For Palm Sunday, I had a bit of a creative flair and broke from traditional norms. Instead of a sermon, I wrote a poem called "What Kind of Love?" This poem followed the readings of the Liturgy of the Palms and The Liturgy of the Passion. Enjoy!
What Kind of Love?
What kind of love
Would form man out of dust
And breathe His own life into him,
Knowing the story that was soon to unfold?
What kind of love
Would share holy space with earthly vulnerability
Inviting human to mingle with divine,
The flawed with the flawless?
What kind of love
Would create beauty and freedom, boundaries and will, joy
and intimacy,
Yet allow for the possibility that we might refuse it all?
What kind of love is this?
What kind of love
Watches his beloved walk away, only to send a prophet to
call us back?
And hears our cries, forged by self-inflicted chains of
God-forgetfulness,
Yet waits for us, yearning for the day we return home?
What kind of love
Shepherds us out of oppression, away from our captors,
Only to hear us grumble about bread from heaven
And wonder aloud if slavery without You is better than the
desert with You?
What kind of love
Turns a cheek to our doubts and puts his hand to the plow,
Impassioned by a flame of mercy that burns brighter than the
arousal of anger?
What kind of love is this?
What kind of love
Passionately pursues us,
The Lover to our Harlot
Sliding the ring on our finger, even as our eyes look away?
What kind of love
Agrees with the Father that there is only one way
And leaves it all behind,
Then looks into the eyes of his young mother,
who ponders what all this might mean?
What kind of love
Makes his home in heaven,
And then makes his home on earth
Inviting human to once again mingle with divine?
What kind of love is this?
What kind of love
Draws near to the outcast, touches the leper and rebukes the
conceited,
Magnifying God’s activity in the margins,
Disrupting our worldview, yet helping us to see?
What kind of love
Softly and tenderly says, “Follow me,”
Compelling the fisherman to leave behind his trade
And the tax collector his books?
What kind of love
Rides humbly into town,
Receiving a warm, standing ovation that bleats like,
“Hosanna,”
Yet fully concedes that “Hosanna” will not be the last word
spoken?
What kind of love
Rebukes a loyal friend who’s been to the mountain,
Yet dips his hand into the bowl with the betrayer
Washing both with grace and mercy to the very end?
What kind of love is this?
What kind of love
Is so devoted to the Father’s work
That he presses on, though the cup is heavy
And he prays on, though the darkest of hours draws near?
What kind of love
Has the power to move mountains and call down angels from
heaven,
yet permits a group of club-wielding bandits to arrest him
and holds his tongue through every insult, every lash and every
mocking word?
What kind of love
Carries a cross that never was his,
Bears a burden he did not create,
Receives the wounds that should’ve been mine?
What kind of love
Sees a vision of all things new
Though death is all around;
And looks into the eyes of his accusers,
Into the hearts of his crucifiers,
Into the depths of his creation
And with strength beyond strength
Cries out “It is finished.”
And what kind of love would do it all again?
What kind of love is this?
What kind of love is this?
Amen.
Comments
Post a Comment