Saturday, April 12, 2014

The Cross Beams



“The Lamb slain from the foundation of the world” (Revelation 13:8) -

The beams of the world are made from wood.
They’re fastened with nails and stained with blood.
Embraced by the outstretched arms of God,
They bind all things for good.

The beams of the world shore up our heart
For God’s renovation, every part:
The clean up of Satan’s poison dart;
Then our true life shall start.

The beams of the world are battle torn.
They rise against evil, fear, and scorn.
Protecting the weary, weak, and worn,
They guard the coming morn.

The beams of the world an outline trace,
Through order and chaos, pain and grace.
They shape what they bear, through time and space,
Revealing God’s true face.

The beams of the world are scales that weigh
The worth of a life, a choice, a day,
By weight of a God who works in clay,
And dies to have his say.

The beams of the world are lines and bars
That carry the music of the stars;
The ballad of long and hopeful wars,
Where God has won his scars.

The beams of the world hang low with fruit,
While sliver and thorn send forth their shoot
Where God hung his head, forlorn and mute,
And bowed to plant their root.

The beams of the world, unseen, untold,
Are stronger than steel, more royal than gold.
All heaven and earth they gently hold:
The hands of God enfold.

The beams of the world enthrone a King,
Like girders that tower, and vault, and spring
The crossing he died and rose to bring:
The life the angels sing.

Written by Dennis Evans, October 2004



The Getty Center, Los Angeles, CA, 2010

Saturday, April 5, 2014

The Contest





































Sharp was the blow
The hammer let go.
Deep were the wounds, and red.
Soft was the sigh,
The Savior’s reply,
“All was for love,” he said.

Black was the day
They did him away.
Light hid her face for shame.
Bright were the trails
That flowed from the nails.
Gladly Love bore the blame.

Cruel the tongues
That mocked as he hung;
Laughing to bruise his soul.
Mercy the word
His enemies heard.
Love prayed to make them whole.

Dead was the King;
A castaway thing,
Broken within the grave.
Strong he arose,
Unbeat by his foes.
Love won the power to save.


Written by Dennis Evans, 1997