eternity hasn’t time enough
to tell of it all. Listen!
His words are clad in deeds.
For fairest talk has no heart
and fawning words fall listless
as they have not hands nor feet
nor do they know love’s labor.
Lo! The Word Infinite, for whom
and by whom all things were made,
would shake the symphonies of heaven
to be a maiden’s Maker and her babe.
The Author of all love and life
would trade His diadem of glory,
His dignity and royal gown
for a crown of thorns?
O Master! Almighty!
tempted and suffering, yet holy
and unangered—God weeping
and interceding for us?
The fruit of life nailed
to a tree, its love poured out
like crimson water and like wax its heart
did melt when it beheld the cost of sin.
And nothing moves us except
escalators to some imagined high
as we sly with driest eye His love,
His wisdom and fair warnings?
For lack of knowledge and faith
we toil for everything and perish
with coveting eyes and mouthfuls
of poisoned lies and sheepish smiles.
Yet, His love begins with us who spat
upon His brow and mouth that spoke all life
into existence—it was not ever our own
merit but our sin that moved Him.
God hung not His head for saints—
not for the ninety-nine who knew so well
their virtue—No! He bled for sinners
black as night and fit for hell.
Unasked for and unsought He died
for a sick and loathsome world drowning
in her own pollution of greed and pride;
in love He wept and bled for His unfaithful bride.
Can she not see this grace unspeakable,
God’s love spilling all of itself—forgiveness
for the unforgivable? No love was ever penned
in surer ink as this, blood that covers all of sin!
And will she not run to His pasture
and away from her death and her grave;
will she not enter His garden of life
to taste of His fruit and live?
Or will she wait ’til all of His heaven
and earth roll away, when lightning rips
the blue from His sky and all stars fall
to her thirst and flaming rivers?
And what shall His just and final answer be
when His heart thunders to her endlessly
self-serving pleas to be spared, not to love
Him best but to love her idols better?
What would you say,
if you were He?
“Depart from me!”
Petra O. Hefner