Those in ministry easily become sidetracked by incredibly important things. May we always remember to pause, and hear the call of our Father, to simply be His...
“Come you who are weary and burdened.”
You seem so for certain, this doesn't mean you. There's so much to do.
Spinning the offering plates ten at a time, trying to climb
The hill of success you've mapped out, and trying to shout
On my behalf, as if I couldn't do it myself. You've placed me on a shelf,
And spend so much time telling others, the sisters and brothers, the practice of my presence,
But your praxis is absence. Gone again to help a friend, discover a trend, or follow the wind
To the next urgent need, and intercede for their behalf,
Meanwhile seeds blow like chaff from ground too busy to soften,
All too often the words I whisper to you, you hear as something to do and not be
The command “Follow Me” you co-opt as your own, eyes off the throne
You lead into great things, and the phone rings of gratitude
You mistake for confirmation, your frustration grows as you feel I remain silent,
and sometimes violent the doubts begin to assail, but it will never fail
that if you pause for just a moment, to be still and know
I'll show you how life on the go has not allowed you to grow.
I have so much in store, and I adore times with you, but you take issue
and try to show me just what you've done, you run another event
or proclaim my good news
But will you hear me inviting, to remove your shoes?
Will you let me near your bare feet, and take a seat,
at the table I've prepared for you?
It's dinner for two, and as you chew you'll find all I want you to do is dine.
Just to be. With me.
As I am with you.
I know you can speak, I made you.
I know you are clean, I bathed you.
I know you can lead, I led you.
What I want you to know, is I bled to wed you.
You come to me with lists and gifts, and offerings of every kind,
You mind filled with all the ways we bind ourselves together.
But tethers of the mind are too easily severed.
What I've wanted from you since the very start,
Not your ministry, your gifts, or your words,
But your heart.
Turn away for a moment, and come find retreat,
your feet washed by my love, there's more than enough,
to fill all the tanks you've dried
as you've tried so hard on your own
Rest your head on my throne,
as my prodigal, come home.
released October 11, 2016
Inspired by a weekend spent at Abbey of Gethsemani in Trappist, KY through a class offered in participation with Indiana Wesleyan University's "Wesley Seminary" & led by Dr. Lenny Luchetti.
Photo is of the Old Spire of Gethsemani Abbey, now located at the pinnacle of "Cross Knob", a short hike from the current Abbey.
all rights reserved