Mark 6: 4-6

"And He Was Amazed at Their Unbelief"

His power was powerless, and
Jesus was astounded by their lack of faith,
because all they saw Him as was
a carpenter’s son, someone
who was just like they were, plain,
ordinary and poor, no better,
someone who once worked with
stone and wood, whose family was known
and who for years had shared
cooling waters from the same
Nazareth well, a carpenter’s son,
who had recently started to
actively preach throughout the
countryside, and who was
now more interested in how
a mustard seed could bloom as
a metaphor for God’s eternal
Kingdom, and who when
questioned about the
payment of Roman taxes,
deflected the attempt to trap Him,
saying to remit to Caesar what
belonged to Caesar and to God what
belonged to God…

Luke 8: 43-48

"Who Touched Me?"

Lord, there You are — the
Only-Begotten Son of God,
the Word, the Word Made Flesh,
the Word Incarnate,
the Lamb of God … And
You are veiled behind this small,
metallic, tabernacle door, and
I am alone with You, and
all I have to do is to open the
tabernacle door, not
with a key but with
my heart, or to just lightly
touch the exterior metal, like
the woman with the
chronic bleed once did with
the hem of Your garment — from
whence You felt an
indescribable rush of
Your power into her flesh,
stoppering her bleed
forever, while around You the
crowd continued its
seemingly inexhaustible,
irrepressible press.

Luke 17:11-19

"Where Are the Other Nine?"

“Go and let the
priests examine you,”
Jesus said, and so in fulfillment of
the Law all ten crocuses
obeyed. While enroute to the priests,
they were each made clean, but
only one crocus decided to
return and thank Jesus.
Jesus said, “There were ten
made clean; where
are the other nine?”
The only reply the lone
crocus could make was to stand
in praise, radiant amidst last
autumn’s leaves of brown,
now clothed in Easter’s
finest purple raiment,
and tho’ a Samaritan, no
longer lost but found.

On the Shore

(Ode to Mary Magdalene)

Unfurl your heart,
dear woman, and across the
Sea of Galilee to the other
side set your sail.
There, on the far shore,
awaits you the Lord, dressed in His
garments of dazzling white,
Gethsemane defeated,
and gone forever the drops
of blood in fear of
Golgotha’s nails.

YHWH

Dear Lord God, eternal Father,
Creator of Heaven and earth, thank You for
the refuge of Your sheltering wings,
wings I, as your creature, can never describe, yet via a
smoky metaphor’s mirror they serve to soothe
my trembling. . .And thus towards them I crawl, O Lord,
to lie curled and fetal and protected beneath!
Whether in reality or dream, they are
what stands as my shield between me and the evil
of the serpent’s sting. Invisible as they be,
I sense their feathers outnumber the stars with the
scope and comfort of the shade and shadow of
their canopy. Such a haven You provide,
O Almighty “I AM,” faithful in Your protection and
promises, of which Your Heavenly hosts attest and sing!
Your wings I imagine radiate outward along
compass headings of Your Creation’s six days of work,
their azimuths streaking without beginning nor
ending, just the Truth of Your Writ and Word.
And I feel, Lord, that each radial line
is like a distinct Jacob’s Ladder, with
their center-point the beloved River Jordan, that
baptismal cup pouring forth the four letters
of Your Name’s grace and glory.