Abstract
I am the resurrection
John 11.25 I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live How can you be the final resurrection? That resurrection hasn’t happened yet. Our broken world is still bent on destruction, No sun can rise before that sun has set. Our faith looks back to father Abraham, And toward to the one who is to come, How can you speak as though he knew your name? How can you say: before he was I am?
Begin in me and I will read your riddle
And teach you truths my Spirit will defend:
I am the End who meets you in the middle,
The new Beginning hidden in the End.
I am the victory, the end of strife,
I am the resurrection and the life.
I am the way, the truth and the life
John 14.6 Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me. Wherever someone knows that they are lost, And cries for help to find the way back home, And turns towards their father’s house at last, You are their Way before they know your name. Wherever someone searches for the truth, And tests each easy answer in its turn, Stressing the question, pressing to the pith, You are the Truth they cannot yet discern. Wherever someone sorrows over death, Yet seems to glimpse the gate beyond the grave, The living spirit in the dying breath, You are the Life within the life they love. You come to us before we ask or pray Till you become our Life, our Truth, our Way.
I am the vine
John 15.5 I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing. How might it feel to be part of the vine? Not just to see the vineyard from afar Not just to pluck the clusters, press the wine, But to be grafted in, to feel the stir Of inward sap that rises from our Root, Himself deep planted in the ground of Love, To feel a leaf unfold, a tender shoot, As tendrils curled unfurl, as branches give A little to the swelling of the grape, In gradual perfection, round and full, To bear within oneself the joy and hope Of God’s good vintage, till it’s ripe and whole. What might it mean to bide and to abide In such rich love as makes the poor heart glad?