Lent 5, 2015


Isn’t it lifeless?
Isn’t it broken-down rock,
dust with some moisture?

Hasn’t it been trapped,
under ice and snow all this time,
under underfoot?

How can it be warm,
have an odor, be . . . vibrant?
Does this have some life?

Can life be breathed in?
Can it give life to this seed,
cold, dead potential?

Were we once lifeless?
Were we just formed from some mud,
molded by some hand?

Do fingers dig in,
open us up, plant something,
bring new life from us?

Are we ripped open,
dug out by some holy hand?
Is this our ending?

Or new beginning?
Is a promise placed in us
to take root and grow?

Is this a new life?
Is this, maybe, our new life?
A new covenant?

Has some hand formed us?
Is that same hand planting new?
And what of this seed?

Is it just a word?
Or is he Word Made Flesh, then
dead, buried, like us?

Could we become the soil
where the new planting takes root,
dying and rising?

Is this the promise?
Is anything possible
when God digs a bit?


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