To liberals the resurrection is like butterfly –
The creature changes drastically, but really doesn’t die;
I know what they converse about, acknowledge what they say,
But death and resurrection are to it as night and day.
I think the road that I’ve been on has been like butterfly:
I hardly recognize myself, except I still say, ‘I’.
But death was not a part of it, though close I must admit,
More like the grub, then butterfly, and in between was shit.
I look back now and see that change takes place in chunks through life
A state of crawling, webs, and food, along with kids and wife;
And then some trauma comes our way that pulls it all together
Then we emerge on other side – goodbye to stormy weather.
There is a kind of death we pass through if we choose that route,
It is an option to us all – leaves us with world forsook.
Baptism marks the burial of us before new life,
Emergent resurrection shapes our growth – for me with wife.
That change took place at shift from being child to being man;
A quiet change, aware of God, then choice with Him to stand.
He’s been a presence in my life, one known, not understood;
He’s walked with me, and talked with me, and tinkered under hood.
On looking back, He saved my life, as Father, Spirit, Son:
As Father, making possible – this world under the sun;
As Spirit, biding close to me, “now turn this way, now left;
As Son, imparting life to me, left culture not bereft.
I’ve walked now through the valley of the shadow of my death,
(My Auntie says she here prefers to jog, though out of breath!),
When Jesus said His ‘house’ had rooms that he went to prepare
My culture, like all other ones, was what he meant back there.
He did – He met apostle-types who spoke across that wall
Of culture cutting me right off dividing me from all
The other folks who walk their walk on planet-earth each day –
I know for sure what He has done, for me, the TCK.
There may be rooms as well for us in heaven as others see
In Jesus’ words in his farewell, OK, that’s fine with me;
But when He chased the scoundrels from the Temple at the first
He said a ‘House of Prayer for all’ spoke of His ‘hunger, thirst’.
He did that same routine once more the week that He was killed,
And when He spoke of it to them, 'A House of Prayer’ instilled;.
Lord I am hearing in those words assurance of God’s plan:
To unify the world through you with God, and man with man.
I guess not all will buy into that picture which you paint,
But now each one of us out here, to whom the picture’s faint,
Have had the chance to move into God’s all-embracing love
And say goodbye to aspects of our cultures’ push and shove.
What others do is up to them, for me it’s been a blast
To walk with you, Lord Jesus, though I’ve not caught on that fast;
Your patience with us far exceeds our patience with each other
But hopefully we’ll grow from now as sister and as brother.
I woke up just this morning resting hands beneath my head
It seems I’m rested up and much alive, quite far from dead;
My holiday is over, day of rest, and family day
So now it’s back to work today, and here is what I say:
I do not wish what I’ve been through on enemies or friends,
To hell and back, a walk through cancer-land, this journey ends.
It might go on a round or two, for that I do not care,
Because with wings of butterfly, my life just can’t compare.
So thanks I give to you my readers, walkers on my way;
I hope that life for you will go quite pleasantly today,
And all the days which follow – maybe I will someday be
The one to walk with you through darkness, praying wings for thee.