We are family,
We are brethren,
Kindred in a fallen race.
Fallen from God’s gracious blessing,
Everywhere but on our face.
Proud of all our vain achievements,
Prouder of things we’ve yet to do.
Choosing to ignore our weakness,
We’d have our cake, and eat it, too.
Wretched people proud and broken,
Who will save us from this death?
Praise to Jesus, eternal Savior,
Who gives the corpse eternal breath.
Your word is truth,
Your word is light,
Your word is Spirit,
Your word is life.
Silence is a womb into which Father implants life.
He is ever fruitful.
The garden is in ruins.
Icy curtain draped on frail limbs,
Fragile twigs like human hearts,
Too weak to bear the load.
Sin’s dark weight.
Wreckage upon the brow of earth,
Hopes strewn carelessly.
Brokenness scattered on the ground.
In such a garden the Father once walked.
Clear the fallen boughs,
Pile high monuments to winter’s vain fury.
For spring promises one bright flower.
Some days I drift
Like a leaf,
Settling into the deep.
A place I do not wish to go.
Ought not, but do.
It is dusky place, of remembering
Wishing for yesterday.
Longing for tomorrow,
Where sadness does not
Settle around God’s children
Like leaves in the deep.