cross moment

there is such a huge chasm
between the cross of Christ
and the fashionable cross of our culture

the heroes of our time
wear it as a bauble around their necks
Christ bore it in bloody nails through His hands and feet

activists fight with pride for the right to display it
Christ fought in meekness for the strength to bear it

untold numbers clutch it to scale the heights of heaven
Christ stretched out his arms and plumbed the depths of hell

in stillness
week after week
my antiseptic rendition of faith is disintegrating
as Jesus calls for a response to what I see

it is if I have come to the cross for the very first time

it is so hard
and yet so necessary
to gaze at the face of Christ
hanging before me

to stay close to his suffering
hear his voice
feel his wounds
experience his broken heart

and I hear afresh
the invitation of God
the Father
to kneel
in the shadow of that cross

to gaze in awe at what I see
to bathe in the wonder of such love

the eyes of my battered
bloodied Jesus
pierce my heart
with a painful sore
that never completely heals

he fed the five thousand -
did anyone Him offer a piece of bread or fish

he calmed the wind
did anyone offer him a warm blanket

he washed the feet of his friends
did anyone wash his

he only asked those close to him one thing
remain here and keep watch with me

but
in the end
it was only the Father
who hovered near His child