Parousia
In the juvescence of the year
Came Christ the tiger
(T.S. Eliot, “Gerontion”)
Still He bursts into our courts
Where our Pharisee-hearts change coins for doves
And the tables we man to show who’s in charge
Are upturned by His rage.
Still He comes with sword to divide
Soul from marrow and father from son,
Our many-tufted prickling weeds
From among the wheat.
Still He comes with light, with flame,
The ex-nihilo energy of singular force,
Moses’ bush-consuming-fire,
The fiery-bright I Am.
Still He comes to shake, to heal,
To wash in the waters of forty-day-flood,
To call frail Lazarus out of his tomb
And shake the rich man’s knees.
Still He comes like lamb, like lion,
A thief in the forests of the night,
An unblemished, bleeding sacrifice –
Mighty, grace in His mane.
The Consolations of Writing 
Still He comes… I will not leave you orphans.
Very good.
Thanks! It’s a wonderful truth to hold on to.