Page 28 - For A Season

The Testimony of the Rood

Once, I purified the air
By destroying me, they
shape an instrument of
destruction - use me to
punish God for seeming
to abandon them. From
his torn flesh runnels of
blood pour into my cell
vessels now overloaded
with all that he bears, arms outstretched in compassion, taking in all that is
un-holy, all that is whole; strange beauty a perfect fruit hanging on this
broken tree Arms forced open not as it seems by hate but by passionate
desire – From the first moment of doubt – and the first murder, he gathers
all – every destructive motive, every act of contrition, every loving action
In holding all, he fashions reconciliation; merging loveliness with horror,
redeeming mysteriously; torture is exposed, revised by divine grace for the
consummation of divine
imagination & intention
saving each person’s life
within his blood I learn
this It mingles within my
cells Palpable grief spills
into images - the bound
hands and feet of small
children -death-wounds
centred on the innocent
brow - He mingles infant
grace with courage: all
who wear white helmets
all searching for those
who disappear – for the
dead whose only crimes
were to resist corruption
& greed His blood flows
from their wounds Each
murderous deed embed
-ed / inscribed in gashes
criss-crossing his bloody
back, marks read almost
like those that once out
-lined seasons of my life
Love cleanses the world

(After The Dream of the Rood)