Listless
soul of mine,
you dig so hard in the earth
to find substance,
you search so desperately among dark
corners
to see beauty,
you listen so intently beyond
tumults
to hear truth.
Soul
of mine follow this short journey
through time,
Remember!
He
hung over the earth
ever so briefly,
like His Spirit hovered
over the waters
To
give life where there was none.
Approach
the cross as darkness falls,
their work is done,
His just begun.
Odors
of old sweat, broken earth, and woody rough-hewn beams
clog the air.
Cold
are you at the cross,
it is cold, drab and silent.
Silent,
but for the murmur of
the crowd stunned
into quiet shock by the
extinguishing of the mid-day sun.
But
why cold?
Darkness
and Death!
I smell it like the butcher shop
floor,
chill and damp.
Trembling
soul, kneel at the foot of the cross,
The Cross.
Before
you, this splintered timber
stuck into the rocky ground speaks
of horrid torment and
destruction.
Feel
destroyed? You are.
No
angel choir, no shouts of praise -
just muffled blackness and
destruction.
My
soul, He is dying for me, dying for me.
A
torch flares not far away;
shadows dance about His feet
like demons leaping,
taunting.
Dumb
resignation to callous fate,
always callous,
once again, old soul,
never hopeful;
Hand
of mine buried in loose soil
fingers digging
Angrily
grasp dirt and clods,
crush them together;
Release
the cross! Release Him!
I cannot bear it!
“I
have and you will - for it is finished!”
a breathy, gasping, forceful whisper
from the cross,
From
Him.
NO! Not this!
This is not supposed to be real!
Soul
of mine you thought
this was a journey for good people,
Spending
calm Sunday mornings
singing and praying and worshipping
with uplifted hands.
No
pain, no sorrow, no death… but no life either;
Just
neat, clean little “lives”
tucked into padded pews (like
coffins)
so securely no nasty
world could find you.
No
cold rain on your head,
or thorns penetrating to your skull,
No
bones scarred and
sinews pierced by ragged iron
spikes,
No
failing heart rent within your chest
by the desecration of
you,
Alone.
Dirt
filters through fingers like sands of time,
time’s run out.
Not
poor in spirit, but bereft of life!
“What is twisted cannot be
straightened.”
Trembling
fist rises,
crumbs of ancient earth
fall upon my head,
dust to
dust;
bits and pieces of joys hoped for,
wreckage of new earth.
Look,
my soul, through the dim dust falling,
see the brave feet of my Holy
Savior,
crushed for my sins,
bloodied, dirty,
so full of pain
for me.
A
crimson, shimmering drop of Him,
His life,
shed life,
life in the
blood,
blood
of the Vine,
Slowly
releases from His foot and falls toward me,
falls for an eternity of time,
gleaming with holy light,
a glowing, garnet ember
descending.
Nearing,
its emanations
illuminate bloodstained stones
at the foot of the cross;
leaping shadows dance no more.
Twin
seraphim proclaim triumphantly in the distance,
“Behold, the Lamb that is slain,
For by His stripes are you healed.”
Look,
O Soul, there! And see
that drop shed for me
spatters the earth like an exploding
star.
Luminescent,
glorious rays,
refracting from His precious blood,
with
the power of a thousand suns
slam into me!
“Elutriate,
irradiate, this dingy soul of mine,
Glory of Heaven,
Living Water.”
Soul.
. . turn! Turn!
Turn and see -
the Cross is abandoned.
. .
What
now ?!
Beside
me, a footstep crushes
the ruptured earth;
A
Radiance, irresistible,
ceases my shivering.
“My
Lord!”
Soul,
take His hand. . . now!
He raises me up. . .
“Lord,
can it be?”
“The
work is done.”
“I
thought. . .”
“I
know. Do you feel the warmth of My
hand?”
“Like.
. . fire.”
He is burning me.
“All
is well, it burns only death, life is rekindled.”
Warm
breath,
like a summer’s eve breeze
that sets the leaves to
dance,
Incense
of Heaven across the earth.
Rose of Sharon, sweeten my soul.
“O
Savior, sweeten my soul.”
“Receive
the Spirit”
Healing, wholeness,
Soul, rejoice!
Lord, my Brother, never let me go
blind again.
“O
Pure Light,
enshrined in holiness,
inextinguishable,
Heal
my vision,
remove the shadows from my murky
heart,
And
let not the agony of Your suffering
languish as legend again.
Let
Your agape infuse my soul
with light for others,
bound
up in drear and dusky deserts.”
“My
friend, here is all the relevance,
here the Cross,
the crux of essential
meaning you seek:
My blood, for yours, transfuses
your heart with Mine, My
Substance;
My holiness, ever brilliant and
changeless,
becomes your Beauty;
My Spirit, no less certain,
counsels eternal Truth.
Look -
all is won!
Behold,
Believe;
It is
finished,
Come, rejoice with Me.”
Joy, O
Joy!
Faith
of our Fathers, veritable;
Glory
of my Savior,
Glory, Majesty, Power -
ring forth like steel on
stone,
declaring
eternal hope.
Soul
of mine, fade not again,
let Him raise you from the crushed
earth,
Complete
in Him is your journey,
for all time;
come home.
.
. . by Ken Paxton
