Burn, Redemptive Flame (Isaiah: Light to the Nations) - Tim Knipp (Isa. 5:18-21; 6:5)

A tapestry of travesties
woven of wayward threads;
a deeply disappointed 
Father mourns the loss -
the severing of bonds,
the sickening snarl of sins
His children wallow in.

Carts loaded with rotting piles
of overripe lies and selfish deeds,
amassed debts to wrongs unaddressed,
greed rationalized
and putrid appetites.
Dragging our groaning loads,
we challenge God
to prove His
worth.

Double-edged words drip
from slack lips,
stab for weakness
and divvy up Truth
to serve it with a slab
of jellied lies.
We gobble it all down
indiscriminately.
Words unworthily shared
or miserly withheld
serve no one.
Words obfuscate and rattle
when they can be jewels
shimmering with
reflected brilliance.

Arrogance is an ugly scar
on an otherwise
beautiful face.
Closed ears
and closed hearts
refuse the possibility
of error
or a better plan.
In "us" we trust,
thank you very much.

It is I who am flawed
as well -
no better than any of us.
I am carting my own load of trash,
cursing words stain my tongue
and I wear oversized confidence
like camouflage fatigues. 
  
So I kneel before
the Father,
knowing my unworthiness,
my shame;
and He touches 
my lips
with redemptive
holy 
flames.

It All Belongs to Him; Isaiah - Light of the Nations: Tim Knipp (Lev. 25:8,14,23; Isa. 5:8; Luke 12:20a)

Return again
to where it began -
the land belongs
to God.
His plan is good,
to care for all -
the land belongs
to Him.
Ask not what the world
can do for you -
ask what you can 
give for the world.

We accumulate things -
stacks upon stacks -
stealing from the desolate,
raping the land.
Woe to us.
We will smother in things,
they will drain our blood,
cold winds will whistle
through barren stubs
and His land
will groan 
and quake.

Endless consumption
depletes His bounty;
blind allegiance to 
"bigger is better"
topples nations,
leaving the vulnerable
to wither
and beg.
These, these,
the least of these
are those His heart
bleeds for.

Woe to us
when we shut our eyes,
grabbing wildly
for more and
one more.

His economy is just -
we do not deserve it all,
or even "enough" 
when others
far weaker
have less than 
enough.

As I peer into
the storehouse of my heart
I see dust collecting
on useless things,
seemingly substantial
but devoid of life.
I glance down
and see my fists,
knuckles white,
turned inward
and
clenched.

Open my hands,
digit by digit -
help me let go
of all that glitters.
Let it fall through 
my fingers
as I lift them
in service to You
and those
You love. 

Remind me again,
again and again -
it all belongs
to You.

Sing me a Song; Isaiah: Light of Nations series - Lynn Gill (Isa. 5:1-7)

My people... a light to the nations

Sing me a song
of things that I know-
of fertile earth
cleared lovingly 
with strained sinews
of toil.
Sing of vines planted
and tended,
a harvest protected
and expected;
a song that I know.

But a sour note chimes
when the harvest reeks
and the farmer's tears
dampen 
traitorous soil.

Sing of the farmer's
anger then;
he will tear down
the vineyard,
lay waste the stalks,
and make it
a barren wasteland
in his ire.

Our God is the farmer
who looked for a crop
of justice
and mercy but
saw brutality;
who called for a song
of justice and peace,
but heard only 
the cries of those
who bleed.

Listen to the song
of our God
as He warns us of
what's to come,
lamenting and
storming,
His heart shattered
when we run shallow
or turn away
from His care
to engage
in what only
consumes us.

Sing a song 
of a fruitful vine,
gnarled with age
and pruned just so;
rooted in His 
sturdy Truth.

Sing to me
when I close my ears,
when my heart is
encrusted with stone.
Sing truth,
sing hope,
sing rebuke,
sing love;
sing God's holy
and severest
grace.