Preaching the Sunrise in the swamps

Not all is right with reality. There are swamps among the sunrises. We bob until we sink. This is our consequence, but all is not lost. God is there and he is not silent. Divine voice whispers, cries out, sings. The divinity that once walked on Eden’s ground in the cool of the day now muddies his feet in the swamps of our making. The one who walks on the water stands buoyant in the bog. He bends downward. He plunges hands, arms, elbows, and chest into the slop. The haunted and submerged he upheaves and the cadaverous are set upright. Mouth to mouth he breathes full into us. Our lungs expand with the puff. We cough, pull deep, and discover breath. We feel again the warm touch of the sun upon our mud-caked faces. On his knees he steadies us. His fingers slide the grimy weight off our eyes. Liberated, our eyelids rise. And there among the swamps we behold the eyes of mercy gazing into us.

–Zack Eswine, Preaching to a Post-Everything World

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Published in: on May 4, 2012 at 5:32 pm  Leave a Comment  

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