No longer strangers

After Ephesians 2:11-22

We are no longer strangers,

no longer aliens, foreign

to each other and ourselves.

We are now brethren,

citizens of the same nation,

members of the same house,

a household of solid foundation,

the only one that lasts,

enfolded and protected 

by the one cornerstone,

what holds us together,

what holds it all together,

a household under construction

for transformation as a temple,

indwelled.

Photograph by Tyler Nix via Unsplash. Used with permission

Two men, before

After Ephesians 2:11-22

We were two men, before,

each living in our own ways,

our own worlds, and if we gave 

thought to each other, it was

a thought about strangeness,

about oddity, about suspicion,

mutually. Separated by laws, 

culture, and inclination, 

our mutual tolerance was

a bare one.

Be he came preaching peace,

he came creating unity,

a man with a voice

whose presence wove

between us and among us,

not showing what was

happening, a coming together, 

a weaving of what was once

separated.

Photograph by Jack Castles via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Once a stranger

Ephesians 2:11-22

You were once a stranger, 

a stranger in a strange land,

cut off from the living,

wandering in the desert,

in the wilderness, and you

barely knew it.

Then a stranger found you,

gave you rest, bathed

your wounds, a metaphorical

good Samaritan, and you

were the man injured

by the roadside.

He brought oneness,

making you whole

and wholly a part.

Photograph by Perry C via Unsplash. Used with permissio

Rise; Come: A Reconciliation

He listened, the words first
washing upon his ears like
whispers upon the sand,
touching shore, retreating,
hitting shore, pounding
shore, retreating; returning
to obliterate the crumbling
sand castles of his mind.

His ears stopped hearing
the words, the words
diverted, touching his chest,
stronger like the loud bass
amplified at a rock concert,
pounding his ribs, slamming
through bones to tear
at his heart.

Images of brokenness
appeared, his heart cracking,
splitting, rupturing into
nakedness, destroyed. It
was all broken; everything
was failing, collapsing and
imploding upon the final
redoubt, smashed.

Silence. No bells. No
trumpets. No angels singing
hallelujah. No Hollywood
moment because he wasn’t
ready for his close-up,
Mr. DeMille. But it came
anyway and the voice said,
“Rise; come.”

To see other posts on reconciliation, please visit Bridget Chumbley's place for the One Word Blog Carnival; the links will be live tonight at about 10 p.m. central time.


Photograph: Cross by Petr Kratochvil, via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.