"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God."
- Hebrews 12:1-2
Some things need no voice. They are far too painful. Their trials leave more angst than reward. But we must press on. If we stop among the valleys, the mountains might move. Jesus talked about mountains moving once, but that’s getting ahead of the story.
don't be afraid. / this must be amazing grace, / electricity in the air, / a galvanic presence from beyond, / brought down and tangled up / in chalcedon blessing; / son of God, son of man.
It’s heavy; I don’t know if I can bear it; the whips are driving into my back; my feet are sore; beneath me the riveting rocks press in; my eyes sting from the sweat; I am hot; I am cold. “Why don’t you save yourself?” jeers someone close to me from the lynch mob that has surrounded me. Father even now forgive them.
The streets swallowed in the dark and carried a load of weariness. The hour was late. A warm breeze shuffled lazily around the walls of Jerusalem and through its dusty summer houses. Why was this night different from any other?
Bufford Jones went outside on the steps and sat down. He couldn’t sleep. It was four in the morning. The lights didn’t work. “Storm’s on its way,” he said to himself seeing the dark clouds piled up atop the night sky. “No doubt about it.”
It began in the orange grove. They were too young to realize that their curiosity had blind-alley eyes. The earth tone pickup truck melted into the turns and weaves of squatty trees that dripped its fruit. Michael’s adolescent senses naturally hunted for a solace space to take his girl. He was a hound sniffing out the chase.
(Damn you) Adam. You discovered emptiness in a place of plenty, where God raced you to the water’s edge to make you his watershed. But you preferred baptism to sweet water, wilderness to milk and honey.
“Son,” a voice says. A shadowy figure rustles the darkness in the damp corner and steps forward. Nearby is the lifeless body of Jesus. A few days ago his body was plucked off its crucified perch and given over to Joseph and put into an empty crypt, under a sky swirling with angels. Now this earthen cavity is swollen with two godheads inside.
Tsunami. A word half a world away. A discussion point at the local dive. “Did you hear the latest?” A travesty my googlized eyes blur. Tsunami.