On the flip side -
unparalleled, paradoxical
and oxymoronic -
He is left side up
and True.
Puzzle pieces
slide into place,
camouflaged as coincidence,
only seen fully
and occasionally
in retrospect.
Community life
forms around celebrations
to illuminate
Author-aspects
and whisper
hints
of eternal design.
All symbolic
of coming attractions,
rituals flesh out
and bones animate
in Christ.
"I am He who
has been anointed
from the time
before time;
prepared - sharpened,
and sent to
serve
all who live -
all tribes and governments,
all skin tones and languages.
I am honed and trained
to serve -
first, people of my earthly flesh,
Israel,
and then
the rest of my flesh, Humanity."
"When the time is right,
I will come through for you,
(and now is the time,
join me, won't you?)
I will draw people to me
from every corner
of a round planet."
See the multicultural crowd
gathered en masse,
lit like candles
and conversing without
translators.
"I am the Light source -
now carry me into the dark
like Olympic games
torch bearers,
touching off ripples
that upset pedantic paradigms,
baffle and confound
the cynical,
and watch the moral arc
of the universe
bend once again
towards Shalom."
Creative Note-taking • Unedited, quickly captured, and honest responses to teaching at Hillcrest Chapel through image and language.
Sunday, March 31, 2019
Sunday, March 17, 2019
He Comes, Yet Again (Isaiah: Light to the Nations) - Tim Knipp (Ex. 6; Isa. 40, 53)
A hero arrives -
a superhero no less -
performing deeds,
setting captives free
and defeating enemies
spectacularly.
Yet even freed,
we were not alone:
He led us,
dwelt with us
and provided a home.
A true hero,
powerful, loving,
and good.
Remember Me?
Your hero who loves
and redeems?
Be of good cheer,
prepare the way,
pronounce my coming
to those bowed down
in bondage.
My mighty arm is flexing
and I will come
to release you.
I will shield you from harm
and guard you
as tenderly as a shepherd
his lambs
who tremble and wobble
in unspeakable fright.
Feel my heartbeat
as I carry you,
take my wounded hand
as you stumble
through the dark.
I will lead you home
yet again.
The wait stretches as long
as evening shadows
over pale desert sand.
Stories are told
of One still coming,
but when, oh, when?
How long, Oh Lord?
Our waiting cataracts our eyes
and we nearly miss
Your coming again.
We grew used to the lull
and expected a cape
with muscles bulging,
not a mild-mannered,
dirt-shod
rabbi.
Some will believe,
some refuse to see.
He came to bow down,
to lay Himself low,
broken and bruised,
receiving our wounds.
Though He spoke in symbols
for all to see:
saying look, oh look,
I am He - it is me!
A hero who loses?
A leader who is willingly weak,
choosing service
and torture
as rescue means?
A king who holds out
a pierced hand
to help us along;
whose steps slow to match
our pace,
though He could easily stride
continents in a
single bound...
He comes to
redeem us,
yet again,
reminding us gently
of blood bled on
our behalf
and flesh that felt
every agony of death
and separation
to spare us,
to save us,
yet again.
a superhero no less -
performing deeds,
setting captives free
and defeating enemies
spectacularly.
Yet even freed,
we were not alone:
He led us,
dwelt with us
and provided a home.
A true hero,
powerful, loving,
and good.
Remember Me?
Your hero who loves
and redeems?
Be of good cheer,
prepare the way,
pronounce my coming
to those bowed down
in bondage.
My mighty arm is flexing
and I will come
to release you.
I will shield you from harm
and guard you
as tenderly as a shepherd
his lambs
who tremble and wobble
in unspeakable fright.
Feel my heartbeat
as I carry you,
take my wounded hand
as you stumble
through the dark.
I will lead you home
yet again.
The wait stretches as long
as evening shadows
over pale desert sand.
Stories are told
of One still coming,
but when, oh, when?
How long, Oh Lord?
Our waiting cataracts our eyes
and we nearly miss
Your coming again.
We grew used to the lull
and expected a cape
with muscles bulging,
not a mild-mannered,
dirt-shod
rabbi.
Some will believe,
some refuse to see.
He came to bow down,
to lay Himself low,
broken and bruised,
receiving our wounds.
Though He spoke in symbols
for all to see:
saying look, oh look,
I am He - it is me!
A hero who loses?
A leader who is willingly weak,
choosing service
and torture
as rescue means?
A king who holds out
a pierced hand
to help us along;
whose steps slow to match
our pace,
though He could easily stride
continents in a
single bound...
He comes to
redeem us,
yet again,
reminding us gently
of blood bled on
our behalf
and flesh that felt
every agony of death
and separation
to spare us,
to save us,
yet again.
(apologies if some of this sounds a bit Seuss-ish - I've just spent 2 1/2 months listening to those kind of rhymes and rhythms every weekday...sometimes it creeps in no matter what I say - aaahhh...I'm doing it again!)
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
His Ways Above Ours - Isaiah 55:8,9 Christian Lindbeck
Why limit the Limitless?
Doubt the ways He chooses?
My thoughts drab, without color, trapped
By pride and fear,
Prejudice and envy
And doubt.
No, not that!
Unsafe, insane, unsuitable
Pretentiously presuming
His paths for us
And others.
His, the long game
True end from inception.
Exploding our notions
Of methodic mastery
Meandering from the mind of the Majestic.
Sunday, March 3, 2019
Redeemer God - Isaiah: Light to the Nations - Tim Knipp (2 Kings 25:1-4;9-12; Isa. 43:1-3)
Crumbling walls
and shattered bones,
the holy temple pillaged
and burned
to ash.
Choking smoke billows
and grimes faces
downcast
and bewildered.
Exile:
hounded from home
and all that's familiar,
loss beats daily
with each dusty step,
mile after bleak
and tortured
mile.
Babylon looms,
a brick monstrosity,
huge
and unyielding.
Alien tongues babble
and every alley
leads to further
strangeness
and futility.
Yahweh defeated.
His temple razed.
His people enslaved.
Are you watching
and listening, God?
Can you save us
from seemingly
unbeatable forces?
Will you come
to our rescue
or have you
abandoned us here?
Yahweh, they say
you are powerless
and impotent.
When will you
appear?
My plans are not like yours,
though I hear your cries
and feel your pain
as though it were
inflicted on
my own flesh.
You are so very dear to me
and I will never desert you;
even in the direst dungeon
and fiery furnace,
you will not be consumed.
For I am your God
and I will
redeem
you.
and shattered bones,
the holy temple pillaged
and burned
to ash.
Choking smoke billows
and grimes faces
downcast
and bewildered.
Exile:
hounded from home
and all that's familiar,
loss beats daily
with each dusty step,
mile after bleak
and tortured
mile.
Babylon looms,
a brick monstrosity,
huge
and unyielding.
Alien tongues babble
and every alley
leads to further
strangeness
and futility.
Yahweh defeated.
His temple razed.
His people enslaved.
Are you watching
and listening, God?
Can you save us
from seemingly
unbeatable forces?
Will you come
to our rescue
or have you
abandoned us here?
Yahweh, they say
you are powerless
and impotent.
When will you
appear?
My plans are not like yours,
though I hear your cries
and feel your pain
as though it were
inflicted on
my own flesh.
You are so very dear to me
and I will never desert you;
even in the direst dungeon
and fiery furnace,
you will not be consumed.
For I am your God
and I will
redeem
you.
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