Along the brimming river
sandbags lie in mute protection,
inert, dense, impassable.
For cities on rivers this is good.
But how are our hearts sandbagged
against the deep opaque flood
that threatens us each moment,
the murky, relentless waters of resurrection,
the eroding force of humility and failure,
the depths of wonder,
the force of the unfathomable,
and all that we cannot control?
A world presses against your thin levees,
waits to inundate you, swamp you, cover you,
in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost
sweep you away.
An irresistible flood of Presence surrounds you;
it will burst in upon you at any moment.
Once you begin weeping, you know,
it may never stop.
The blood of Christ, cresting at 45 feet,
passes silently by you. Your yard is dry.
Religions are piled up along the street.
It’s amazing they hold.
How much do we pray to keep God at bay?
by Steve Garnaas-Holmes 3.30.09