The day will come,
As it has come before,
When His spirit will come to me like
A lightening strike.
Holding up my hands it will come to me while
I am clothed in the chasuble of obedience.
Clothed in the white and gold of His own giving,
I stand on tiptoes to greet Him.
I welcome the light and the astonishing shock of His presence.
Raising my hand, I feel the power
That he promises all of the obedient.
Raising my hand, I hold the elements
That drift in and between
Thin spaces -- two realities,
As He has given them to His children.
My heart is on fire with His words,
They burn within me and I know Him
In the intimacy of my/our body in
The breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup.
The past remains with me
Always in me.
But is purified by fire and lightening,
The voices of the past I hear in the night as
The rumble of distant thunder, a distant earthquake
And I remain vigilant to the danger of being overcome
I remain aware of the power and the nails being drawn forth.
I remain aware of the power streaming and sounding
As through a soundboard
Blasted and overwhelmed, heated and transformed and
Hopeful always of the same.