Inspired by “A Collect for the Renewal of Life“
O God, the King eternal, light
Dividing, piercing densest dark,
Who puts the shadow of death to flight,
To birth the morn with brightest mark: Continue reading
Look up toward the sky. Who created everything you see? The Lord causes the stars to come out at night one by one. He calls out each one of them by name. His power and strength are great. So none of the stars is missing, Isa 40.26 NIrV.
The universe is larger than we thought —
Three times the stars! The map we bought
Was much too small for such a creative Mind.
Each day more signs of Him we find!
In leper Simon’s house, a woman came
To anoint the Lord, ignoring taunts of shame.
She gladly broke her alabastar jar
To pour on his head perfume that came from afar.
“What waste!” the Savior’s men complained, indignant.
“The poor have need!” They saw her gift a repugnant
Act of useless emotion. But Jesus saw
Her heart of love and the reason for their ire.
She knew he’d pay the heavy debt she owed.
“She poured this oil on my body to prepare
For burial. She can see the Servant’s path,
The pain of the cross, the overwhelming bath.
So leave her alone! In every place the News
Is preached, her deed will be told — she rose
To the occasion — the world will hear her story.
Oh, God, may her brave act be also my glory!
The powers of earth are weak, despite their noise,
Little can they do against the saints;
They cannot make the dead arise from the grave,
Or reach into the Beyond to steal the soul.
They’ve power to kill the body, but that is all —
God alone can destroy, or alone can save.
Success is sure for those whom God anoints;
His mighty arm gives Christians cause to rejoice.
Where, O God, is the man or woman who seeks
your name, who desires above all things the kingdom?
Where walks the faithful heart in full obedience?
Let me be one of these rare souls, with fire
consuming, zeal igniting, working to save
by pointing the way to eternal life in Christ.
Begin with me, O Lord, this very day,
in this place, that I might bear the cross
and in hope of life, bear much fruit that remains.
Be still, my soul, and quiet thy busy mind —
Thy blood is stirred, no space for God to move;
He’d come possess thy cares and care for thee,
But thou must let him, humble and silently.
A birthday calls to mind the growing snowball
Of time, and where it ends, the unknown valley
Of death, so we stop counting years — the clock
Cannot be stopped, so we ignore its sound.
To break free
of the selfish me,
the poor victim —
the need and lack —
gratitude is the need,
thanksgiving the ticket
out from chains
of mental bondage.
The fight for simple things is fierce.
Life is not an easy road.
Sin and human thought confuse.
Our God is one, his way is clear.
The tree that towered above the rest
Came crashing down, toppled by Wind;
Though tall and broad, with terrible boast,
Its trunk was hollow, and failed to stand.
What’s left are dying roots and chips,
A hole in the ground, and damaged wall,
But, soon, repairs and city sweepers
Will cover all signs of the sudden fall.