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.

Holy, Holy, Holy

Lord, You are neither male
nor female in the limited terms in which
Your human creatures can think,
but the effect of Your Being
is akin to magnificent,
sheltering wings.
You provide shade and
shadow against life’s
blistering summer heat,
and at the first signs
of cold, Your wings enfold
into walls of comfort
against suffering. Your wings
are safe refuge for Your
creatures against storms
and terrors of the night, and against
anxieties which afflict their
sanity all efforts despite. How
good You are, Lord! How
generous and unyielding the
availability of Your
mercies! How so forgiving,
even to Adam and
Eve, who ignored Your
Garden of Eden warnings!
There is naught but
calmness in the Kingdom
beneath Your wings,
where supplicants can lie
at rest, lulled by the Sanctus in
angelic praise of Your
Love and Beauty.

Contemplating the Color of His Sacrifice

Sitting here,
The solitude around me
Is not just without sound. Its
Silence is painted
In blends of blood-red,
With nail holes and a
Spear puncture
Still softly oozing the
Aftermath of my sins, lo
Two millennia now His cruel
Calvary death, and
Even further back to when
The Serpent forked
Its tongue, and
Adam and Eve were
Cast outside the walls of
Eden’s heaven.

I AM Your Name

(Jeremiah 1:4-10)

It was I Who at the birth of
Creation first breathed upon you
The sounds of your name.
It was I Who first heard the
Letters reverberate
Amongst the eons and ages.
It was I Who inspired
The meaning lain unplumbed
Within these pages.
And it was I Who first kissed
You, long before in the
Womb you kicked as a babe.

Hearts

In far, timeless time,
When time was nonexistent
Except in the present
Moment with no past and
Future dividing rhymes,
The heart that beats
Within me first heard the
Heart’s beating in Thine.
How naturally and sweetly
That thought recurs
To me now, how the
Sound of Your heart has
Set my cadence, even unto
This eon’s very hour.