The world intended: Eden's goodness.
The world as it is: deformed by sin.
Moving east (away from God)
we settle
for less.
The power to create -
potentiality -
hums and sparks
as God
intended
but
to what end?
To carve our names
into earth's flesh,
identifying ourselves
as individual
entities?
To stare at our own image,
mesmerized?
To cling to what is safe
instead
of trusting the Unknown?
We believe the lie
and cling
to material identity:
I own,
therefore, I exist.
to sexual identity:
I arouse,
therefore, I exist.
to cultural identity:
I hate,
therefore, I exist.
Hubris rises,
a stench to God,
as the bricks
of separation mount.
Seated on high,
with heavenly armies
at His command,
God
comes
down.
Yawheh descends.
No minion messengers
will do
to deal with the threats
of sin and death and fear;
only a personal
encounter
will do.
And so,
God came down.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
The Flood of Justice, Carlo Furlan, 9/21/14 (Gen. 6-9; Ez. 33:11; Matt. 24:37)
Violation -
the flayed flesh,
raw and quivering;
betrayal of trust;
the twisting
and
perversion
of all that was once
good.
Corruption clings like cancer
to the human race.
Our God grieves
over hearts of stone
that have chosen
wickedness
and perpetuated
pain,
but He will not wait forever:
the rains will come.
Enough will be enough.
It will be like this:
the clock will chime
and judgement will begin.
Am I ready
for the "exam?"
Do I isolate myself
and cram for it,
focusing only on
the next world?
Or do I do good
in this world
because of the world to come?
How many wasted hours
am I guilty of?
How many wounds
bear my mark?
Every wound leaves
two scars on
God's heart -
one for the receiver
and one
for the perpetrator.
See how He bleeds!
Who will bring any
charge against those
whom God has chosen?
It is God who justifies.
Jesus pleads my case
because He knows me.
He recognizes Himself in me -
a faint and minor
resemblance,
but
He claims me, even so.
the flayed flesh,
raw and quivering;
betrayal of trust;
the twisting
and
perversion
of all that was once
good.
Corruption clings like cancer
to the human race.
Our God grieves
over hearts of stone
that have chosen
wickedness
and perpetuated
pain,
but He will not wait forever:
the rains will come.
Enough will be enough.
It will be like this:
the clock will chime
and judgement will begin.
Am I ready
for the "exam?"
Do I isolate myself
and cram for it,
focusing only on
the next world?
Or do I do good
in this world
because of the world to come?
How many wasted hours
am I guilty of?
How many wounds
bear my mark?
Every wound leaves
two scars on
God's heart -
one for the receiver
and one
for the perpetrator.
See how He bleeds!
Who will bring any
charge against those
whom God has chosen?
It is God who justifies.
Jesus pleads my case
because He knows me.
He recognizes Himself in me -
a faint and minor
resemblance,
but
He claims me, even so.
Monday, September 22, 2014
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Why is there pain? Tim Knipp (Gen. 3:16; 4:1-2a; 4:25-26
Consequences ripple
from the apple's crunch.
Having chosen self,
the universe
spins out of control.
Volcanic birth
is just the beginning,
the nature of families
becomes pain.
She "like God"
creates a man:
a son, Cain,
(her heart swollen with pride).
Who knows
why Abel was an afterthought,
perhaps the effort was too much
or the gender a disappointment...
but his birth seems
inconsequential -
how quickly miracles pale.
Cain was his mother's son
and swelled up in anger
at God's reprimand -
oh, if only he
had turned from self and sin
as God advised.
A mother's lament claws
at the heavens,
as much for the loss of Abel
as for the stained hands
that exile Cain -
both children ripped first from the womb,
and then
from her life.
Real choices lead to real
consequences.
In the years that followed,
did Eve's thoughts
return to God's words
warning her of the pain
she had chosen?
The gift of Seth,
granted by God's grace
seemed to soften her heart
and several ripples later
the people turn
and once more the universe
is righted.
Could pain be necessary -
a megaphone to my deaf ears?
It certainly does not defeat God.
Even the most atrocious,
unthinkable actions or events
cannot thwart His purpose
or dim His love.
What happens when
the ripples of pain
meet the tide
of grace?
from the apple's crunch.
Having chosen self,
the universe
spins out of control.
Volcanic birth
is just the beginning,
the nature of families
becomes pain.
She "like God"
creates a man:
a son, Cain,
(her heart swollen with pride).
Who knows
why Abel was an afterthought,
perhaps the effort was too much
or the gender a disappointment...
but his birth seems
inconsequential -
how quickly miracles pale.
Cain was his mother's son
and swelled up in anger
at God's reprimand -
oh, if only he
had turned from self and sin
as God advised.
A mother's lament claws
at the heavens,
as much for the loss of Abel
as for the stained hands
that exile Cain -
both children ripped first from the womb,
and then
from her life.
Real choices lead to real
consequences.
In the years that followed,
did Eve's thoughts
return to God's words
warning her of the pain
she had chosen?
The gift of Seth,
granted by God's grace
seemed to soften her heart
and several ripples later
the people turn
and once more the universe
is righted.
Could pain be necessary -
a megaphone to my deaf ears?
It certainly does not defeat God.
Even the most atrocious,
unthinkable actions or events
cannot thwart His purpose
or dim His love.
What happens when
the ripples of pain
meet the tide
of grace?
Monday, September 1, 2014
Loss and Hope, Tim Knipp; Gen. 3:21; Ez, 36:34; Song of Sol. 1:15, 2:13; I Kings 6; Rev. 22:1-2
We lost a way of being
and often,
reaching
for a presence
that used to comfort,
touch air
and
aching absence.
An unmet yearning
throbs
beneath the current
of life,
pulsing out
reminders
of dislocation.
But look closely,
see the tiny thread
of golden hope
sewing up the wounds,
igniting zeal,
suggesting
the possibility
that work may once again
satisfy;
that love might flourish
and finally
be enough;
that men and women
might stand side by side,
co-laborers in the garden.
Since our ousting,
God has pined for our presence,
his loss
as gaping as our own.
So He turned the flaming sword
upon Himself:
willing to endure further pain,
the dissecting of His soul,
to meet with us again;
to talk face-to-face
and walk
along streets glistening
with gold
under ruby-flowered trees.
and often,
reaching
for a presence
that used to comfort,
touch air
and
aching absence.
An unmet yearning
throbs
beneath the current
of life,
pulsing out
reminders
of dislocation.
But look closely,
see the tiny thread
of golden hope
sewing up the wounds,
igniting zeal,
suggesting
the possibility
that work may once again
satisfy;
that love might flourish
and finally
be enough;
that men and women
might stand side by side,
co-laborers in the garden.
Since our ousting,
God has pined for our presence,
his loss
as gaping as our own.
So He turned the flaming sword
upon Himself:
willing to endure further pain,
the dissecting of His soul,
to meet with us again;
to talk face-to-face
and walk
along streets glistening
with gold
under ruby-flowered trees.
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