Redemption

When Love Wept

Join me on a journey back through time,
Way before the episode at Lazarus’ tomb,
Very close to the beginning of a beautiful story,
In the perfect garden, where all things should have been rosy,
Love wept…unseen, unheard, unconsoled.

In the face of betrayal and death;
At the pain and thought of losing
What He’d literally invested Himself into;
Love wept…bloody tears, to make room for Hope.

In times of loss and pain, I’m reminded of hymns like:
“Be still my soul, the Lord is on thy side…”;
But how does God console Himself?
“Be still my soul, the Lord is on thy side…”?
One ordinary-seeming day, Love wept…unshed tears.

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Bloodstained

The mysteries of divine irony:
That an ancient symbol of shame
In one day became the ultimate symbol of hope;
The price was a life so pure that shame fled.

The crying cross that weeps blood,
Lamenting at the silence of the Saints –
Silent in comfort, but powerfully verbal in persecution –
Blood-marked men wrung through the wheels of suffering
Their robes made white by a thorough washing in Blood.
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The Return (III)

“How it saddens Me to watch you sow seeds in darkness,
That grow and bloom with much toil, only to bring forth rotten fruits.
I watch with chagrin, held back by a covenant I swore by Myself
Because of a sweet-smelling sacrifice offered by a choice servant,
From judging in wrath with a deluge – suffocating every eyesore
And completely removing the stubborn root of my heartaches.
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The Return (I)

“We’ve come full circle, haven’t we?
In the beginning you were Mine, and I loved you.
I adored and pampered you; you had My presence,
Saw My face, heard My voice. I spoke to you
Among the trees like one to his beloved,
With whispers, and caresses, and warnings;
You were lovely, and innocent and glorious;
You made Me smile, because I looked at what I had made,
And knew it was good; Without blemish, not lacking
In purpose or power, in beauty or wisdom, in love or grace.
You were My delight, My treasure, My pleasure.
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Truth be Told

Truth be told, I’m cold;
But it’s not really me, it’s my heart that’s cold;
There was a time when my heart felt like molten gold,
Impassioned with zeal and love for the Lord;
Now, here’s an empty cold vessel made of gold;
It’s laden with dust and hidden out of sight;
But out of sight, is a dangerous place to be.
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