The Lamb, The Lion

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The sacrificial lamb was laid upon
The altar by the hands of wicked men,
And all was dark the days before the dawn
In the apparent victory of sin.
The lesser lion, seeking to devour,
Set his assault against the sacred son,
And Satan, in the darkness of the hour,
Was certain that the victory was won.
And so it was, but not for his array.
The cross of Christ displayed for all to see
That Satan’s claim to power had been wrong.
The finished hunter had become the prey.
The word made flesh fulfilled the prophecy.
The lamb had been a lion all along.


Photo by lydia harper on Unsplash

Apathy

Sacrifices are vices unless

True conviction accomp’nies the gift.

Heartless rituals will never bless,

Nor can they ever mend the great rift.

We feign well true repentance and faith,

Rending garments but never the heart.

Ev’ry prophet who preaches, “Thus saith,”

We deny with a devilish art.

Lest we follow destruction’s wide path,

Let us perish the heart’s apathy.

Learn the weight of the Lord’s love and wrath,

And, by his grace alone, let us see.

Transformation

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Proper fear begets a proper faith.
The foreigner becomes family.
God gives substance to the wraith:
Glorious anomaly.
Grace and mercy meet the guilty heart
Turning stone to living flesh and blood.
Love transforms every part,
Cleansing in the crimson flood.

Mema

Five dollars may not mean that much to you,

And Lincoln’s face may never make you smile.

Casa Ole may never come in view.

You may think eating trash is not your style.

Your Christmas gift may never have been placed

Inside a colored bag upon the tree.

And you, poor soul, may never know the taste

Of Hello Dollies shared with family.

These memories are blessings to the mind,

And thoughts of them do always warm the heart,

For our Mema and Grandad, always kind,

Have played in all our lives the sweetest part.

With thankfulness these words could never say,

We celebrate our Mema’s life today.