Dear Jesus:

Even our contrite hearts are wicked
Until you change them.
How can it be
That we may be raised up with You
And seated in heavenly places
While these hearts remain
In this sad state?
We are called to share
In the reality of Your death.

And die we must…
To self, to family,
To houses and lands;
To all of our favorite things.
We must loose the bindings
Around our material trappings
That hold them so tightly to us;
Lay them down as an offering
At Your feet.

We must step out of our
Private rooms of prejudice,
For our habitation in them
Has never been a secret to You
And You will have our residence
Nowhere but in You, surely.
For Your name is Faithful and True.
You will never ride out to lead
A rag-tag assortment of worshippers,
But only a pure band, Your Bride,
Cleansed from hatred, malice
Selfishness and gainsaying.

For, in fact, before we can ride with You 
We must fall, naked, wretched and blind,
To rise clothed in
Your robes of righteousness,
Our tears and fears to be wiped away
By Your pure Hand of grace.
Your tears mingle with ours
As You apply the salve
To open our eyes.
You anoint our lips
With the sweet honey of Your name;
You put into our hands
Your Two-Edged Sword of the Word.

Then will we rise
On the wings of the Dove,
To follow You
Wherever You will lead!
Amen

© 2001 Sharon Warden smarwar@webtv.net