Unspeakable things

Jan 07 2013

There is deep brokenness here,
inextricable from our fabric.
We are not just prone to this,
we are this. We can’t escape
our bodies, the death lining
the skin that we scratch off.

We have ever, ever known this.
Societies set up justice first
even knowing that we are only
slightly better than those we
find locked in cells, or hiding
in dark alleys, holding the gun.
And thus metal music, rap lyrics,
Grand Theft Auto, Tarantino,
Tipper Gore and ratings systems;
this the way we lance a blister.
Scrubbing skin and keeping clean,
we try to mitigate the pain.
The rawness rages yet inside us
I can’t evict what is my blood.

Right we are to rage in anger
when erupts the burning furor
we keep lists of these events
always remember, never forget
clamor/fervor now/forever
laws won’t change us, law can’t stop us
We are determined in our sins,
we are determined in our hearts.
We have this lining in our souls,
we have this burning a hole in
the fabric of the world, so, so,
so they are right when they say
the world will die. We know it,
the word foretold in text of old.

But not in the way they expect.
Man will not shred this world,
although we do our best to try.
This world is under the watch
of the one with no death lining.
On his schedule, things bubble
and break; good and evil, both
under his control. And we tear
our hair, we mourn to the sky
we scream like no one hears us
and that is how it should be.
But let me not confuse death
gruesome, tragic, horrific,
senseless (I hate that word)
unfathomable death, with the end.
We should all work for change,
in our hearts, then our world.
I was not at the trigger, but
only by the grace of God, for
who runs our lives? Not I, no.
And so we stay ever vigilant
against the schemes and shakes
of the evil that comes for us
and we ward it off, gospel it
trying to set safety for those
who aren’t with us; we will be
agents of that common grace,

Grace that doesn’t call for comfort,
calls for goodness, calls for justice
The hard question of mental illness
and what to do with a loving person
long since lost the things he loved
replaced with hate and brutal lusts
What then? What now? How best to do
what the gospel heart was made for?
He looks down on us, tries to bring
us into himself, yet chicks will run
even from their mother, and how much
more from He who so many hate? Dear,
dear Lord, bring us to yourself, so
that we can rest, and be healed, and
know that there will not be any pain
there, and no violence, and no fear.
And until we can go there, with you
let us have that peace, and send it
especially now, today, for a while
out to Newtown, where our hate burns
perhaps righteously, but still hate,
because we are so little different
from those who do unspeakable things.

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