Measure it out to the end,
This treasure of yours, hidden inside.
You asked Him to follow through,
Follow you, embrace your human-plans,
Then trace you in the sky as you flew,
A god applauding.

Was there a “calling” placed on your life?
As in preaching to heathens or taking a wife?
Were there walls falling, allowing entrance into your own personal Jericho?
There we go again, centering our balance
On applications pending approval,
Reliance on biblical stories that by removal
From context leave us dangling as a participle.
The precipice for falling, thus,
And Sisyphus is calling to us:
“Rocks you roll will cripple.”

No, this business of being a disciple
Isn’t about you or your stomach or whatever thing inside you speaks,
And listening to it and calling it God
Is idolatry, and it reeks.

Maybe there’s a passion that can be fashioned,
That can be rationed out or and cashed in with a God who actually cares
About what’s inside of you,
Because He made you to hold it,
And emboldened you to believe.

Measure the treasure there,
In pots of clay, and stay a little while
In the knowledge of His plans for you,
Not your plans for yourself.
His are better and sure to succeed.
He plans not for what you want
But rather, for what you need.
So give it all up and steady yourself,
Get ready to follow His lead.

“Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Won’t you first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it? For if you lay the foundation and are not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule you, saying, ‘This person began to build and wasn’t able to finish.’ Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Won’t he first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? If he is not able, he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and will ask for terms of peace. In the same way, those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples. Luke 14:28‭-‬33

(Liturgical poetry during ordinary time after Pentecost is inspired by the parables of Luke.)

Words for the Church: Ordinary Time
difficult, divine
torrents of my making
mine to forgive
now does the earth
when blood
something fearsome
gold dust prayer
lamps alike
eat the song

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