Jesus of the Cross,
Jesus of the Suffering,
Jesus of the Dying,
Hanging from Your Cross
Before our eyes,
Hanging in Your Suffering,
Bleeding out Your Love,
Hanging in Your Dying
Above the world,
First Born Son
And New Beginning,
Birthing in the hearts
Of the Children of Man,
Children for God.
©2013 Joann Nelander
Here I am Lord
I have brought the world and my day with me
What a motley crew arrayed before You
But not in vain.
We come with a clatter
My noise, our noise,
To the Silence.
The deafening roar
To the hallowed stillness.
Whisper in the chamber of our meeting
Where we tent with You,
Hope for the dying,
Faith to the listening,
Love to the willing.
Eons marked in time, an ocean drop by drop
Faith tested to the nth, suddenly to be here
Sand through an hour glass, seeds promising the crop
Eons marked in time, an ocean drop by drop
Cathartic rhythms purging like the wild hop
You wanted wine, we gave you beer
Eons marked in time, an ocean drop by drop
Faith tested to the nth, suddenly to be here
©2013 Joann Nelander
Only, and far flung God,
Bursting upon the scene of Time
To start the clock
By uncreated might,
And usher forth
Your manifold good will,
In the splendor of creation,
Look on me,
In my becoming.
In this, the only now I know,
This precious fleeting instant,
Reveal Yourself evermore.
You entered Time
That Man might enter Heaven.
You, Who are Eternal Being,
Let me contemplate Thee
Wrapped in swaddling clothes,
Nursing at the Virgin’s breast,
Growing as men grow,
Yet knowing the Father Creator
As only Son.
I see Thee arrayed,
Transfigured in the Light,
Even as You are stretched
Between Heaven and Earth
On Your Holy Cross,
Becoming Sin,
And dying in my stead.
Lifted above the earth in Your divinity,
Higher than the mountains,
Yet pervading depth and breathe,
To shake and shape
The cursed land and Man anew,
In elegant Revelation of Mystery,
Rising from the dead,
To live in universal blessedness,
Across all time and space,
Known but by grace.
Copyright 2013 Joann Nelander
The world of men is full of accusers,
Innocent as doves in their own eyes.
Only the sinner finds a place at Your table,
Garbed, no longer in rotting rags,
But in wedding dress and festive best.
The lowly come
And are welcomed.
Choosing a place at Your feet
You invite “Come up higher”.
At Your breast the disciple rests.
Hearts make merry,
While the wine of wisdom
Turns sorrow into joy,
Allowing the cross no less,
Sweet cause of happiness.
©2013 Joann Nelander
Immaculata-Patroness
Joann Nelander Studio 