A Poem for Holy Week inspired by Isaiah 46
Who are these gods?
Who neither move nor speak,
And yet they do.
Hoisted high by men,
Lugged on carts of wood and iron.
Bel, Nebo,
Plutus, Mars,
Aphrodite,
Narcissus, Phobos,
Bacchus, hundreds more –
These we fashion, with steel,
Celluloid, nightmares, selfishness.
We heed the voices of our creation,
And follow, though we carry them.
Encumbrances all. So heavy!
The gods crash to earth, as we
Fall beneath. Crushed. Ruined.
These gods we could not carry,
But they –
Carried us into captivity.
Who is this God?
Who moves and speaks,
All on His own.
Hoisted high by men,
Nailed to a cross of wood with iron.
Bel, Nebo,
Plutus, Mars,
Aphrodite,
Narcissus, Phobos,
Bacchus, hundreds more –
These are unmade, with love,
Compassion, dreams, sacrifice.
We heed the voice of our Creator,
And follow, as He carries us.
Encumbrances gone. So buoyant!
The gods crash to earth, as we
Are lifted. Raised. Renewed.
Those gods we could not carry,
But He –
Carried us into eternity.