Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Two Psalms

(Psalm of Complaint) 

Oh Lord,

There are girls dying at fifteen
and girls who wish they had long been dead.
There are girls bought and sold.
There are girls left open for anyone
to track mud into their souls.
There are girls who have bootprints all over them.

Not just in deserts.
Not just in back alleys.
In our own churches, in Your own Body,
there are girls.
Made silent. Made scapegoat. Made shameful.

And then there are my girls asleep in their beds,
and the blessing of it crushes me.

(How many mothers would remove their own bones,
through their own flesh,
with their own hands,
to see their daughters in a pink nightgown
curled up against a stuffed rabbit safe in bed.....)

There are girls whose sorrow
I cannot carry.

I can clench my first but
all I feel is the smallness of my hands.
The frailty of my fingers.

There are girls whose grief would snap my spine with its weight.
I do not presume that I can bear it.

But my Lord,
you have borne our grief and carried our sorrows.
(Were you not despised,
were you not made an amusement,
were you not sold?)

I lay beside my daughters and I unclench my fist
because I know there are no girls
beyond the reach of Your rescue.
There are girls whose ashes will be turned to beauty
who will be spotless,
who will dance in your courts, who will never cease to speak
to shout, to sing worthy is the Lamb that was slain

There are girls
who will be made
and Beloved
and Bride.


(Psalm of Imprecation)

My Lord,

there are men
who devour.

Let the Word wield the sword
I cannot heft.
Let it come from His mouth.
Let the Word divide between the bone and marrow
that I cannot pierce.
Let it rend deep the hearts of men.
How I long to see them cut in two!
But let it be Your wound,
the cut that makes whole.

I cannot look away from what they have done.
I cannot be satisfied that they will be tamed.
I must pray for a death.
But I pray that it may be the death
that brings eternal life.
I pray that they may be crucified
in Christ
because wrath must fall
and wrath has fallen
The cup is full to the brim
but I pray
that they might be brought to the One 
who drank it to the dregs
Such drink too strong and bitter for their throats.

They would choke
for all eternity.

And so I cannot pray
that they will suffer their own punishment
But that they will fall before
the one whose stripes have healed them

Rise up, oh God
Undo them!
 And bind them up. 
Uncover their nakedness!
And clothe them in Christ
Wreck them!
Lay bare the poverty of their spirits!
For the poor in spirit
will see God
And I long for these men
to see God

To be no longer themselves
but my brothers

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

These are beautiful, showing the maturity of Spirit, overcoming the feelings of the flesh--the powerlessness in our own hands transferred the to Bigger Hands to shape, mold, make new.