And Adam, seeing that
immortality had not clothed him but
left his glory naked,
felt in his body the future ache
of all who would toil and moil
their mortal days, and
taking Eve’s hand, he hid
their rude-awakened flesh
in the quiet of a deceitful glade
while the immortal searched
to clothe them and teach
their mortal bodies again to praise.
I, like Adam, fancy myself a god
and hide when my flesh
exposes the subtle dream.
Yet in the cool of the day,
when the creator covers my failing skin,
I can learn it is better
to be clothed by Him.
that I will not hold tight
fists clenched, to world.
when all its passing joys toy.
Hold tight that I may tie
my heart to Yours. When sight
and touch fail me, hold
my nothing in Your everything.
More than enough, more
than all joy, all glory –
brightness out of shame.
your sight grows faint, yet Heaven’s gate
still opens up for you to walk through.
This is enough; O grace enough.
Let weary eyes now rest.
Like Simeon, though waiting lags,
this promise stands in baby’s rags and gives you rest.
Your rags have failed; His are your glory.
Eyes: this is enough. Now rest.
O weary eyes, now rest.
Enough. The shaking of your lids must rest.
No dream, nor fear: this is enough.
Eden restored; His sacrifice
to dazzle shame.
As Easter rapidly approaches, I find myself feeling less and less equipped for what is ahead: Jesus on the Cross, bearing my sins. Even less prepared am I for the reality of the Resurrection – new life for old, us the sinners sharing in His glory. But this is the truth, and it can be a kind of misplaced pride which makes us hide from it, saying, “No, Lord, I don’t deserve it.”
Music is a wonderful way to help doubting hearts connect with knowing heads. Page CXVI have prepared another set of beautiful songs to take us through the end of the Easter season, and it’s with great pleasure that I am able to stream the first track of the album here for your enjoyment, along with a poem I have written in response to their song. Happy listening, and may God continue to prepare your hearts for this yearly reminder of His grace in Jesus.
O Sacred Head
This is not me, I declare
when the mirror shows my shame.
I am better, I insist.
Pull up bootstraps; prove self today.
Grace defies. Undeserved,
it holds the mirror, yet it swaps
dead image for renewed:
excuses starved, nothing ventured,
yet all gained.
O Sacred Head. I
am wounded when I see myself.
Why are You scarred
when I paint over my shame?