Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Rising from Ruin

Tonight, ashes smear
Across my face
From priest’s thumb—
Sin’s dark drear
Mingled with  oil
Leaves a smudge
On my skin
and my soul

Last year’s palms
Burn deep upon
My flesh and
In my memory—
All I see
Is ashen, grey,
Charred remains of
Promises and dreams

I peer inside
At my soul
Crumbling to coals
Dead and lifeless—
Not a spark
Or an ember
Of élan appears
To be there

Am I hopeless
In this heap
Of fine flakes?
In brittle remains
Of others’ sins
And my own?
No, please God
Be my Hope.

From the dust
Sizzles a flame
Tracing the shape
Of burning wings—
From the ashes
Emerges a head
Fiery Phoenix: arise!

Resurrecting from ruin
Flames a Phoenix—
Jesus, the Redeemer,
Myth become Fact,
The Holy One,
Burning up sin,
Breathing His life
Into dead places

Last year’s ashes
Smear across skin—
Dreams and promises
Broken by evil
Are not all
That there is;
The Phoenix rises,
Hope still lives!

Healing can come,
Lives be redeemed,
Faith be reforged,
Truth grant freedom—
The locust years
Can be uneaten
And all things
Be made well.


  1. The locust years can be uneaten! The celebration of ash and oil...death and anointing combined. Ah, Jody... I love your words... and I love you.

    1. Lyndi-girl! I was *just* thinking today that I should e-mail you and see how you're doing... I love you and MISS you!