The Bleeding Christ

A poem for when we feel lost and unheard by God.
God bless,
Morgan
 
“In his [Jesus’s] anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling to the ground.” (Luke 22:44 NRSV)
 
“The Bleeding Christ”
 
I follow the bleeding Christ
who did not get the deliverance He prayed for in the Garden of Gethsemane.
Stepping away from His last free moment,
He met the stab of betrayal.
He took the wound freely
and bled loss, despair, questions, pain, and humanity.
Hanging on the cross alone, He did not get His answers, and they say
the sun turned black.
I think I know what that looks like.
“What is resurrection?” I ask atop Golgotha.
 
Answers do not live on Golgotha but in the hard path forward.
On my way, I have found stubborn, fighting, compassionate, longing love
bursting from darkness to the clarity of life.
Passing on the passion, Christ rose from defeat into eternity in us.
 
I follow the bleeding Christ.
He carried on when He did not get answers, and so will I.
I follow because resurrection is the other side of my grave of pain.
Resurrection will be change. I will not be made again as I was before,
but I will be whole.
 
 
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The Bleeding Christ by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Rabbi

This poem was inspired by the story of Zacchaeus, the short tax collector who climbed a tree to see Jesus in Luke 19:1-10. Sometimes we think we can see Jesus best from high above in the trees, when truly he is best seen in action among the people down below.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 

“Rabbi”
 
Rabbi, Rabbi,
     I listen to you from treetops,
          imagining myself a little closer
        to sky-soaring righteousness,
but my vantage point has made me
       the fool.
the classroom in the branches
        taught me desperation, how to cling to
twigs.
hundreds of hours of study and
       not a jot learned until
         You called me down to open
                   my home.
Rabbi, Rabbi,
      Your teaching is in the meal.

 
 
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Rabbi by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

In Return

Often I find that I have to pause or look backwards to see the blessings God has sent my way, especially in times of change. Like the leper who was healed by Jesus and returned to say thank you (Luke 17:11-19), let us remember to go back and give praise for our blessings.

God bless,
Morgan

“In Return”

God, I have meant to send to you 
    so many words in prayer, but
they have gotten churned up and lost
           in the traction of busy days.

I return to You now to say:
        thank you.
like the ten lepers, each of us walks away
      ready for the next thing,
but the lesson is in the return:
     when we walk back over our
     rushed footsteps, we face You again
          waiting in the road. 

Lord, the blessings I have
      tumble around me, treasures 
I have not had the time to fully
     understand—but I know
     they are precious.

I carry the new gifts you’ve given me
     down the road again, with
     grace and gratitude:
                              I wear new skin.

 
 
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In Return by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

The Fisherman

Hello everyone,
 
This poem is about the calling of the disciples. I focused on the story of Peter, found in the Gospel of Luke. Peter and his fellow fishermen hadn’t caught any fish all day, but when they listened to Jesus’ instructions, they suddenly had a huge catch. The miracle made Peter realize who Jesus was. I explored Peter’s internal reaction to the miracle and the call to follow Jesus.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 

“The Fisherman”
By Morgan Prettyman
Luke 5:1-11
 
at the word of a stranger
    I sail to the deep water
      that has done nothing for me all night
  but disappoint.
        my fine fishing nets hang empty, arms drag
     exhausted, shoulders sag.
 there is nothing here.  I will prove it
    to him. 
 
I do as he says and 
    cast the nets again.
but as I throw them over the side
   my heart
        plunges in shock at the weight
   of the unexpected catch,
      the unexpected understanding. 
I am in the net, flapping in and out
     of the water in surprise
         at my first breath of real air,
dying to my old world and
      rising up to the new.
hauling in the shaking nets,
   I turn to the stranger on my boat
and see the Fisherman 
     smiling at his catch.

 
 
 
Creative Commons License
The Fisherman by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.