A Pandemic Prayer

Dedicated to all who are grieving,  unemployed, or fearful. “Come to Me all who are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you shall find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

 

Jesus, in this moment, are you here to sense my pain?/ Jesus are you listening to these thoughts I can’t explain?/ Jesus, do you hear it — this pulsing, choking cry?/ Jesus, are you present as this night is dragging by?

Every word you’ve spoken, friend, is one I’ve heard before./ Every ache and longing, every loneliness, and more/ is a feeling I have felt before, a sorrow I have known./ Come to me with anything; you’ll never be alone.

Jesus, do you mean it when you say your load is light?/ Jesus, this dark heaviness is turning day to night!/ Jesus, do you matter now, or is this just a game?/ Jesus, in this sadness now, I want someone to blame!

Lay your blame on me, good friend; the nail has pierced my hand./ Thorns were on my head. (I don’t ask you to understand.)/ I felt the lash; I heard the curse (and you speak of blame!)/ In the dark I freely took your weight of guilt and shame.

Jesus, are you real, or not, and are you truly there?/ Jesus, can you answer when I try this thing called prayer?/ Jesus, are you God, or not, and if so why not speak?/ Jesus, why is my believing so unbelievably weak?

Once I spoke, I’m speaking now, to show you that I care./ If I’m silent, friend, it doesn’t mean that I’m not there./ I call you “friend,” not slave, so you’ll know that you are free/ to question, rage, to ask, to doubt; come share the yoke with me.

Pastor Randy Faulkner

“He Appeared to James”

(This is a poem I wrote 21 years ago based upon 1 Corinthians 15:7. The Hebrew form of the name “James” is “Jacob.”)

And what now?
Now that I am here again.
Now that you have seen me. What now?
Will you fight me like our scheming ancestor?
What now then?

Oh yes. You recognize the hands of the artisan.
Those same old scars and some new ones. See?
Like me, you bore Joseph’s mallet, adze, and rule.
You, too, learned his craft.
And you know me!

Where were you when our mother watched me die?
You were not there to help her grieve.
From the treasures of her heart, she could have told
from where I came and where I go.
But you would not believe.

You thought me mad.
Now you wonder if you, the other,
are mad. This is not madness. This is a miracle!
Like Jacob, you have seen God face to face
in the face of your brother.


    –  Pastor Randy Faulkner

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Solstice

Solstice

The sun hangs low in the southern sky, a faint, refracted, pale reprise;

A flickering portent of heaven’s reply: “The Sun of Righteousness will rise.”

The winter’s night is bleak and dead with lingering, anxious darkness blind;

But morning comes with One who said: “My life is light for all mankind.”

Relentless chill pervades, suffuses, as this world’s love grown cold with strife;

But the brittle, grave-like cold now loses deathly force: “In him was life.”

This day’s distance from comfort, light foretells: “No need of sun or moon;”

His presence, warmth, light, healing, right, announces: “He is coming soon.”

 

    –  Pastor Randy Faulkner

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