The Diminishing Twelve (For the Sunday Before Pentecost)

The number diminishes:
First twelve, then two,
The rest far gone,
Consumed into
The enemy, the juggernaut.
Promises of restoration
Dangle awkwardly in the wind.
Yet the time will come; it won’t
Delay. It surely is soon here.
The time will come when
From the winds of all directions,
Men will come and worship in
The city where we will all dwell,
Complete once more, all restored.
The number is diminished:
First twelve, now one has
Left us. And so we wait,
Our limbs all numb,
Our head ascended;
Waiting for the time to come,
The time that dangles in the wings.
The time will come; it won’t delay;
The Comforter will be here soon.
Though broken, soon you’ll be made whole.
Lift up your heads; take to your number
One more to make yourselves complete.
Though wounded, you’ll be comforted;
Await the coming Paraclete.

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