The Higher Cost of Loving
Most nights Jesus rubs his wrists after the world
has laid itself down to sleep. There they are – the scars.
As on earth, so still in heaven. The passage of
time does not obscure them. The memory of their
occurrence never leaves the hands.
Some nights the remembrance is dull, almost sour.
But most are vivid, when to place his finger on
the rind of pain is to be suddenly and at once back
there as nails and men did what they did. His memory
now is more emotional than knowledge.
Upon his return the scars created an impedance in
heaven, like radio static. God was clear This is my son,
I am well pleased. But Christ’s wounds keep him
forever alien, not fully home, not fully prodigal. He reigns
pulled in two directions, between thieves.
“He reigns pulled in two directions between two thieves.” His story and our story.
True, isn’t it, Gwen? Thank you.
this knocked the breath out of me.
do you plan to publish a book of your poetry? i hope?
thank you.
Rain, thank you. I’d love to publish one at sometime, somehow.
I hope you are well.
Again, I’m with Rain – a book, please, please. Oh – I love this! I’ve often thought about those scars, actually, wondering if they still hurt. Love what you did with that idea here. A lot.
Hi, Diana. Yes, those scars, so foreign in what we hold to be a place of perfection.
Love this! Thank you.
Heather, thanks for taking time to comment. You are welcome.
That was beautiful. ‘rubs his wrists’. Thank you for your poem.
Beautiful. And I would absolutely rush to the store to buy a book of your poetry. Thank you for the nourishing words.
I wrote a journal entry one time wondering about Christ’s memory of all that happened. If he shudders at memories of the curses, the nails, the harrowing of hell… If he has melancholy moments thinking of people who turned away from him… This is beautiful. And yes, please publish a book!
[…] The higher cost of loving by John Blase. “But Christ’s wounds keep him forever alien, not fully home, not fully prodigal.” […]
Whoa. This is so powerful and comforting. I love thinking of Jesus as someone I can relate to. Sunday school and sermons made him to far away, but his word tells me he made himself low, as a servant. Just gorgeous prose.