Wednesday, February 18, 2009
"The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone; this is the Lord's doing and it is amazing in our eyes." Mark 12:11
Wicked Tenants - A Poem for this Wednesday
They wake to the scent of ripe fruit, abundance carried on the wind
they wake aching to be full, desire clinging like dense morning fog
their ache to be satisfied, to own and to control.
They didn't intend to be violent, it came bursting forth,
as they woke to abundance, the beast panted and turned within
wanting more, twitching with the hunt, cringing from need, forgetting
all this was a gift, theirs to be tended, their not to own.
We are builders and tenants, laborers in the field
hands crusted with dirt, rough with the work and service
we dream of the touch of God.
We are leaders and musicians, dancers and pastors and we pray
for the presence of the master gardener, the composer, the architect,
the designer who trusts us with the building of the temple.
We don't expect to be violent but we can in acting as if we own
the trademark, the design, the spirit, the label.
The ripe fruit is fruit is not ours, nor the ground we are given.
Our feet touch the warm abundant earth and we would curse it
for we cannot own her, we cannot enslave her for she is not our own.
We wake to the scent of ripe fruit carried on the wind
and we ache to be full, to be welcomed, to be the prized
possession, to be set free by graceful touch of a truly loving God.
We fail to see that the master builder continues to chose the rejected
the weary and the tossed aside.
God has chosen us to be the precious children,
reached down and took broken shattered stones,
and turned us to living flesh, heirs of abundance
running full in the garden.