And the Spirit Hovered

In the beginning, 

Before the very concept of a day existed,

The Lord of Hosts insisted there be light,

And heavens and earth 

And all we can grasp and glimpse with sight-

But there was a moment right before, 

When all was formless and void

Before his power was employed 

to speak all life into being.

There was the Artist, the King, the Majestic One

The Spirit we call friend was hovering over water

Before even time began

Before celestial clocks were set into motion

The full portion and measure of Him, 

Our Counsellor, hovered.

Before the word of God was recorded,

Before the notes of songs of praise reported-

He hovered.

In anticipation for the story to be written,

Before He breathed life into the image-bearers that caught Him smitten-

He hovered.

Fast forward to the evening cool,

When his beloved neglected His only rule,

And the hid away and hoped the light of day would fade

And keep at bay their shame.

In their meeting place He waited,

Knowing the paradise He created

Would come to ruin as the reign

Of the fallen human manifest itself.

Gently, He called to the two who abandoned His rest

"Where are you?"

Hovering near their hiding place,

Knowing their betrayal wouldn't let them see His face.

The story continued East of Eden

Where the God who was rejected

Mourned for the first of His people dead

Blood crying revenge,

While he formed a better word,

One that would at last make amends

For the wrongs of His people.

As the earth was made water and rain

He hovered in grief and longing all the same

Knowing their suffering would end 

When he placed their blame on His son.

And so He was there,

Hovering,

Calling out to heal the falling out

Between God and man,

Still patiently guiding them into His new plan.

A story of redemption,

For now found in sanctification by blood,

To do anything to reconcile them to love.

Fire and cloud led a people on the run

To a mountain where his glory dwelled

And his love still swelled

Even in the rebellion of his bride

The once beautiful one,

Covered in pride and shame,

Forgetful of his name that had always been revealed.

Until at last his plan to heal was born,

A helpless child containing the wild King-

And over a manger he smiled, still hovering-

Over a thirty year old completely sold on the Plan,

He hovered as a dove 

And rested as the Savior fixed his gaze above,

With such deep love for His father

That his life cry became, "Thy will be done,"

His reason why was our adoption as sons.

Only once did the Spirit not hover

Over our Bridegroom and our Lover-

His plan was reaching fullness,

The story of redemption nearing its climax

"Eli, Eli, lema sebachthani!"

Oh why have you forsaken me?

The Spirit left His side for a moment,

As the curse of all sin gripped Jesus in its torment

And then...

Adam's redemption as, one more,

The breath of God brought to life His son.

So once more, the story continued,

To clothe in power those He had rescued.

Here He hovers in an upper room,

Here light of life coats where darkness once loomed

Here He hovers as we cry in desperation,

Groaning in intercession

To form words we cannot utter.

He leads us to still, soft waters,

To bring rest to our pilgrim hearts 

So we might have peace,

In the midst of a world torn apart.

He leads us,

To and from where no one knows,

That we are carried wherever He goes.

As the Holy Wind blows

And covers us in righteousness,

He always, relentlessly hovers,

With a stillness that releases us from fear

And always, always invites us near.

A final chapter is being written,

The final Act of love by the Smitten God,

When the Savior will return 

And we will learn to gaze in His eyes

At long last,

And sorrow will be a thing of the past;

He will wipe away every tear from our eyes,

And the blemish left from all these lies

And we will walk hand in hand 

in a newly created land.

Until then, He hovers and whispers

To those who would listen,

His fiery eyes glistening

As He dances and covers us with feathers,

Singing melodies until we are at last together,

United at the end of the Story,

Ever after spent gazing on His Glory.

A Call for Justice

When will we say yes?
He said follow me and we nodded with planted feet
Caught up in world fed ways
Happy to let our words breathe praise
While passivity dresses us up in fine church clothes

But we're loathe to join the holy one who looks like fire
As he fights away in the muck and mire
His holy hands dirty, sleeves rolled
Not so concerned with the appearance of purity
That he wouldn't sit with sinners
Or let his free time be spent eating dinner
With the ones we'd have nothing to do with
We act all holy like the call to lay down our lives
Is a myth
For another era, another time,
And apathy isn't a crime but the norm
To conform to the lies that keep beggars in bondage
The American Dream is our adage
But we are just as trapped as the slaves we choose to ignore
We're latched to the idea that someone else will fight for the war
And that knowledge without action is raising awareness
When actually it's harmful indifference
Passivity masked as,
"It's not my calling."

Don't you know people are falling and dying?
And you submit to lies that let you live for yourself
While broken souls suffer
Crying to a God they don't believe in
Because if God was real, wouldn't He be moving?

The enemy is our indifference
And God isn't the one sitting on the fence
Of what's good and what's sin
The weapon he created to fight with
The army
Is still sitting in a valley
Ignoring the rallying call of the Spirit
They sit and argue about trivial things
Like how to play dress up with the church
Or how to make our perch further
From the messiness of the earth
Basking in the millions of dollars
Spent to outfit empty buildings
That find their use in self-centric talks
About looking the look, not walking the walk

In passivity we hide our eyes
To avoid looking at those who barely survive
Because we'd rather dress nice than sacrifice
To care for the ones the world has scorned

We would rather be adorned in what wealth and programs provide
Than the righteousness that only comes
From joining our savior as he dives
Into our mess as humans born in the broken
To let life be spoken to the deathly places
Until all that remains is unshakeable grace and love

"I don't delight in sacrifice,
Would you give up your life
To the cry of Justice
Until the Spirit's cry for freedom
Encompasses your vision."

Stop wasting hours of fruitless labor
At an altar to earn salvation by your strength that falters
The widows are suffering, orphans hungering and asking,
"Where is my hope?"

You use religion to cope with your maddened mind
While the orphans wait for a hand to be kind
And you hide behind ritual to satisfy obligation
Rather than recognizing the perpetual cry
Of the one who formed you for such a purpose-
To break free from surface level worship
And become the answer he seeks
As he cries, "Who shall I send? Who will set the captives free?"

When we look with eyes of true religion
He gives us vision to see
That those with dirty hands are living in the land of God
And as the suffering is broken by sacrificial love
The rough handed, diligent workers
Glow like stars in the night
Because they've worshipped rightly before the Lord
And let him make them into his sword-
A weapon to pierce the heart of darkness
And be the burning answer to the cry for freedom

Will we leave them to suffer
Or let love for another move us past our petty religion?
Let conviction and mercy clothe you
That you might be counted worthy of the call to follow
Even to death, to sorrow.

Tomorrow he comes, in glory and fire;
Will we choose passivity or blazing desire for him?
Do not give up, do not give in,
Do not give anything less than your all
Do not hide from the edge-
Brace for the fall.
In your surrender, he will give you wings like eagles

For what has the Lord required of you?

Do justice

Love mercy

& 

Walk humbly with your God.

Wild Ones

The wild call stirs in the evening breeze,

A cry to the mountains, carried far from foreign seas

To catch on my tongue and on it dance

As I learn the melodies of a far-off land

This isn't home, my restless heart knows well

And the stories of my place of belonging

Are nearly too wild to tell

But here in this sojourner's camp, I catch glimpses still.

As laughing eyes glimmer with mine by the fireside

And in freedom, they grin without trying to hide

To see the eternity-coated soul is to see the sketches of the heart of God

To see man, no masks, totally known, totally accepted

Resting on the chest of Him who loved them best of all;

That sort of peace is rarely seen in world-weary faces.

It's a strange tension- the total peace and endless restlessness

That exists in the Lovers of Christ

To watch them embrace the fullness of His presence 

So completely that they pull to the sound of His voice just yonder

A little further, a little longer, 

Until our pilgrim days are done,

Until we arrive at the finish line on the highways of Zion

Here in the wild places, I see Him

As I sit under the endless sky, my mouth echoing cries

Of longing for my beloved 

And the twinkle of His eyes crosses through the veil

I can see His character in the evening dew that settles-

And the fire embers that speak of quiet conversations

Late into the night,

As He teaches me and my soul reaches

To find His hand in the quiet wild of night.

I fight to see these moments, a little further, a little deeper

To open my eyes and call to my soul,

"Wake up, o sleeper! Rise from the dead..."

When I've come to the end of myself, 

On the precipice of forever,

These earth bits will surely be severed

Until all that remains is the eternity 

that was breathed from the beginning;

Until then, I'll be here, 

Under the spinning, dazzling stars,

Learning how far heaven is when it draws near

to the true worshippers....

When we meet in the night to whisper Words of adoration 

And stand in the utter smallness of ourselves

One body,

Stripped of masks and lies

Staring into endless skies

Crying out- Heaven, come soon.

For now, all are welcome,

We'll always have room at this fireside;

This family of pilgrims will be known by music,

And the sounds of mirth and praise

As we wait and seek His face,

Journeying on together in this wondrous race

towards Zion- 

Bringing any and all who would seek to come.

In the wilds we'll be,

Under stars we will see

The glimmer of His presence.

And as we shed the last remnants of these flesh-based masks,

We will ask to approach and He'll draw near

Close to those ones willing to run into the blazing light

That shines brighter than suns-

Wild hearts chasing after, dancing with the Wild, wondrous King

Stained Glass Rose

Voices whisper, 

       coon,
                                         lull
They tell me vivid tales of this beauty I can create
This pattern I might replicate.
There lie broken pieces on the floor, the glass that shattered long before.

I don't remember what it used to be, but as the voices entice, a future masterpiece I begin to see.
The black, cold hands guide mine at first,
hand me the pieces of glass, tell me how the tools work.
They speak so poetically about a fake, pretty rose, though why they care,

I do not know

But to them the stained window is of utmost importance, so I let them guide me as I learn their dance.

Like some confusing puzzle born of darkness, the glass takes shape in a false beauty-
Tainted by the brokenness...

Before I've yet completed half the work, these cold, cruel companions     abandon.

        I'm left    alone    in the dark

And in that darkness- I struggle.

There's nothing else I could do, so alone I work to solve this shattered puzzle.

Day in
                 Day out

Until my hands are cut and bleeding from this goal my soul keeps needing.
I must complete this shattered art, for if I don't, all I know will be smashed apart.

Tears mingle with the translucent until my eyes blur and my hands are spent.

"No more, no more,"

I softly cry, until I've lost my will and my tears run dry.

But look-

There comes a figure, bright color in the distance,
A silhouette of Joy and Peace against which I've no resistance.
He picks up the art I've spent my soul creating, that piece which in weariness I've started hating.

He lifts as though to smash and I fight-

Try to stop Him- from doing the only thing right. 

Though I loathe my creation, it's all I've ever known, and I beg and plead, for I fear the unknown.

And He looks at me- Those eyes-

With all the love in the world-

And against the wall my stained glass identity         is           hurled.

All is lost and to my knees I collapse, but He lifts me in His arms and,

for the first time,

Love, not fear, [entraps].

I am an empty shell as He carries me from my jail cell, the place I've been abandoned,

my self created     hell.

He takes me to His home and lays me down to rest,

Tells me he'll look after me, and fix all that has been messed.

My eyes sink slowly, lulled by the peace His soft voice brings as gently til I fall asleep, He sings

I do not know how long I sleep, but it was for once truly restful,        peaceful, 

deep.

The Savior takes care of me from that point on, dressing my wounds, righting the wrongs.

One day as I lay recovering, He approached with a smile of utmost tenderness and asks-

if I remember that day He shattered the reflection of my brokenness.

In my confusion I cannot reply, but to nod and slowly ask Him, "why?"

"I took the shattered pieces," He gently responds,

And he shows me something he's been working on:

In His hands he holds a flower, a rose of glass, just tinted pink. 

"I made it out of the broken glass I picked up, 

only, I think 

you should have better than a cold, hard replica."

And with those words, He took me by the hand to the front of His house, where there lay empty,

open land.

And behold, this Great Man placed the rose in the dirt, and breathed it to life with only a single word-

Love.

Before my eyes, the glass transformed, the stem took root and 

                                                planted.

It      s p r e a d      and blossomed til all around life grew from where it landed.

I didn't heal immediately, either physically or emotionally. But my Savior breathed the same word into my heart, and so, like the rose, 

I became Living, thriving

Art.

So, much more than my past so stained, my Beloved transformed me into

Beauty: untainted.

Endless Hunger

My weary, dry bones cry out for your covering,
For the life they in their own power could never birth.
Flesh on my bones,
Breath in my lungs,
My exhale a cry for more,
My inhale a suffocated man's freedom.

Wrap yourself around me as a covering,
As a tunic pure as snow for me, the offering
And the pores of my dry soul open,
to receive your Presence as a token
From my lover, who will come once more
At last, to bring me home in His perfection.

Please, be fast in your coming,
The days of late are waning in pain and sorrow,
And tomorrow seems more chore than the hope
Of heavenly shores- I'm hungry, but too tired to eat
Decaying in the endless loop of mental defeat

Breathe life into the deathly corners,
Where men have scorned and fear has hid;
Take off the lid that chokes my flame,
Or the labels which have overgrown my name-
Their games are over, my life's begun,
And I haven't the time for petty things like lies and pride and anger.

Now I've given you permission to be my garden's manager
On a mission to create something beautiful and pure,
That my allure would be the sight of your face,
Because you've erased all the rest to leave only the best-
Which was only ever yours all along.

Songbirds welcome back and paint
Lyrics of peace and of joy being released.
I'm transfixed to the sound of Home;
Your feet hit the ground and I hear running
From hills that laugh with your coming.

To know you is to be free, and for me,
One glimpse in your eyes would fully satisfy
What I've hungered in vain for in this shadowland-
Seeking the touch of your hand in the roughest sands
I had wandered through deserts seeking oasis
When all along I was made for rivers of glass and
The Purest garden that would never pass.

You're running my way and nothing could stop you,
I gaze at your coming, watching the earth around you
Be made new.

For the Days I Toil.

I crave what it is to be alive.
The essence where we draw our breath
Compels me and I've nothing left but dust
And breath of God.
My heart beats true when I turn black and blue
And the world seeks just to end me;
For the King of Peace puts my mind at ease
As He seeks to pull me close

Perfect King took a dirt-made thing
That was less than all the rest,
And by His breath became
The finest and the wisest,
For our companionship with the One
Who chose to walk with man in the cool of the day-
Still after fall and sin and pain
I'm still irrisistably drawn by his call.

Though I be weary from a world that compels me
to toil
And though my value be mocked
By those who forget they're more than soil
I look and there's his smile
And his laugh carries on the wind and
Though I've sinned
I am loved.
Nothing else will do if what I've heard of
This God is true.

Chasing Mount Zion

This is from a few months ago. Not the most comprehensive post, but my thoughts on the things that matter to God.


Do you feel the laughter lilting on the wind?
Or the twinkle in His sunrise eyes,
As He whispers to the world good morning again,
Patient as He ever is in the wake of our chaos
Spent running and screaming through the night
After every phantom angel that would strike
Our fancy

Yet in the dawn the one to welcome us,
gentle as He always is, will forever be
The God I call Beloved.

You've chased so many things, little things,
That after all this time you've forgotten that
The burning in your heart is for Him.

As you walk to work to fight another day,
That moment you forgot about-

You know the one, where the sun shone
Brightly through summer leaves and
The wind breathed lightly on your face
As if to wish you good morning-

That moment that for a split second
Made your heart tug towards something
So deep that words could never express it;
It was a whisper from the most perfect lover.

But you were running late and you'd be nothing
Without this job.
So you brushed it off as always,
And let the finite control you for the rest of your day.

Because someone or everyone fed you the lie
That your identity relies on what you can control.
And your worth has a dollar value,
Whether salary or insurance, or brand name clothes.

Afraid of the God of Fire and Glory,
The one who shook mountains,
We created a god of measured value,
Gold, one whom we could touch, and mold
To our likeness, and dared to name that
As the God of our ransom.

We took the man with Eyes of fire and a story
So pure it was worth giving Him everything;
And we tamed Him.
Made Him look like the world,
Like what we were used to seeing.

We have deceived ourselves into believing
That the Name of Jesus was useful to give status
Or a reason to boast in all we could do.
That we could use our abilities to mold The Holy of Holies
into a form we could control,
Because it's less frightening than walking
Up the mountain to meet with Him,
To walk in His presence,
Which is all He's really ever wanted.

"For you have not come to what may be touched,
A blazing fire and darkness, and gloom and tempest....
But you have come to Mount Zion, and to the city
Of the Living God, the Heavenly Jerusalem,
And to Innumerable Angels in festal gathering...
Therefore let us be grateful for receiving
A kingdom that cannot be shaken,
And let us offer to  God acceptable worship,
With reverence and awe;
For our God is a Consuming Fire."--Hebrews 12:18, 22, 28-29

In light of such inheritance, why would we give up
Him to whom this life belongs?
He is both beautiful and Glorious,
And His call is more gorgeous than all this world could offer.

Listen to His whisper in the grace of a new morning,
And let the deepest parts of your soul call out
To the Depths of His presence.

It's what you were Made For anyway.

Sozo

Salvation: Being made whole, restored, safe and sound.
Sometimes, not every time, but in every moment that matters, being made whole looks a lot like being completely undone. Like every moment I start to look like Him, I start looking foreign to those who knew an old me. And sanctification takes everything I thought I knew and turns it on its head, until I'm only grounded in Him. My whole life call is "Go." ... For He will make the nations my inheritance, and the ends of the earth my possession. I'll go, running after Him, tired but alive; and to those who wonder why I'm out of my depths, don't you know how much I've always loved to swim?

And to those who think I'm crazy, they'll never get a chance to taste the extraordinary- Because they aren't married to the one who whispered and shouted tales of a kingdom and holy dominion.

So I'll go, leaping into the unknown because I know His voice and His voice beckons on the precipice of everlasting life, and so where He goes I'll follow until daily He turns my sorrow into dancing; you'll find me recanting the theology of just a better tomorrow, choosing today, today not to harden my heart to His words because my answer now decides my tomorrow, whether to be alive or hollow; decides if I'll choose to Know Him or Disown Him.

Here's what I know. I am a sojourner, destined for a restless heart in this groaning Earth. In that unsettled spirit I am drawn in two directions. The first beckons me to run from Him and become a shell, to be okay rather than well, and to integrate into the norm rather than emulate the Living Storm that means to undo everything we expected to know. Another Direction calls out in the most unanticipated ways, gnawing at the eternal longing that spurns me to another day. A direction that, should I choose the road, will bode suffering, persecution, exhaustion and pain; a road so hard it can't help but be more beautiful and more worthwhile than words could describe.

One road is forgettable, like a side street you only drive down once. Nothing memorable, straight and flat, no challenge offered. The other speaks of legacy, growth, and a Story worth telling.

The story starts with Death. Dying, every day, again and again until my soul is trained to be empty every new morning, that as the light shines through my window, His life infects my soul, piercing into every hollow so that he captivates every aspect of my reality and I wake with life as I die once more.

I run towards life, forgetting what lies behind and straining to enter the Rest that can only come from Him, leaving behind the dead to bury their own because I've got too much legacy left to create.

I have too many nations waiting to become my inheritance, and I must go, to meet my king. I must spend my days gazing on His glory.

And finally, when I have grown weary from the journey and my pilgrim days are done, I'll find myself in the doorway of a Home, my Home; then, I must rest. Until such a time, I press on with a restless heart, chasing sunrises and leaving stories.

Salvation: To be restored, daily, healed, made new. And to be completely undone that He might make a beautiful offering out of what little we have to give.

That's the Gospel, and that's the road I'll forever follow, beginning with Today.