Rescued from the Rapture

6/15/24

Strokes on canvas come to life.

Entangled particles of love explore.

Earth orbits a dying sun—

mere reflection and mortal strife.

A villa with a view not easily ignored.

 

“For by grace you have been saved through faith.”

Soil of Vine rich with trust.

Proverb and parable collide—

good deeds like talents buried

turn to rust.

Listen to chimes of old,

a call to Middle-Eastern metaphors of grace:

fruit of branches pruned fills the cup

the Gardner-Groom lifts up

to bless and toast and taste

the sweetness of the day,

a much-anticipated day

when He can see His eclectic bride eternal

face-to-face.

 

For now, the genealogy of suffering

is in every kiss.

While the already-not-yet kingdom of God

is continually crafted,

sanded down and stained

into His pre-ordained workmanship.

For we are Heaven’s masterpiece,

framed in doctrines of sweat and bliss.

Incarnated poems

(“created in Christ Jesus to do good things”)

clip Icarus’s apocalyptic wings

as feathers of pride melt

like sun-struck wax

when we abide inspired

with tongues of fire

from Holy Spirit lips.

 

To be clear, this is not an anti-rapture poem but a poem about an obsession with the rapture, to the point that we fail to “come to life” here-and-now, merely giving lip-service to Paul’s Spirit-inspired declaration “For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago” (Ephesians 2:10, NLT).  

11/5/24

Kernels of gold sowed in sweat. Embodied husks designed to protect. Multicolored grain, a heavenly harvest. The plague in the Garden— one locust started— the Reaper ransoms to forget.   A rotted ear only hears the screams of its own dissection, an eternity of introspection. Rows of corn restless with guilt. The cup of wrath…

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10/18/24

Christmas for Ginny has always been the most important day of the year. It’s a magical day when anything is possible, like the unprecedented miracle of God taking on human form; it’s when a supernatural star led the Magi to the infant God-man, lying helplessly in a symbolic feeding trough; and it’s when men met God face-to-Face in a humble manger to worship him and feed from him. Ginny loves Christmas for both its majestic beauty and historical truth. She understands, however, that this sacred day has been tainted with folklore and commercialism, but experience and wisdom enable her to see these gilded traditions as a way to bridge the gap between the sacred and the profane. For Ginny, a gift for someone special on Christmas is a reminder of the greatest Gift ever given. So naturally Ginny wants to give Brad something special for Christmas. But she, too, finds herself without two pennies to rub together. Then, suddenly, an idea flashes across her mind that makes her eyes water, feeling the internal warmth that comes with giving wholeheartedly.

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10/17/24

Ten years ago, my parents, Robert and Sheila, were killed in a car accident on Christmas Day. A head on collision with a drunk driver took them away from me. It turned out that both front airbags were defective. They were coming back from looking at Christmas lights. My seven-year-old daughter was in the back seat. She was not wearing her seatbelt. She was thrown from the wreckage. She died instantly.

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