Waiting 8: Zerubbabel (For Christ the King)

Eduard Bendemann, “Die trauernden Juden im Exil”, 1832, Wikimedia Commons
He took me
in his hand and said,
"You are my signet ring,
son of David."
And warm though
his ancient loving voice,
I gulped dust at the sound
of my ancient father's name,
swam in the expanse between
his day and mine, choked on
the bitterness of dead promise.

"You are my signet ring," he said,
"I will scorch you as wax and you
shall seal these words, shall sign
with my sign
that I shall do this."
O God, my bones cried
could it be? Still Jerusalem's
broken walls rent me. Still I
cried at memory of Babylon.
"I will," he said, in
a voice of silent thunder. "And you
are my seal. And this you will seal:

To the weak ones, the dead and dying,
the weeping, the starving, the retching ones,
the wretched, the righteous,
the strong, the strong-willed,
the hoping hopeless,
to Leah and Rachel,
to Tamar and Judah,
to Sarah and Hagar,
to Solomon and Sheba and Bathsheba.

I send you as a seal on this scroll,
to gospel, to console.
What is broken will be whole."
And he scorched me in the flames.
I was wax, I was waiting.
All the while he sealed me,
sealed the promise within me
and behold
the wax dripped like blood,
and behold it was good.

Published by Matthew Pullar

Teacher, writer, blogger, husband, father, Christian. Living in Wyndham in Melbourne's west, on the land of the Kulin Nation. Searching for words to console and feed hearts and souls.

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