There are stories eyes can tell only through tears. Mortal eyes are disoriented as they frantically search to catch a vision of the immortal, a reason for the pain. Death rips away what is closest to the heart, while burying fears, grief, loneliness, and questions deep into the mind. Why, why God? Why do you take some and spare the lives of others? Why do some grow old and gray with their sweethearts from youth, while others are slowly laid down into unfeeling soil with half a breath still in their lungs? Why do we live in a world where a father must bury the small frame of his once lively son, where one-flesh is torn in two by the death of a spouse, where siblings die of cancer? Where is God when death storms our home? Is God unfeeling when we grieve? Is God impassible, making ambiguous choices for when and how we die? How should we respond when those we love die and does God remain emotionless because he knows the big picture, reassuring us that everything is for the good?
These are some of the questions that circulate through my mind and some of my family members because of the recent death of my aunt. Her death was unexpected and came as a sudden shock to the entire family. I was not particularly close to my aunt, but while my heart is saddened by the loss of my aunt, I found myself crying more for those I love who are close to her. Death is not like a ripple effect that slowly permeates through our lives. Rather, death is like an unforgiving tsunami that devastates on a mass scale, leaving mangled wreckage in its wake. During my cousin’s prayer she asked that God would make himself even more known to the family through my aunt's death. Her prayer request kick-started my thinking about how we can know God's character through death. Seeing someone you love die is one the most tangible and potent experience you can have as a window into the heart of God.
Let me explain why our experience of witnessing death reveals the character of God. Perhaps one the biggest mistakes we make, while not always on purpose, is viewing God as an “it” rather than a person. Often God is overly characterized as being completely outside of time, so wholly other we cannot know him and is often reduced to an idol of deism. God is almost like the matrix, a computer making choices and calculations to balance a formula with little regard for the costly side effects. This could not be further from the truth of who God is. We must understand and interact with God as a person, not as cosmic entity or force or another name for everything as a whole, like in eastern mysticism. To be a person is to be in relationship. God is a person in a trinitarian and creator/creature way. The story of the gospel is about who God is, his love for us and how we are made to participate in relationship with the Father, the Son and the Spirit. We were never meant to experience death, separation from those we love. We are wounded, torn and grieved to the point of sorrow because of death. However, God is perhaps the most wounded of all. He is our God, the one who forms us and breathes life into our lungs; our God, who calls us friend, daughter and son; our God, who calls us by name, inviting us to home of belonging; our God, who is jealous, not of us, but for affection; our God, who delights in our delight, who finds joy in our joy. This is the God of the Bible, a person who desires to know and love us.
We are often taught that death is natural, the normal process of life. If death is natural, then why are we filled with feelings of outrage, grief and bewilderment when death shows its face? Death is unnatural, an outrage, a distortion, and a consequence of sin! We should detest death; feel the anger burn at such an atrocity. Sin is the cause of death, separation from each other and God. However, we grieve over death, but tolerate sin, sometimes celebrate it. Our lives are paradoxes, trying to heal sickness with the very thing that caused the pain in the first place. We made death a reality through sin, God is not the cause. Death shakes us to our core because we are forced to come face to face with the reality of our sin, having to view the corpse of those we love being lowered into a lifeless grave. Do you feel the weight of what we lost? If you know the grief death brings, you have a small window into the heart of God. When we weep, God weeps. When we grieve, God grieves with us. When we are outraged at death, God’s righteous anger burns with fury against sin. God is not unfeeling, callous or disconnected, but feeling, loving and ever showing care for us. Our grief pales in comparison to the God who sacrifices as a servant to bury death in his grave. God is moved to action, to restore what is lost in death because he is a God who is intimately close with his creation. Our lives are short and we will see a handful of loved ones die, but God experiences the death of all of humanity, through all time. God is the one who is wounded the most by death, filled with sorrow because he understands the true weight of what is lost. Grieve over death, feel outraged at the reality of death and you will have a small glimpse at God’s heart and new hope for the resurrection.
Isaiah 53:4-6 “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed.”
Revelation 21:4 “And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away."
Poem:: Architect of Self
I like to believe I am a master architect, a seasoned builder,
Erecting intricate structures, not of wood, stone or steel, but of self.
I know I am not alone in my field, but must confess as a householder:
There is a fear that cripples at the knees,
Being unloved in showing the real me.
So, I...
Formulate.
Fabricate.
Alternate.
Duplicate anything that appears worthy,
Worthy...
of applause,
of oohs and awes,
of being loved...
So, I renovate this broken house I call my life,
To exhibit perfection without strife,
Cover these blemished lead stained halls,
Conceal these lies in a room hidden with false walls,
Stacked to the ceiling, espestice and all.
So, I paint this vinyl siding with a fresh coat of vanity,
Shroud the rot in the roof with shallow shingles, like the rest of humanity,
Burn pictures not so flattering,
Remove facebook comments not so becoming,
Fabricate status updates that bolster my image, a wise fool so cunning.
But, I begin to fear,
because they are getting too near.
What will happen when I remove my mask?
Will they gasp, this meeting being our last?
What will happen when they see me through these fabric lies threadbare?
Will they invite my love or look elsewhere?
So, I submit my image to the Architect of fame,
Too long I tarnished, defaced and profaned His name.
Tear this decrepit house to the ground, start from inside!
What this heart needs is not a renovation,
It needs a demolition!
An abolition!
I suffocate in this quarantined house, a lonely life that is merely a spoof,
Swing a wrecking-ball through this rotten roof,
Rip out these paper thin walls,
Scrape the lead paint off these callous halls,
Tailor me after the image of the One,
The God who made me through His Son.
Christ is my template,
my prototype,
my archetype,
my antecedent,
my foundation on whom these new walls are resurrected...
So, Christ break down this animated undead heart and rebuild it in three days,
Make this your home, every room softly filled with your love full ablaze,
Set its frame firmly on the cornerstone of Truth void of lies,
Be authentic without crossed fingers before the world's eyes.
No longer do I fear rejection,
For the Father's love is the perfect protection.
I used to believe I was a master architect, a seasoned builder,
But in my home Christ is the householder.
Erecting intricate structures, not of wood, stone or steel, but of self.
I know I am not alone in my field, but must confess as a householder:
There is a fear that cripples at the knees,
Being unloved in showing the real me.
So, I...
Formulate.
Fabricate.
Alternate.
Duplicate anything that appears worthy,
Worthy...
of applause,
of oohs and awes,
of being loved...
So, I renovate this broken house I call my life,
To exhibit perfection without strife,
Cover these blemished lead stained halls,
Conceal these lies in a room hidden with false walls,
Stacked to the ceiling, espestice and all.
So, I paint this vinyl siding with a fresh coat of vanity,
Shroud the rot in the roof with shallow shingles, like the rest of humanity,
Burn pictures not so flattering,
Remove facebook comments not so becoming,
Fabricate status updates that bolster my image, a wise fool so cunning.
But, I begin to fear,
because they are getting too near.
What will happen when I remove my mask?
Will they gasp, this meeting being our last?
What will happen when they see me through these fabric lies threadbare?
Will they invite my love or look elsewhere?
So, I submit my image to the Architect of fame,
Too long I tarnished, defaced and profaned His name.
Tear this decrepit house to the ground, start from inside!
What this heart needs is not a renovation,
It needs a demolition!
An abolition!
I suffocate in this quarantined house, a lonely life that is merely a spoof,
Swing a wrecking-ball through this rotten roof,
Rip out these paper thin walls,
Scrape the lead paint off these callous halls,
Tailor me after the image of the One,
The God who made me through His Son.
Christ is my template,
my prototype,
my archetype,
my antecedent,
my foundation on whom these new walls are resurrected...
So, Christ break down this animated undead heart and rebuild it in three days,
Make this your home, every room softly filled with your love full ablaze,
Set its frame firmly on the cornerstone of Truth void of lies,
Be authentic without crossed fingers before the world's eyes.
No longer do I fear rejection,
For the Father's love is the perfect protection.
I used to believe I was a master architect, a seasoned builder,
But in my home Christ is the householder.
We Bury Our Treasures
“Store up for yourself treasures in heaven...” How many times do I hear these lines quoted by pastors and read in the Scriptures, yet my heart does not resonate with the weight of its truth? What does it mean for me to store up treasures in heaven and what does that even look like? I can understand how material things are temporary, how power is relinquished at death, and that vitality has a shelf life, but how do I prepare for a world unseen or a hope unrealized? The words of Christ imply that we are active in shaping what blessings we will enjoy when our bodies breathe their last breath of life in this dying world. Choices are not arbitrary, but have a ripple effect upon eternity’s shore. How I choose to live my life now will shape my experience of heaven, the new earth.
When you are confronted with the dreadful reality of death you cannot help but evaluate every aspect of your life, the choices you made, past mistakes, where you dedicated your time, the people you love. Mortality’s hands force our eyes to turn and focus on how we spent our love over time. We actively shape our experience of heaven, life after death, by our love. Where you invest your love is where you invest your life. The things I most desperately desire to be waiting for me in heaven are the things I dearly love most, people. Christ’s promise of a new heaven and new earth is not about receiving a proverbial crown or mansion with many rooms, but a promise of reunion. We are intricately woven together for relationship, to receive and foster love in others. The image of God imprinted on our very being is not merely a functional will, moral fiber or reason, but the ability to enter into a loving relationship with our creator and each other. Sin is a wedge that divides us from the source of true, unquenchable love, while plunging the world into a cycle of soul-dividing death. Because of sin, our love is squandered on lifeless trash, countless wives are malnourished, starving for the love of their husbands, children are sexually abused by those they trust and the heart of the consumer is poisoned green with greed.
The blessing of heaven, eternal life, is not about living forever, but a quality of life. Eternal life is knowing Christ, who is the perfect love our souls yearn to know. Heaven is where tears go to die as we are united with our loved ones and embraced by the pierced hands of Christ who reconciles us to the Father. It is the love of Christ that fills our lungs with the breath of hope, being united once again with God and those we love. Now, the blessings we store up in heaven are each other. Christ infuses his love into ever fiber of our being, the marrow of our bones, in order to resuscitate life and hope in others. We participate with Christ in reconciling hurting people to a loving God. I want to love others so they can sample the love of Christ and embrace the same promise of reunion. I want to walk next to the feet Jesus with my brothers and sisters, my friends and coworkers, family and acquaintances. I want hold the warm hands of my grandfather and grandmother whom death callously stole from me. We are not designed to die or to witness the casualties of our sin. What a cruel fate it is to bury the treasures you love. The hope of Christ, the gift of heaven, is reclaiming what is lost. We embody the love that saves by how we live and must extend it others. The only thing you can bring to heaven is people.
You follow the love of your heart when you die. We need to remember why we serve in ministry, why we should be missional, why we should proclaim the Gospel: To love people as God loves them. People come before jobs, people come before good grades, people come before a career, people come before hobbies, and people come before wants because Christ surrendered all to redeem all.
Who will you bring to walk on eternity’s shore?
“Do not store up for yourself treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:19-21)
When you are confronted with the dreadful reality of death you cannot help but evaluate every aspect of your life, the choices you made, past mistakes, where you dedicated your time, the people you love. Mortality’s hands force our eyes to turn and focus on how we spent our love over time. We actively shape our experience of heaven, life after death, by our love. Where you invest your love is where you invest your life. The things I most desperately desire to be waiting for me in heaven are the things I dearly love most, people. Christ’s promise of a new heaven and new earth is not about receiving a proverbial crown or mansion with many rooms, but a promise of reunion. We are intricately woven together for relationship, to receive and foster love in others. The image of God imprinted on our very being is not merely a functional will, moral fiber or reason, but the ability to enter into a loving relationship with our creator and each other. Sin is a wedge that divides us from the source of true, unquenchable love, while plunging the world into a cycle of soul-dividing death. Because of sin, our love is squandered on lifeless trash, countless wives are malnourished, starving for the love of their husbands, children are sexually abused by those they trust and the heart of the consumer is poisoned green with greed.
The blessing of heaven, eternal life, is not about living forever, but a quality of life. Eternal life is knowing Christ, who is the perfect love our souls yearn to know. Heaven is where tears go to die as we are united with our loved ones and embraced by the pierced hands of Christ who reconciles us to the Father. It is the love of Christ that fills our lungs with the breath of hope, being united once again with God and those we love. Now, the blessings we store up in heaven are each other. Christ infuses his love into ever fiber of our being, the marrow of our bones, in order to resuscitate life and hope in others. We participate with Christ in reconciling hurting people to a loving God. I want to love others so they can sample the love of Christ and embrace the same promise of reunion. I want to walk next to the feet Jesus with my brothers and sisters, my friends and coworkers, family and acquaintances. I want hold the warm hands of my grandfather and grandmother whom death callously stole from me. We are not designed to die or to witness the casualties of our sin. What a cruel fate it is to bury the treasures you love. The hope of Christ, the gift of heaven, is reclaiming what is lost. We embody the love that saves by how we live and must extend it others. The only thing you can bring to heaven is people.
You follow the love of your heart when you die. We need to remember why we serve in ministry, why we should be missional, why we should proclaim the Gospel: To love people as God loves them. People come before jobs, people come before good grades, people come before a career, people come before hobbies, and people come before wants because Christ surrendered all to redeem all.
Who will you bring to walk on eternity’s shore?
“Do not store up for yourself treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:19-21)
Imagery of Temptation
"but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed. Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death." - James 1:14-15
Her name is “Temptation”,
Her lips are laced with poison of false intimacy. Men know Truth, yet they prostitute their lips to hers. Her venom pulses through the host’s veins,
infecting… polluting… impeding genuine love.
Constant ecstasy is a harlot’s dream. For when a pleasure is converted to habit it loses its flavor, becoming unpleasant and bitter. An ever increasing craving for an ever diminishing pleasure is the formula for slavery. Men relinquish their very souls and receive nothing in return. She offers real pleasure, but can only twist or contort what God has created for corrupt intentions. All she can do is seduce men in weakness to take fleeting pleasures:
in times of impatience… in ways that are forbidden… in degrees that are empty.
Men often find themselves ravished before they recognize their new pleasure as a temptation. The youthful innocence of being in love steadily, yet oh so unsuspectingly, begins to give birth to selfish motives, breeding a monster we title lust. They pretend as if their love is pure while they murder their brothers with piercing comments of resentment and anger. They fictitiously imagine they are justified in taking revenge because of an injustice done to them. The oppressed become the oppressor.
Her soft voice bids them to drink from a cup safely coiled within her beautiful hands. “You are so tired… so desponded… you are thirsty… Come and taste. Release your inhibitions. Relieve your despair and quench your thirst.” While the exterior is beautiful, her interior is ugly. Her gentile hands are instead like daggers around a dying man’s throat. Yet, knowing full well her cup is infused with poison, men return time and time again, convincing themselves while on broken knees that, “Perhaps…perhaps this time will be different from all the rest? Perhaps this one will truly satisfy?” They are reduced to swine scarfing down slop from a trough with an upheaving sensation of self-loathing, despair and emptiness. Constant indulgence numbs the heart and renders the conscience indifferent to oppression, the heart incapable of love. They rationalize their innocence because they are not gluttons to the excess, however in reality they are addicts, masquerading under the shroud of moderation. When all of the intoxicating beauty is stripped away, her true motives are laid bare and naked, to give birth to sin and consummate in death.
This is our prayer,
We admit our helplessness.
We must confess we are sinners, often playing the tempter’s part.
We are faithless, living out a stubborn will.
We are disloyal, prostituting ourselves to false gods.
We cry out for help! For Redemption!
Father, redeem us not from the world, but from ourselves!
We are the problem and You are the solution.
Our hearts are the fountain for sinful desire.
We reflect and ponder on Your character:
Faithful…
Just…
Merciful…
Holy…
Compassionate…
Long suffering…
Loving…
Forgiving…
You have overcome temptation of every kind.
You have crushed the serpent’s head.
Teach us to do the same. May Your victory be our victory.
Amen.
Her name is “Temptation”,
Her lips are laced with poison of false intimacy. Men know Truth, yet they prostitute their lips to hers. Her venom pulses through the host’s veins,
infecting… polluting… impeding genuine love.
Constant ecstasy is a harlot’s dream. For when a pleasure is converted to habit it loses its flavor, becoming unpleasant and bitter. An ever increasing craving for an ever diminishing pleasure is the formula for slavery. Men relinquish their very souls and receive nothing in return. She offers real pleasure, but can only twist or contort what God has created for corrupt intentions. All she can do is seduce men in weakness to take fleeting pleasures:
in times of impatience… in ways that are forbidden… in degrees that are empty.
Men often find themselves ravished before they recognize their new pleasure as a temptation. The youthful innocence of being in love steadily, yet oh so unsuspectingly, begins to give birth to selfish motives, breeding a monster we title lust. They pretend as if their love is pure while they murder their brothers with piercing comments of resentment and anger. They fictitiously imagine they are justified in taking revenge because of an injustice done to them. The oppressed become the oppressor.
Her soft voice bids them to drink from a cup safely coiled within her beautiful hands. “You are so tired… so desponded… you are thirsty… Come and taste. Release your inhibitions. Relieve your despair and quench your thirst.” While the exterior is beautiful, her interior is ugly. Her gentile hands are instead like daggers around a dying man’s throat. Yet, knowing full well her cup is infused with poison, men return time and time again, convincing themselves while on broken knees that, “Perhaps…perhaps this time will be different from all the rest? Perhaps this one will truly satisfy?” They are reduced to swine scarfing down slop from a trough with an upheaving sensation of self-loathing, despair and emptiness. Constant indulgence numbs the heart and renders the conscience indifferent to oppression, the heart incapable of love. They rationalize their innocence because they are not gluttons to the excess, however in reality they are addicts, masquerading under the shroud of moderation. When all of the intoxicating beauty is stripped away, her true motives are laid bare and naked, to give birth to sin and consummate in death.
This is our prayer,
We admit our helplessness.
We must confess we are sinners, often playing the tempter’s part.
We are faithless, living out a stubborn will.
We are disloyal, prostituting ourselves to false gods.
We cry out for help! For Redemption!
Father, redeem us not from the world, but from ourselves!
We are the problem and You are the solution.
Our hearts are the fountain for sinful desire.
We reflect and ponder on Your character:
Faithful…
Just…
Merciful…
Holy…
Compassionate…
Long suffering…
Loving…
Forgiving…
You have overcome temptation of every kind.
You have crushed the serpent’s head.
Teach us to do the same. May Your victory be our victory.
Amen.
Perceiving Death
This summer I attended a memorial service for a woman who died of cancer at a younger age and she was not a believer in Jesus Christ. I find it interesting to observe how unbelievers perceive death and cope with the lost of a loved one compared to believers. What would it be like to personify death? Would he be a friend or foe? Jesus Christ makes all the difference.
Death Without Christ
Your name. I have heard of your name. It grips my heart with fear, throbbing in unbelief. Until now your face remained shrouded by the darkness of the unfamiliar. Once you were a stranger, a rumor, a reality in wait of birth. Now, I know you too well. Oh, how you are a master of disguise, shifting from mask to mask, face to face, masquerading as a friend. You stole the face of someone familiar. You clothed yourself with the soft skin of someone I love. You came as a thief, ready to strip and tear something precious to my heart. You are a consumer of unforeseen dreams. The walls of my home are lifeless and bitter. Laughter is silenced by wails of sorrow. I reach out for my beloved’s warm hands that speak silent words of comfort, but you have hardened those soft hands into a corpse, a shell of a person. You have ripped out my knees and drown my eyes in tears of sorrow. You have shattered my bones with heavy blows of grief. Joy is a distant stranger. Happiness is a lost friend. Love remains only as a fragmented memory. Oh, how swift and final is your work. Loneliness is my only companion. Part of my soul has died with you my love.
Your name. I have heard of your name. Your name is Death.
Death With Christ
I am envious of you. You are now clothed in eternal life. The face of your creator is unveiled before your eyes. The poison your heart has pulsed through your veins for so many years is purified and new. Your mind that is plagued with the disease of anxiety can finally draw in precious breaths of rest . Pain, suffering and loneliness are merely forgotten memories. My heart yearns to be with you, longing to feel your soft embrace. Hope. Hope is not simply a prisoner's fantasy, but a living, breathing reality. One day, one day all things will be made anew when God breathes eternal life into my lungs as He has yours. This is not a final goodbye. Death is merely a gateway, an escort home to the ones I love. Mourning and grief will not consume my heart like those without hope for I know that, "Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting? For sin is the sting that results in death. But thank God! He gives victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ" (1 Cor. 15:54-56).
Your name. I know your name. Your name is Life.
Death Without Christ
Your name. I have heard of your name. It grips my heart with fear, throbbing in unbelief. Until now your face remained shrouded by the darkness of the unfamiliar. Once you were a stranger, a rumor, a reality in wait of birth. Now, I know you too well. Oh, how you are a master of disguise, shifting from mask to mask, face to face, masquerading as a friend. You stole the face of someone familiar. You clothed yourself with the soft skin of someone I love. You came as a thief, ready to strip and tear something precious to my heart. You are a consumer of unforeseen dreams. The walls of my home are lifeless and bitter. Laughter is silenced by wails of sorrow. I reach out for my beloved’s warm hands that speak silent words of comfort, but you have hardened those soft hands into a corpse, a shell of a person. You have ripped out my knees and drown my eyes in tears of sorrow. You have shattered my bones with heavy blows of grief. Joy is a distant stranger. Happiness is a lost friend. Love remains only as a fragmented memory. Oh, how swift and final is your work. Loneliness is my only companion. Part of my soul has died with you my love.
Your name. I have heard of your name. Your name is Death.
Death With Christ
I am envious of you. You are now clothed in eternal life. The face of your creator is unveiled before your eyes. The poison your heart has pulsed through your veins for so many years is purified and new. Your mind that is plagued with the disease of anxiety can finally draw in precious breaths of rest . Pain, suffering and loneliness are merely forgotten memories. My heart yearns to be with you, longing to feel your soft embrace. Hope. Hope is not simply a prisoner's fantasy, but a living, breathing reality. One day, one day all things will be made anew when God breathes eternal life into my lungs as He has yours. This is not a final goodbye. Death is merely a gateway, an escort home to the ones I love. Mourning and grief will not consume my heart like those without hope for I know that, "Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting? For sin is the sting that results in death. But thank God! He gives victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ" (1 Cor. 15:54-56).
Your name. I know your name. Your name is Life.
Forgiving Love
"Forgiving love is a possibility only for those who know that they are not good, who feel themselves in need of divine mercy, who live in a dimension deeper and higher than that of mortal idealism, feel themselves as well as their fellow men convicted of sin by a holy God and know that the differences between the good man and the bad man are insignificant in his sight." -Reinold Neibuhr
Death of Individuality
What does it mean to be a person? God created us to be in a relationship defined by self-giving love. He forms and molds our being in accordance to His likeness. To love sacrificially, withholding nothing good from a beloved, is to express who God is within Himself. A person is otherness in loving relationship. Every human being is unique and different from all others. We cannot be a person without someone existing outside of us. However, we have severed and marred our relationship with God because of sin. Sin strangles and suffocates reciprocal love. The "individual" is manifested at the Fall. Mankind curves inward to his selfish desires, fearing and disdaining the uniqueness of others. Pain, suffering and loneliness enters front stage as our hearts yearn for love and cry out for justice. The incarnation is God's loving response. Jesus Christ kills the individual on the cross. We have died to self. God is restoring us to what we once were. This poem is about the gospel, about who we were created to be, who we became, and who Christ has made us to be.
Death of Individuality
I am a person,
created in the image and likeness of the Divine
in perfect relationship, beautifully intertwined.
I am a person,
unable to be exhaustively defined
to be categorized by the human mind.
I am an individual,
discontent as a creature
coveting the role of the Creator.
I am an individual,
seeped in hate and lies
primed to bargain to make one wise.
I am an individual,
disconnected and alone
craving for love, a place to call home.
God is a person,
otherness in loving communion
willing to crush His Son for union.
God is a person,
who suffers and mourns
while Christ's flesh was flogged and torn.
I am a person,
redeemed and made anew
dependent on God's love to carry me through.
I am a person,
in relationship with the One
who gave me a possession in His Son.
BY: Jon Aman
Death of Individuality
I am a person,
created in the image and likeness of the Divine
in perfect relationship, beautifully intertwined.
I am a person,
unable to be exhaustively defined
to be categorized by the human mind.
I am an individual,
discontent as a creature
coveting the role of the Creator.
I am an individual,
seeped in hate and lies
primed to bargain to make one wise.
I am an individual,
disconnected and alone
craving for love, a place to call home.
God is a person,
otherness in loving communion
willing to crush His Son for union.
God is a person,
who suffers and mourns
while Christ's flesh was flogged and torn.
I am a person,
redeemed and made anew
dependent on God's love to carry me through.
I am a person,
in relationship with the One
who gave me a possession in His Son.
BY: Jon Aman
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