Who Is He

who
is this man?

miracle maker
healer
shaker of the status quo

carpenter from Nazareth
or more than that?

who is this ordinary
extraordinary man?

freedom fighter
truth teller
charismatic Saviour

or simply
son of Mary?

who is
this enigmatic man?

challenger
disturber
compassionate one

confronter
forgiver

befriender of thieves

soul shaper
peacemaker
peace breaker?

unlike any other
and yet so much
like everyman


who
can he be?

rule breaker
covenant maker

lover
teacher
friend

divinity
embodied through humanity?

who exactly is
this special man?

and who is he

for me?

Kingdom Scars

streaked with the blood
of the Christ,
the hideous wood
is beautified,
timber
now bearing scars
of the pivotal Kingdom event,
the carpenter’s imprint
on the cross,
the patterning
of the one who hung there
cardinal red
on the grain,
the Master craftsman
fashioning
his final piece
in wood,
a beautiful work
of eternal
significance.

The Crushing

crushed
he said

this
from one
so ultra calm
so quietly unflappable

my soul
is crushed with grief
crushed to the point of death

not that he needed
to voice it
his whole body language
betrayed the truth of it

suddenly
everything had changed
our Passover celebration
become
a veritable nightmare
the flight to freedom
revisited
as headlong plunge
into deep despair

what kind of God was this
this Abba
whom he cried to?

what kind of God
would choose to crush
salvation
into being?

what kind of God
was this?

Bittersweet Gethsemane

olives
rained down like bullets
on the ground,
branches
violently shook

his face
contorted in pain,
his clenched fists
roared against the tree
as if flailing in anguish ‘
against the totality
of his creation,
the whole
sorry mess of it
and this moment
it had led him to

his was a tough love,
love of the toughest
most bittersweet kind

and now,
his whole life
hurtling towards its climax,
his divinity
fought the intensity
of mortal weakness
and his human face
revealed itself

Abba
take this cup away


anger
grief
vulnerability
wrestled with the calling

tensions
exploded from within him
as the inner battle
raged

until finally
it was over

he was spent

his whole body
slumped,
relaxed exhaustion
overcame him
and the greater calling
restored itself
to its rightful place
within his mind

in a whisper
the words came

yet not my will
but yours
be done

peace
strengthened him

the hour
had come

Private Moment

. Mark 11.11

silently
reflectively,
adulation of the crowd
still ringing in his ears,
he climbed
the temple steps
entered once more
the place
that had drawn him back,
the holy space
that had been ever drawing him
over thirty three years of life
and long generations of history

destiny
held him
in a private moment
inside the great
echoing silence
of the sacred space

it was late
it was lonely
the end was near

the crowds didn’t understand

silently,
before the
place of sacrifice,
his hands
caressing the altar
as one would a woman,
he remembered Isaac’s son
and the sparing
and knew
that this time
it had to be different

and the coldness
of the polished stone
shivered through him

it was cold
it was late
it was lonely

the end

was near