Steven's Poetry/Writing: February 2005 Archives

Because he knew you once, Lord,

and loved you. More than I can really claim.
He sat at your feet with the others.
And when the time came he did like Peter
and turned away.

And knew, knew in his heart the wrong
he had done.
And sought in this frail human way
to make it right.
In the way that we have always sought
to make things right.

But didn't we learn from Abraham
and Isaac, that it isn't blood
that you want?

Not the destruction of sinners
but their redemption?

Oh Good Lord, you could not abandon one of your own twelve.
And so my hope is that
I can ride his coattails in
because I am not nearly so honest
so straightforward.

I have not sat at your feet as this one did.
I did not love you and serve you.

So I can hope that my betrayal, the betrayal of a stranger
does not hurt as much.
Oh, but it hurts me--
beyond the words I can find to say it,
beyond the feeling in the heart squeezed by it,
beyond the hope of finding you again.

And so I know that I cannot do it.

Oh, Lord, is Judas saved?
The answer matters so much to me
because if one you loved so much cannot see your face,
then what about one who loves only himself?

Lord, do you love me as Judas?
Then give me at least his share of love for you,
and let that grow.
If I cannot be your saint,
then at least let me be your sinner,
your tired betrayer,
your constant companion.

If your grace extend so far,
grant me at least the love of Judas,
the hope of heaven of one who was your friend.
Let me live to say my sorrow
all my days at what I have done.
Let me live to rejoice in the new creation
and to learn to love in ways at once unlovely
and true. Let me learn to be a son to You.

Silence is shattering.
It says nothing more than what you hear in it and what you see in it.
Sometimes it shows you the numbness of the heart.
Other times it shows you the hardness of the heart.
But silence cannot be silence without grace, and grace prevails.

Still you are left asking, "Why have I abandoned you?"
I am bewildered and wondering--not knowing what I have always known
and wanting now to know the way home--
to know if for ever so small a span of time
that there is a home. And the question returns

in the span of years of silence,
"Why have I abandoned you?"
Where did I turn away?
The spectre of Judas hangs before me
over and over again I see myself

accused and not noble enough to at least
be ashamed. Uncaring enough to spare myself.
In shattering silence I cry at first
why have you abandoned me?
Becomes, why have I abandoned you?

Daddy, come and rescue me.