Awe

They say the “Blood of Jesus”
is scarcely in songs, within theologians.
I do not doubt it.
Yet at times, I can barely say it,
because it was not my own.

I admire Messianic brethren
for their reticence, penning “G-d”.
They do this, though the veil is broken,
for reverence to the Son.

If I could truly grasp
the Man of Sorrows’ way,
if my joy rose into “It is finished!”,
I would sing, “Thank You for the Bl-d!”.

Sacred One, among sacred things
may our lives always say, “Holy!”.
When revelation touches tongue,
His Presence fills the gaps
inside our meager words.

The enemy’s greatest accusation ever?
He might have asked God, “You love yourself, don’t You?!”
In which case,The Sound of Many Waters
could have thundered in reply, each phrase flashing,
causing the deceiver to shake, fall and bow
at the marvelous Wisdom:
“The Father loves the Son!
“the Son, Holy Spirit!
“Each, the Other,
“in giving, centered,
“This Love is One!
“And just to show how deep, how wide,
“fallen are called to Paradise!
“Those who say, ‘Oh Love Divine!’
“I cast not out but do invite!
“Go, tremble, wonder at this Light!
“Forever Day against your night!”

How can broken people fly together,
fly together?
Is this movement-impossible,
possible?
We all jump, jump, jump
into the faith we so believe in,
and we fly, high-high
in the power of Resurrection!

We believe in God Almighty,
Maker of Heaven and the Earth,
of the visible or not: all things,
designed to bring us to Comfort,
and these fuse into us a new creation.
The restored
fly like they are all on the wings of an eagle.

Oh-oh-oh,
Soar, within sight of the Truth
to see and to be seen.
We land on elementary things
enough to find our rest,
then off, once more, to discover how we fly.

We were born again, in a different way;
our hearts cradle that conviction.
We’re a Body, ready to be lifted up,
for the joy of the Father, to survey
this world’s story and be wise like enlightened children.
There are no shadows where we embrace your wind,
except from the higher, floating wisps of a gracious will
and those moon labels that lay across the landscape
when we repose in Righteousness.

And these things
make each of us a new creation.
The restored
fly like they are all on the wings of an eagle.

Oh-oh-oh,
Soar, within sight of the Truth.
We land on elementary things
enough to find our rest,
then off, once more, to discover how we fly.

What kind of song can a martyr sing?
There is no audience roaring with raw approval,
no medals on ribbons,
no sponsor to be mentioned to ensure a vacation
away from reality.
What kind of heart does a martyr have?
There is no hurdle over which self-effort may jump,
no pat on the back,
no mentor among academia who can be quoted,
whose words live on their own.
Step back and watch the singing heart of a martyr,
whose weary mind is overtaken be a surety
that just as boldness makes the world awash with sin-madness,
the audacity of Heaven overpowers, intervenes.
There are no words to say, “Lord, how beautiful your Heaven!”
The world would not be worthy of the Spirited accolades.

Can salvation be unredeemed,
Can Love be unrequited?
Who holds the ransom for exchange with the Father?
Yeshua, proud for us!
Yeshua, One Who is never ashamed,
You conquered death for the sake of the lambs.
The lambs know your voice,
You shepherd with such care;
Ninety-nine are as sure as one.
One-hundred redeemed:
none is ever is lost!

Ardent? Sometimes we don’t feel this way,
and we earnestly don’t care,
for roots of faith under the surface
hold us in God’s sway.
The method of Redemption
is enough to make alive
Love’s realization,
Victory today.

Weary? Don’t mistake it,
We’ve been sorely worn
by others, through our own blindness,
yet witness has been born
in us by His Spirit,
and doubt is so forlorn,
as glory unto glory,
strength in us is sown.

Candidly a secret
wells within us, Lord.
We tell this to our children,
“You are not alone!”
Your tenderness touched weakness,
forgiven, we adorn
a Kingdom with a mystery,
Messiah is made known!