The Garden of Gethsemane is Holy Ground. As we consider the agony of our precious Lord in the garden, we may want to kneel, and in a quiet, reverent tone, repent in dust and ashes. Poetry speaks when regular prose will not do.
Gethsemane: The Linchpin
In Gethsemane
You wept for sin's sure toll on all things good.
Struggled, in clean white beauty
the filthy horrors of perdition...
striving to destroy you, striving to destroy yours.
Your Father, firm to keep light for darkness.
Relentless with His "no" to your plea:
"Let this cup pass."
You bled through pores your own hand formed for cooling
While white hot fire from ugly death pressed, burned
shaking all your primal, human flesh.
All God, all man in the valley of decision...
The fate of every man
on One man.
Who can bear such loneliness?
"Let this cup pass."
The acid of distress, scalding, ablaze in your chest, your heart.
Fear, rage, murder, envy...all OUR vice laid hard on you.
Gethsemane, the linchpin of the ages...
where God meets God and all hope rests on this:
"Let this cup pass...
yet not my will, but Thine be done."
Onward to Calvary.
Your friend on the pilgrim road,
Loriann
No comments:
Post a Comment