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

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Quest

Since my parents moved across the country, I have been coming to new understandings of what home is to me. God has come with me in this journey, carrying me through with His love, and in doing so, showing me to my answers. In your quests for home, may He do the same.

God bless,
Morgan
(If you are interested in other reflections on how God has worked in my life during the journey of my family’s move last year, see my 15-poem collection starting here: Wings Will Come: Journey)

“Quest”

home is a question mark
I am chasing with new wings,
seeking to know what it cradles
within its comfort and what hand I have in
shaping it. peace is its quiet sister
in flight beside it, elusive as a gray moth
in morning mist, alighting with a secret
but fading into motion again before I
can scoop it into my palm. a current moves
beneath all of us in the journey, and I know
it is the answer to the question mark and
the resting place for the moth. For me,
it is the push and pull from one understanding
into the next, the beat of my wings
in flight.

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