Paraclete in Oils


He’s broken for the pouring

And leaves that little flask

And freshens many a hurting face

With more than they might ask.

No, not so altogether

So high and mighty on self

He’s crushed, He flows

Outpouring, knows

The life’s not on the shelf.

It’s in the distribution

The wasting, so it seems,

As Adam lost the rib

The cost for love

Beyond his dreams.

And Eve was nothing lesser

Nor greater from the start

Just depths to plumb

That each might come

To share the Triune Heart.


Note: I can almost hear man saying to woman, white saying to yellow, liberal saying to straightened, vigorous saying to handicapped, “You are so amazing. Tell me more. How might I help. Forget about me. You, Friend, are where it’s at. And as I dig for the precious ores, I find the infinite swirling love of Father, Son and Spirit. And…

View original post 3 more words


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s