Psalm .002: Of broken branches, grape-treading, and the growing of trees.
A song for young pastors and others unskilled in the things of brokenness.
Oh my Lord, I feel handicapped to all but prayer.
It is only by prayer that I am sustained…in Your nearness.
Away from Your side, my slope is slippery.
I am stricken, smitten, and afflicted.
If I may but this once be mellow dramatic
Is it failure that pursues me…?
Or is it Your good, pleasing, and perfect will,
To find me stone dead in a back alley somewhere
Frozen, mugged, and stripped of dignity?
How much more can there be to this bootcamp,
How long, how long oh Adonai?
Do these grapes still yield?
How much more of the darkest red juice
could possibly issue from this treading?
Or is it…that I am still a child to all of this?
A child to the grand breaking of a man…?
How do I weather the pressure, the shellacking….
How do we mortal men fair amongst the mighty stompings
Of Almighty God???
Do I fear that You speak to me Lord,
At the foot of this Sinai?
Do I fear Your words cutting me down?
Oh do Your worst.
Do it with the utmost of prejudice.
Fast and heavy like the guillotine’s blade
Cut. Me. Down.
I am the tree.
You are the axe…the sword…the whatever!
Cut me down!
But let the roots still grow.
And let the sun still give good light.
And out of watered earth
Let another take his place,
Another, better, healthier, more obedient me…tree.
Jesus, I want new growth so bad I just don’t care about how much it’s gonna hurt.