Show Me You Are God

Show me you are God,
For I am in the pit
And within these seven walls
There is no place to sit.

Show me you are God,
For there is silence still.
All my friends have turned away
And wish me naught but ill.

Show me you are God,
For I am full of wounds
Wrought by your unseeing eye
Fixed upon my tomb.


I’m sorry I’m not a 100% Christian. I cannot eternally pretend that I am at my 100% and eternally praise God. I’d rather be honest and genuine here and make it clear when I absolutely cannot pursue God. Were we not made from dust? I’m just being honest here. Sometimes I argue and get utterly frustrated with Him — like this. I can almost here people brand me a heretic, but to hell with it. I’m just being honest here.

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While Wise Men Wander

The Magi met the shepherds, whose tongues were lit with praise
Along the road beneath the star that split in many ways

“Whither rests this King whom Prophets did divine?
We have wandered many days to see this lord sublime.
His are all the nations, people, and the lands
His alone the sceptre, won with wounded hands.
Men will call him ‘master’, ‘prince of peace, and life
And among his flock and fold, ‘saviour from our strife
Pray tell then joyful shepherds, where is this King we seek?
This King of whom the people say will bruise great Caesar’s cheek.”

 The shepherds paused a moment before their mouths could stir
And eyed the gifts beneath their robes — the glint of gold, and myrrh

“Of this King, we know not, but if you seek the star
Further Westward you must go, but do not wander far
Past rolling hills of poppies, crimson at the stem
You will find a stable bare, in little Bethlehem
No regal lord resides there, good and kindly strangers
Merely by the ox and ass — a babe upon the manger.”

Then with haste to lay their gifts those tired Wise Men three
Beheld the heir to Eden’s stain and dark Gethsemane.

S.S. Bartlett

2-the-three-wisemen-simon-secret(The Three Wise Men – Robert Cunningham. Source)

Whose Wounds Are These?

Whose wounds are these that I pressed down?
Whose temple bears this thorny crown?
Whose tears fall forth and stir this flood
Of sweat and sin, and my Lord’s blood?

Whose voice was that which trembling cried,
“Behold before me Death has died.”
Which then with final breath began
The restoration of all man?

Who was, who is – and is to be,
Whose name is writ in history;
The King, The Lion, Lord, and Lamb
The one who whispers, “Child, I am.”

– S.S. Bartlett

O Holy Night.

Image

O holy night, We praise thee for thy birth
Sleep thou now quietly baby-king of earth
Thou babe of bliss come from holy skies,
With the coming morrow thou shalt arise.

Thou shalt walk on water, turn it all to wine
Cast out the evil, chase them all to swine
Thou babe of bliss, yet born so low and base
With the coming morrow, thou shalt bruise Caesar’s face

Thou shalt preach and heal and make the darkness light
Yet comes the morrow, and for now goodnight.
Sleep thou gentle babe of bliss
Smile thy smile of glee
For those you love shall kiss thee
And nail thee to the tree.

My faith in God has made me realise that society celebrates Jesus’ birth more than it celebrates the completion of his life’s mission. I was inspired by a particular carol that to carries a similar message, thus I must not be credited for the idea or tone of the poem. The name of the carol escapes me now. 

Tidings- S.S.B., Sri Lanka