The Blessing

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I conceived this poem the night of 2008 Sep 27 while thinking about my brother, who on certain occasions during his life has served the Spirit of Christ as a lay preacher.


He set his feet upon a path that few feet have ever trod,

opening his soul in his endless search for a conversation with God.

He had looked at the world that God had made and it always gave him a deep thrill.

He wanted to know what Štherial wisdom lay behind the divine creative will.

He didn't ask God for favors. "What," he asked, "can I give to You?

Why did You put me onto this aching Earth. What is it I should do?"

He walked through a place of silence, a quiet unbroken even by birds.

Then the Spirit of Christ came to walk with him and spoke to him without words.

Silently the knowledge came, like deaf-speech invisibly signed;

without a hint of sound, the meanings came directly to his mind.

My Father gave you all free will, the words formed, and for the most part it's worked out well.

But some few souls have gotten lost and for them this blessed world is a living Hell.

Find thou my lost sheep, the silence said, and bring them safely unto me.

But be warned, the Good Shepherd added, that this is no easy task that I put upon thee.

It will hurt, the meanings came, when a wounded soul you seek to bless,

but he looked and saw the wounds of the cross and knew that he could do no less.

"But I have no church," the man protested, "no training and my sins are not in remission."

An honest desire, the unvoice said, is sufficient for the divine commission.

My work doesn't require a gaudy building where once a week people gather

to watch some gyrating Bible-thumper honk, howl, and blather.

My sheep don't need priests in swishy costumes prancing around some altar.

They need a loving shepherd, it said, whose devotion will not falter.

So he wandered through this fearsome valley ever under the shadow of Death,

seeking out the lost ones and leading them to the fold unto his very last breath.

To employ the power of compassion he took into himself their pains.

And as their broken souls healed he rejoiced in their spiritual gains.

Then the day will come for him to leave this Earth and go to a different place.

Deep sobs will wrack his body as tears of joy stream down his face.

Coming into a vast and peaceful garden with weather warm and fair,

he will see long-lost loved ones, their youth restored, waiting happily for him there.

He will see people long estranged by death greeting one another,

then God's own son will come to him and say, "Welcome home, my brother."


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