Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Monday, April 17, 2017


“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
                                            Maya Angelou

I have often wondered what it felt like
To have met this guy named Jesus

A dark haired, brown eyed
Slightly dusty dude
Who carried with him

The pain of the world
And the love of God

What did it feel like
To have looked into those eyes
Heard that voice

What would it have felt like to know he saw you
Really saw you
To have him look at you, as if there were no one else in the world?

I think the gift of Jesus was not in the words
Was not in the miracles
Was not even in bread broken
Or the feet washed

But was the way he looked at people
What was in his eyes

A love that transcended the words and the actions
Even those words that challenged, and at times rebuke

Those poor Pharisees and Sadducees
What it must have felt like to be called hypocrites
But still see in those eyes
And the pain that comes with seeing that people
Are wounded and burdening, themselves
And others

Love, pain, acceptance, hope, forgiveness
It was all there
Flowing up from the heart
And out
To the space between

Ah may I have such a heart
May I have such eyes

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