Call me rose,
And I will answer.
Stop and smell,
For I see to the senses.
Do not fear
For the thorns which stem from me.
I am only trying
To make the point, a remembrance
Of the sacred head,
Wounded, bled red, like petals
That fall.
Fall on me O Rose.
Cover me as a blanket
And I shall be warm.
Is Jesus the theory of everything?
Can we walk together in a unified field,
so wherever I go, there He is?
Is Jesus a string through it all,
wending, weaving like a thread?
Does He carry us along its cord?
Did Jesus split history like an atom?
Is He a super conductor,
able to collide like an iconoclast?
Come, be my theory of everything.
Come, tie Your string around my finger.
Come, collide, and split me open.
Touch deep unto deep,
And scour my spirit
Of all derision.
Cleanse me of all
Circular thoughts
Of piercing despair.
Awaken my soul
To trust beyond reason.
To rest between the lines.
Settle me in the crux
Of Your mystery,
Grace and truth.
When I received a snowflake
on my tongue
Someone whispered
“Body of Christ.”
“Amen” I said.
Common Grackles rested
on the naked Maple canopy.
Like aneurysms waiting
to burst into flight
they bent the thinning branches.
They had every rite of spring.
Some of them loitered
through the winter
and saw their reflections on ice.
What freedom to stay.
Christ stayed on the tree
and burst unto death
and burst into flight.
Photo by Roberto Gonzalez
Khor Virap Church, Arashat, Armenia
From whence came this beam of light?
Did the particles roll off the Tongue?
Can sound give birth to brilliance?
Genesis 1:3
John 8:12
John 1:1
Abused freedom holds within in it the seed of redemption.
Depravity holds within it the seed of redemption.
Redemption’s necessity is only because things go awry, mostly humans go awry.
I think it was in Ravi Zacharias’ book Why Jesus that one communist/atheist country is allowing Christianity in to quell the instability and in fighting. The concept of redemption was the catalyst they put their stock in to stabilize their country.
The more that time goes by, the tighter I embrace the concept of redemption. Without it humanity is in utter despair; not to mention utter disrepair…I am humanity. Christianity’s unique element is redemption. The absolute center of the faith is the hope of redemption. The death and resurrection of Jesus Christ continues to echo off the mountains, even though the characteristic of echoes are their fading decibels.
I recall a time in church years back where a young lady was singing “I Know My Redeemer Lives”. This girl started the song with the charisma of Nicole C. Mullen herself (The artist that sent this song to the top of the charts.) and as she continued she either forgot some lyrics or went off key and she struggled to get back on track and ended up stopping. She apologized. I shouted from the back “No! It’s okay. Keep going.” This was in a pretty subdued church where cat calls rarely or never happened. My passion got the better of me because of the huge epiphany. She was singing about redemption and I saw that God could even redeem her situation. He already had, in my heart anyway.
Is there a situation that you feel is irredeemable? Let me throw some hope your way. Redemption is more than an idea. It is emanating from the Christ. Jesus oozes restoration. Without Jesus the redeemer I am a man most miserable.
This song remains one of my favorites and gains more depth as my earthly journey continues…
Would I touch the open wounds of Jesus
if he were to stand in the lonely places
of my heart?
Would I dare thrust my hand into his
side like a spear?
Would I gently place my fingers
in the palms of his hands?
There are places where crucifixion
wasn’t fiction at all.
The suffering of the cross cascaded
down through history,
it being the pinnacle of paradox.
The place where love and hate intersect.
So now we sometimes use innocent
suffering and death as a crucible
of the non-fiction Christ.
We read history books to numb any
existential wandering in our own
back yard.
There are crucified hearts laying,
one by one, without a beat,
hoping loosely for a resurrecting
touch, look, hug.
Will I look at the whole worlds suffering
and lose their own soul?
I don’t want Your death to be in vain
when there are opportunities to
touch the open wounds of those
near by.
Oh God, come any other way,
but not as a child.
Come in a space ship
so we can claim you as an alien,
as a figment of our imagination.
Wash up on earth’s shore
so we can claim you as a castaway
an unknown, scraggly and salt soaked.
Walk into town as a vagabond
so we can look and call authorities
to distance us.
Stand by the side of the road
so we can decide if your thumb up
is necessary for us to stop.
But please don’t come as a baby.
Don’t come and coo and cry
and take our breath away.
Don’t come as we did,
dependant and humble
and wrapped up tight.
Just don’t, don’t be so vulnerable
as a wonder from a womb
bathed in the liquid of humanity.
Don’t come as a child, please.
For then we would need to
hold you in our arms.
Don’t come as an infant
so innocent and small
for we might get emotional.
Don’t come as we once were
to become as we
should be.
Don’t come in this mysterious way
for then we might come
and adore You.
Gerald the Writer 