With words, like smooth stones
taken out of the brook of language,
the prophets spoke of what
they did not understand
serving not themselves but us.
In time, their words took on flesh,
came to fruition in the gospel of God.
It is, I think,
a wonderful privilege
to have God’s story written.
The Holy Scriptures,
promise and fulfillment,
informing our minds
inflaming our souls
with
the rhythms of heaven’s song.

DAS

Paul, a pharisee
Now of a higher order
By sovereign call.

The heart listening
Set apart from the womb for
The gospel of God.

Absolutely thrilled
It’s hard to contain himself
So filled with God’s song.

Deep in mystery
Proclaims all-surrounding grace
Love is the meaning.

The soul finds delight
Rests for a moment in the
Resonance of praise.

In the spreading light
The deepest, the only joy
Hope stills the moment

Makes him unashamed
In silent adoration
Love of Christ’s making.

DAS

The supreme artist
originator of all design
speaks all things into being;
teaches us, who live along
the border of the always
inscrutable, how to think
about truth; about
being and calling.

 

The wonder is, truth loves
died of it, once;
the artist himself
immersed in his art.
His voice, once heard,
condenses somehow, cautions,
compels, floods a person
in mystery, until knowing
one is known, made
participant in love’s work.

DAS

Naked before God
arrogant in his privilege
breathing in, breathing out threats
he acted for God against God;
didn’t realize that what he lived
would come back to him.

 
On a dark noonday canvas
he discovered the quiet
there is in listening;
the peace that dwells in
majestic presence; being
tuned to the holy pulse.
Eyes opened to wonder, music
rose in his heart ablaze,
a great song that light hums
to itself. Beginning to learn
though the pain in life never
let up, he began the dance,
waiting for he who comes at last.

DAS