In the quiet,
Yet without being called.
Oh great Interrupter,
You who intercept us in the daily humdrum of life.
How is it that this magnificent Magnificence
Comes so quietly?
Surely Your movement is preceded by myriad angels singing,
By the thunder of Heaven!
In this forlorn, forgotten room
You draw near.
Quickening the heartbeat of the cosmos,
All ears strain to hear the first sound of Your voice
As you open to me
That I might be opened to You.
A baby’s cry
In a desolate stable,
Your voice touches my soul.
Down the dusty, abused streets of my heart
Your footsteps echo
With the lingering tapping of a cross
As the timpani that matches Your gait –
As if a cane on which You lean as You hobble.
Frailty, thy name is piercéd side,
The brow that drips the blood of Redemption.
First of the first,
How do You live
Slain before the foundations of the world?
How does that broken voice
With it’s pitiful, mournful cry as it’s life ebbs away?
You are Great
And you are the Poured-Out One.
My heart cannot contain this, Oh Great Paradox of my soul.
My heart’s army would be overrun
By the gentle touch of this Fragile Son.
- Steve. Oct 2019