Fourth Sunday of Lent

"For God did not send his son into the world to condemn the world. God sent his son so that the world might be saved from the punishment of sin through him." John 3:17

The Church Doors

The red wood, the graceful swans
the sanctuary that oversees a poet's grave
I ponder his words, lifting like birds in flight
from the pages, notes singing themselves long since
written down from God's mouth to the poet's ear
times passes and yet the powerful music is very real.

Open the doors to the fragile artist, the writer,
the instrument of God's beauty and affection
talent both gift and addiction
a life of lifting and crashing through stained glass
and stereotypes, breaking down and being lifted up
by a tangible savior, a cup and some bread.

The ancient dreams of poets and artists linger
in the air as spring breaks forth and we break out
of steel winter bonds that have held us lifeless
clueless to the rhythm of the spheres.

God is dancing in Lent, opening aged doors,
the creaking can be heard across the land,
a father swinging his child in his arms
offering life for all the world to behold
and to know as an offering for us all.

Swing wide the gates, for we have been set free
we can pen new songs and dream new dreams
the light can break through, lift up the harp
and strap on the guitar for the drums are beating
even now we can't help singing, can't help swaying
swaying with God's joy in giving
clapping with the beat of life poured out for all to live.

It is Lent, but the songs cannot be restrained
the new blades of grass dance with the wind
and the mountains are whistling the new tune
the song of promise is rumbling through this place
and we can't help but sing and swing with each repeating beat.