A Chill in the Air

On Tuesday you cried

upon my shoulder,

trusting Jesus to save

your soul.

On Friday you played

the entertainer, making light

of fearful faces in the room.


You left us in November

as the cold was setting in.


You danced in the face of death,

a can of beer in your hand.

But morning came with raindrops,

in your bed you would remain.

You communicated in silence,

lids weighted with eternal sleep.


You left us in November

as the cold was setting in.


We ate brownies topped

with ice cream, while the lesbian

hugged the Catholic and God’s

Spirit sweetly smiled.

We laughed through tears

as we remembered; said

our prayers to fill the void.


You left us in November

as the cold was setting in.


I said goodbye on Thursday,

and left roses in the snow.


The Lamb Is Slain

Unimaginable Love pours its richest perfume on dusty feet

Innocence drinks of death’s dark poison

Holiness breaks forth in bloom


He casts His shadow and we follow after it.

We grasp for it, in a vain attempt to reach Him.

We worship the shadow – never seeing the Man.

Published in: on September 5, 2011 at 9:48 pm  Leave a Comment  

Let Me Not Forget

From all fear You’ve set me free.
From all sin my heart does flee.
From all doubt I’m clear to be
From all You gave upon the tree.

It is Your sweetness they taste in me.
It is Your love, in these eyes, they see.
It is Your peace that floods like sea.
It is You — it is not me.

Published in: on May 29, 2011 at 7:33 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Kneeling There

I visited there this morning,
that place of sanctuary.
I saw you kneeling there.

You didn’t notice me,
or so it seemed.
There was no reason to.

I saw you kneeling there,
communing in the Spirit.
I joined you in that place.

A place of blessed meeting
where spirits mingle,
pure in their intent.

We visited there this morning,
that place of sanctuary.
We were kneeling there.

Published in: on June 8, 2010 at 11:39 am  Comments (2)  
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Judgment’s Mire

Suits and ties are their holy attire
But feet are stuck in judgment’s mire.
Missed the joy of freedom’s rest,
Always fear they’ll fail the test.
In heaven’s love they do not trust,
By words and deeds they must be just.
Faith and grace painted on their wall
But fear and doubt—
Have stained their soul.

Published in: on August 6, 2009 at 2:02 am  Leave a Comment  

A Sovereign Hand Over Me

by my good friend Gayle Neuerburg
A prayer poem about trusting

A sovereign hand over me

To protect my heart and vulnerability

Giving me peace and tranquility

In the midst of ambiguity

Trusting, leaning and holding to

Promise of love good and true

Hold me, lift me and carry me

Turn my eyes, help me see

You’re abounding in every moment

Ever knowing and ever present

Let me trust your unchanging ways

Walking beside you all my days

Sometimes I falter, sometimes I shake

You’re there with every step I take

Keep me in the palm of your hand

Although I don’t always understand

There’s a sovereign hand over me

Giving me peace and tranquility

Published in: on June 4, 2009 at 3:03 pm  Leave a Comment  

Grace and Mercy on the Table

Grace and mercy, they’re a common staple,
found often on the Christian’s table.

Definitions abound in theological text.
Fed to us weekly in our worship mix.

Yet the taste of these delicacies
seem hidden from our pallet.

But guilt and duty, these we savor,
a steady diet to be consumed.

It’s easy to blame those who’re serving.
It’s they who make us feel undeserving.

But who changed the menu thus?
Was it really them? Or was it us?

In the end it rests with me,
that the Lord is good, to taste and see.

If this we should now discover,
perhaps we’ll then apply – to one another

Published in: on May 27, 2009 at 11:16 am  Leave a Comment  

Resurrection Found in a Place of Death

Ode to a man esteemed of God, Joseph of Arimathea, puller of nails.

Man of wealth, member of the Council
Secret follower, waiting for the Kingdom
Made to choose.
Can’t condemn.

Go to Pilate, ask permission
Buy some linen, ask for help.
Can’t leave him there.
Can’t leave him there.

Nails pulled, body taken down
Blood stains on my clothes.
Why am I here?
Why am I doing this?

Wrap in linen, add the spices
Nicodemus give me help.
Where are his friends?
Where is the family?

What good will it do?
He’s dead, he’s gone, miracles are over.
What will it cost me?
My position, my status, my wealth?

Nothing to give him but a tomb in the rock.
What do I get back?
What difference will it make?
My tomb, my site of death,
is now a resurrection place.

Published in: on May 11, 2009 at 2:28 pm  Leave a Comment  

Casting of Stones

Tisk, tisk. Isn’t it sad? So caught in their religion.
Repeating prayers and holding beads.
Hallelujah! Amen! Another chorus, please.

They kneel when they pray, the sign of the cross
We know better than that, much more holy
We lift our hands and shout out boldly.

Chants and hymns, a polka mass?
Robes and caps, incense swung widely
Will they never learn? It’s just not godly.

We’ve learned the language
We know how to talk.
Are you saved? Been blessed?
Do you walk the walk?

No sprinkling here, we’ve been immersed.
Bread and wine, crackers and juice
We don’t do the Eucharist.

It’s a little sad don’t you think?
All this posturing and puffing of chests
Us evangelicals are really a mess.

Yes, I’ll own up to it.
I’m part of your clan.
Well versed in scripture that I am.

Love my brothers and sisters too
But it makes me cringe from time to time
As I hear the others that we malign.

Can’t we show just a little grace?
Step on down from our ivory towers?
Are THEIR traditions really worse than OURS?

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