"I believe in Jesus Christ"
takes center stage -
disrupting history,
dividing time into
before and after.
John places Christ
at the beginning, before Time -
with God and yet God
but not God the Father;
divine,
outside of Time,
omniscient -
who stepped willingly
into Time,
dressed in mortal flesh
and all that implies -
yet exists for all Time.
"The only Son of God,
the Father."
"Conceived by the Holy Spirit"
God's breath
invaded a virgin's womb,
permeating all barriers,
to ignite
and impregnate -
the divine mingled
with the earthly,
danced a round or two
and Life began.
"...born of the virgin Mary"
Gripped in the vise
of birth pains,
his child's skull,
a battering ram from within,
our High Priest
was born in blood
and water
as we are;
yet perfect as we
are not.
Descended from Mary,
whose ancestor, David
received the promise
awaited
for generations;
Even Joseph
can trace lines that
echo prophet's words
and wander back
to Eve herself;
the Promised Hero
waited since banishment
from the garden,
yet untainted with
Adam's sin.
"I believe in Jesus Christ,
the only son of God,
conceived by the Holy Spirit,
born of the virgin, Mary."
Firstborn of a new creation.
Fragments chipped away,
reshaped,
distorted -
threatening collapse.
A core was essential -
a solid isle on which to stand,
substantial,
clearly outlined,
entrenched in time.
More than rationality,
belief is choice and emotion
linked to thought and action:
grasping raspy rope
and rappelling down
the mountainside.
Just thinking it is so
will not do
when questions come
(as come they must),
when the earth quakes
and trembles.
Belief is more than
intellectual certainty.
A scientific treatise
on the trustworthy fibers
joined together to
create the rope
is helpful but
faith requires a leap.
Sometimes
"darkness is my
closest friend"
for then
I must trust what
I cannot see
and cling ferociously.
Day-by-day faith
requires choice
walking hand-in-hand
with reason, doubt
and trust in the Person
of my God:
fathersonspirit.
The Creed is a portrait
of this Person,
painted in broad
and minute strokes;
delineated,
examined,
cradled in crimson
and verdant green.
This I believe.
On the way to death's doorway,
He carried His cross.
Long before the tree
became lumber,
He hoisted it onto His
muscled shoulders,
foretelling
in deed and word
what would be
the way.
Peter named Him "Messiah"
but denied the cross hairs
of crucifixion,
as did those begging favors
in the Kingdom.
And we ignore the sacrifice
demanded by
Christ's way:
ignoring sexual indiscretions,
claiming racial wholeness
in the face of blatant bias
and choosing power
over submission.
Blind Bartamaeus sat
off to the side
as the tide of humans
seethed past.
His shouts rose above the
cacophony:
"Mercy! Lord, have mercy!"
while the tide murmured, "Quiet, man!"
"Jesus - look upon me! Mercy!
When called to the Master's side,
Bartamaeus threw aside
his threadbare but precious cloak
and groped his way forward,
fingers poking sweaty noses
and oily hair en route.
"What do you want me to do for you?"
- an earthshaking question
if ever there was one.
Do I really want to leap headfirst
into the river of change,
leaving behind all that I have
ever known?
"Master, I want to see."
And so he received:
in the next blink
He saw Jesus framed
in golden Jericho dust
and followed Him
along the way
to the cross.
What do I want Him to do for me?
Mercy, Lord.
Forgive my blindness -
that self-focused entitlement
that shuns vulnerability
and embraces others
only with armor firmly
in place.
Have mercy on my denial -
my refusal
to walk in your way
and yet proudly bear
your label
though I tarnish it
daily.
Have mercy, Lord.
I want to see.
Caught in this dreadful storm,
we are tossed like so much
shredded confetti
until our cries reach
the Master's sleeping ears.
Almost annoyed,
He shushes the wind and
whitecaps with a glance,
then turns disappointed eyes -
lighthouse slashes through
silent blackness -
on our stunned
and fearful selves.
Chaotic oceans -
vast forces that roil and swirl,
inchoate and insatiable -
who can tame them?
Only One stronger than
Nature itself -
One supernatural,
metaphysical,
bound not by Nature's laws.
Who is this man?
He is wrapped
in our humanity,
yet
stronger than any force.
No power,
no principality
in heaven or on earth
can overcome Him
without His willing
submission.
So, as chaos gathers
in hordes
and slaps greedily
against the sides
of our ship,
we will trust Him
who is Stronger,
though He may
seemingly sleep.
When weakness shivers
our bones
and broken glass
cruelly carpets
the path ahead,
the Stronger One
is there
to lead us through.
Magnetic pressure
warps us out of plumb -
away from our ideal selves -
and statics our connection
to the Father.
Yet we stray into danger
again and again.
Into the murky Jordan
Jesus plunged.
As He rose, dripping,
God cracked heaven wide
in a galaxy grin
and showered blessing
down.
Once again the Spirit
hovered over waters,
stirring up new life,
then pulled Jesus sandward.
Tramping
over sterile terrain,
He faced pressures
to conform, to satisfy,
to escape pain, to play with power;
tempted in every way as we are.
For forty days He
was assaulted,
bombarded, pulled
and pummeled,
yet did not give in.
Powerful forces
ignite turmoil,
draw us - willing or not -
into their whirlpools
and we drown.
Through waves
of shame and
self-loathing
the Stronger One
reaches a hand
to guide us back
to our
True Selves.
We look back to forge ahead -
pausing on the trail
to catch our breath.
Fellow travelers gather 'round,
some joined just now,
some footsore and travel-worn
but grinning through the grit.
Some wounded souls gasp for air,
hands on knees and heads bent low;
stragglers trudge in clouds of dust,
streaked faces still aglow.
The trail winds back
through scrub and pine,
down rock-strewn gullies,
o'er rivers wide.
We recall the boulders -
seemingly impossible to scale,
the triumphs hard won
and setbacks enough to challenge
even the hardiest of souls.
We marvel yet at answered prayers,
moments of beauty unparalleled:
echoing canyons, skies achingly blue,
vistas stretched like oil-painted canvas
incredibly huge.
On the trail ahead
we see throngs to be,
cheerful hikers in twos and threes
embarking on side paths
surrounded by trees;
outsiders welcomed to hearth and home,
warmed and nourished to fuller bloom,
befriended and valued as unique boons.
We envision friends yet unknown,
who'll come alongside;
those we can encourage and
lead and inspire.
We hope for calm weather
but pack up rain gear,
realistic but hopeful
for the upcoming year.
