Hi Church, in anticipation of both Lent and Spring, I recently wrote a poem called, The Spring Tree. I have decided to share it with you. The title is a reference to the cross of Christ rising up from the soil like a big, beautiful tree. May you be richly blessed by the love of Christ in all that awaits you this coming season.
With you,
Kyle Chase, on Behalf of the Elder and Minister Team
The Spring Tree
At the Spring Tree, with glistening buds
Tear-wet cheeks are fields where dreams grow
Deep in the black soil, full upon the hill
High above the tomb-guards —
Who with their tearless, pock-marked faces —
Shout mal-odious songs against the Sun
For His “unkept” promises, for desolate fields.
But life and living open like a thunderhead pouring
Where the Spring Tree grows under drops of sorrow.
Heaven’s brow bent, back buckled, bruised and bursting
Cut, oozed, split and thirsting
Twisted roots and trunk upturning
Toward an eye-less sky.
A cotton-tongue tasting a sour wine.
No dawn-chilled dew,
No drink nor draught,
Nor nectar of En-Gedi.
No ambrosia of the gods.
Only vinegar and tears
Where the Spring Tree grows
Higher than the cedars
Higher than the kings
Inside their shade-drawn palaces
Filled with shiny things.
Wider than the wadis,
Spread like mother’s arms
In supper’s-ready, sing-song welcome,
Fire on the hearth
For every tear-stained, tunic-trampled,
Torn and weary traveler — with patch-ripped satchel — seeking rest:
The Spring Tree is wide enough to bless.
Even tomb-guards —- soul-loaned, sword-spent
And scorched with shame —
May soothe in the shade of the Spring Tree
Where water flows freely ’pon long-forsaken fields.
Every tear a dream there, a fated fruit, a future foretold,
Every promise kept, every bud in bloom,
Full fields a-flower with honey-color paths
And friends that last
And a gold-mended past,
A seamless garment where the lot is cast,
And all the wandering stories
Are sewn into one.
Sown like a seed.
Sown indeed
Where the Spring Tree grows.