Scars
A scarred spirit considers the church on the corner
the familiar steeple cross casting distorted shadows
in the late morning sun
saved souls stream through the
cavernous maw of a doorway
khakis and polos, dresses and pantsuits
washed clean and made new
praying to the god who blessed their flock
and must be protected at any cost—
even the cost of a scarred spirit they had
beaten and left alongside the road
stoned to death in the town square
labeled as untouchable and cast out
condemned to the very pit of hell
with all their heart and all their soul and all their mind and all their strength
(the love of Jesus always in their hearts)
A scarred spirit walks away
finally free of the church and the steeple
and all the little people
finally free of toxic teaching and preaching
finally free from hearts so filled
with the love of Jesus
that they had scarred not only the spirit
but also the hands
and the feet.
Holy Presence
Do you see it there,
this gift you have been handed,
this fragile, breakable blood diamond
Cut from the fleshy earth of the heart? You
have the power in your hand to crush it by
squeezing too tightly
or to shatter it
by letting it go completely.
Diamonds are supposed to be hard but
there’s something about handing over
pain
sorrow
grief
worry
fear
that softens it in the giving
and you who now hold it?
gently caress this delicate jewel
and know that the space it once occupied
has already begun to heal
These poems are shared with permission from Matt’s latest collection Imperfectly Perfect published this month. Find out more at: http://www.authormattschur.com.
