Grace Raining

Jesus help us live in peace,
even as we go to pieces.
The body of the redeemed
pulled apart by faithfulness,
yanked by righteousness,
clawed by holiness.
Ecclesial politics as a blood sport.
We stand our ground grandly,
confident of its moral highness.
“They’ve lost the way,”
“They don’t care,”
“We are following Jesus,”
echo back and forth
from every side.
We lay our stones boldly
on the foundation of Jesus Christ,
watching carefully so we can kick away
the rubble laid by other hands.
Fingers point, posture threatens,
raised fists poised to strike,
construction slows for the cataclysm.
The world lines up for the feature presentation;
a bloody good show titled
“Apostasy Returns: The Final Battle”.
Things are just heating up
when the first drops fall.
Where did that cloud come from?
No one was looking for it.
The drops are light at first,
running down our cheeks
like tears from heaven.
Rivulets running down us,
running down them,
pooling at our feet.
And then comes the deluge,
a torrent from above
that finally makes us shut our mouths.
We grope our way off the battlefield
unsure whose hands we’re grasping
in the wet dark.
We walk right by some guy
with outstretched arms,
an anonymous prophet
standing like Elijah
raining grace upon us