Prodigals

The Weak are those

who do not tow the party line

but step across it

one foot at a time

to get to know the evil other

so as to meet within themselves

their own evil which is worse

than that of their brother

For we are the chiefest of sinners, we might say

and so very loved, while feeling so depraved

He set us on a hilltop

and, perhaps,

He honors the trying resilient

more than complacent safety that stays and says

we’re undoubtedly your best;

It’s most obvious,

Oh Father,

as we’ve understood you in the past

It’s not You, Father, who have changed

into a more Christ-like behavior

It’s our understanding that we can grow in our weakness

Or stay eating the meat

of a static experience;

that from before the epiphany of your truest, loveliest light,

in this ephemeral life,

gave us eyes to seek expansive meaning

within your illuminating

merciful insight

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When Peace Seems Like Weakness

It’s hard keeping peace

When Jesus said there’d be a sword

We deified the word

within our filters

we thought we understood

The Soul of Christ

can never be met

in the fog of disgruntlement

Yet it feels so right

like the knife that should cut

the ear from the high priest’s servant