We will come and dwell

When I came and saw your home in Nazareth,
Where your dear mother lived by Joseph’s grave
In tranquil prosperity since his death,

I wondered why you would not choose to save
And guard this unexpected paradise.
It seemed so foolish to ignore the certain waves

Of politics and war, poverty and ice
And drought and parching heat that always rise
Despite our rosy schemes. No plans suffice

To guarantee security. Despise-
ing all precaution you abandoned kith
and kin and village to evangelize

an ancient world, already tainted with
the proffered blood of human sacrifice.
Could your bold retelling ancient myths

Persuade your co-religionists to splice
New ideas to prehistoric ways?
Often did you tangle with teachers of precise

Traditions, laws, and customs, but unfazed
Every man “went unto his own abode”
and no one saw the ending of his day.

The way you looked at me, I felt my load
of worries lightened on my back. I had
to drop everything and follow on the road,

because -- if for no other reason -- you bade
me come and see. Where this would lead I dared
not guess. A sudden, baffling urge -- so glad

My heart felt reassured I could be spared --
Set me toward an Eden far away
You called your home. You said your Father cared

And whatsoever we want, we need but pray,
And God will answer you. But I want more
Than I would dare to ask. Should I just lay

My common concerns at your most holy door?
Remembering that you harrowed the pits of hell
And sprang from death to life to give us more

Than we could ever dream, I am prepared to sell
My soul with everything on earth, for well
I’ve heard you say “With you we’ll come and dwell.”

John 10:14

“The Father and I are one.” An oath; no further
debate; finality slams the table. And
I thank you for that. I’ve looked and found no end
of my uncertainties. They whine and mutter,
resisting every assurance, then build another
round of crumbling barricades and sandy
banks to defend my half-assed plans
against the ocean storms and a world of pothers.
Collapsed by your profession my druthers
quell in silence. You rise to take your stand;
Your crown of thorns declares you competent;
Your empty tomb reveals your only father --
The One who judges every land --
And no one snatches from His hand.

Acts 2:24

God raised Him up and freed Him from the throes
Of death. Above the sky’s angelic choirs
He governs earth and pacifies the foes
Of life. Distressing, dross-consuming fires
Of Hell surrender now and demons glow
With blest relief. They raise reluctant gyres
Of praise; their knees are bent; their endless woes
Complained with less conviction. On Earth the Mire
Despondence renders to the Easter wind
Its fetid reek and blossoms sweeter smells.
The Virgin Hope awakens. And predestined
Joy signals to the church’s bells
“Our God has raised him up!” And their determined
Voices smack the skies, “EVAN-JA-LELL”

I Corinthians 15:28

This is the work of God, believe the one
He sent. The work of science, believe the facts,
Those slippery things we learned in high school texts.
Weapon-hard they shatter old illusions,
But not content with victory’s easy wins,
Fight on like immune systems run amok.
Assuming airs of godliness they suck
The air of ecstasy from buoyant lungs.
They bludgeon opponents of common sense
And proponents too. They must retire the field
Before the regent Charity, and yield
At last to a gentle, more serene presence
When everything and all things under Him
Obey the One who chastens even them.

John 6:29

God’s work; believe the one he sent.
The work of science: believe researchers’ words.
Suppose that nothing is except which they
Explain, demonstrate, predict and prove.
Then grope in darkness, which
hangs over head, a deepening cloud

of certainty. Within, beyond that cloud
of knowing hangs the faint, suggestive scent
of mundane mysteries, for which
we have a million and one thousand words.
Confirmed beyond a doubt and useful, they
collapse and fail to prove

themselves against the yet unproven
God whom we remember wrapping clouds
of obfuscation around every theory
of intelligence. Of course we resent
the intrusion. Fair enough. But abusing words
and sad reminders of witches

burned cannot so readily force a switch
from verities to arguments that prove
only how little we know. Defining words
with better education might well becloud
further discussion, but a lingering sense
of awe in all abides till pseudo theories

undermine our best and proven theories.
Then suddenly we wish aloud for witches'
mystic powers and common sense
makes no sense at all, and none can prove
to anyone’s satisfaction that cumulus clouds
are not oracles of cryptic words.

Even ordinary words
like love and marriage disintegrate until they’re
redefined by quacks and clowns.
But not to worry. The Holy Spirit, which
abides in low and high, will finally prove
by pure simplicity His word makes sense.

There was a man sent from God whose words,
as plain as day, describe a way which,
proven true, abides within a cloud.