From the cross
the arms of Jesus stretch out
like wings
wide, all-embracing.
So inclusive are these arms of God
even as I am drawn in
I, who chose not to go to Jerusalem.
I hear these words again,
echoing in my soul
“Behold we are going up to Jerusalem!”
My eyes rest on the wood of the cross
So this is where that journey led you!
I suspected as much
that’s why I didn’t go.
My tightly clenched fists of fear
open just a bit
My mediocre heart
kneels down.
I lay my head into my hands
I weep softly, but not desperately
Love, like this, always makes me nervous.
The face under my mediocrity
peers out at the cross
and I ache because I didn’t go.
The face under my mediocrity
peers out at the cross
and I ache
because the perfect love
that casts out fear
is not at home in me.
And yet, those arms of God
those wings of love
keep on encircling me.
I feel incredibly taken in,
accepted, loved.
May this wood of the cross
be my tree of life
leading me to all the Jerusalems
I still must journey.
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