forever night.
x

Transfigured into Him

You are there,
and Christ is there,
and soon we all will have arrived at this place
where we know for sure,
the tombs have been opened
and are emptied of their dead.

The darkness
and cold chill of that hour
before the sun rises
was worth enduring,
because out of the sea of darkness
the sun rises
as faithfully and predictably as we have been told.

This is no accident,
that sun rises,
and Son resurrects,
both utterly and predictably certain.

The prophets did not lie,
the saints do not fib,
our own pains and sorrows,
even our very bodies of sin and death,
were really only seeds
whose purpose was to be buried, planted
so they could sprout and grow into the light,
producing at last ears in plenty,
sixty- or a hundred-fold.

Everything the religious believe is true,
and all they or we ever need do
is to admit our brokenness,
turn ourselves in to the Healer,
and be still.

His therapy takes time,
but that is what time is for.

Biological life was made for death,
but death for resurrection.

Matter was only the embryo of spirit,
and spirit only the Spirit scaled down to meet us.

Our blindness was a blessing that resulted in sight,
and sight itself only the vehicle of our transformation:
to see Him is to be transfigured into Him.

Falling pulpits

The day is full of deceptions.
Night enters,
cloaked in clerical brightness,
to do deeds in broad daylight
that shame the righteous,
corrupt the pious,
kill faith and trust.
Confusion reigns.

Yes, but signs,
there are signs given,
that robbers are abroad,
thus some, distinguishing the Voice
from the voices, flee.

Falling pulpits—
let those who have ears hear!—
and demons flying through shattered glass—
let the reader understand!—
and lampstands removed from the Holy Place—
let those who have eyes see!—
symptoms of great sickness,
panoplies of pride
corroding piety by dissimulation,
all speak warning—
let the buyer beware!

The fires are hot
but blaze not in hell only,
they burn those who hate,
enlighten those who love,
God’s kingdom
and His righteousness.

Father, deliver us from this calamity,
save us from these precipitous slopes,
that we may serve Thee
in singleness of heart,
purged of all pretense 
and in spirit and truth
worship Thee, and live.