Our Comfort Abounds Through Christ

Scoffers ask: “What purpose is there in singing?”     in a crowd our voices rang, the faucet shut, the veil shattered at his feet and I held him as he wept.     Embracing was our secret tongue. We were no strangers to encouragement     but pride and sorrow summoned us     at the chopping block Let us define righteousness:     to be in right standing before a holy God. We sinners laid ourselves bare before the throne     so that we can comfort those     in any trouble     with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. A reckoning had come, and his tears dropped with his weight,     silence, as his tongue that crowded night,     so debt draped about his shoulders For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ,     so also our comfort abounds through Christ.

Months passed, nature hibernated, and adrift in sin     I paddled spiraling towards the sky and there the moon, journeying above,     hurled tides of questions. The preacher defied our sanctuary     in the ceiling burned fluorescent lights,     below sank the brethren in folding chairs     Higher he hoisted us, on peaks for gazing stars I reached for the moon, murmured “What would this mean?”     If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation I touched its rock and gripped the hammer,     with gravity I drove that spike into the cross—     and hung on in orbit, wretched man that I am. The room revolved around that folding chair, and I wondered—     “What does this mean?”—     pulled away with the moon.

A leak sprung which I could not plug, collection day had come     I ceased rowing, floating with sin in tow Through thoughts blurring my heavy head I found you;     had I been called to the stair top     as you were nights before, singing in a pew?     If we are comforted, it is for your comfort The riptide swelled,     from the moon I fell racing to the floor. With his arms he repaid his debt, my investment returned in full,     which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer Oh, my soul, churning those thoughts, rocking weight from foot to foot.     A surge toppled me into a whirlpool,     caught by the wall, I sank, sucked to the floor, my brother’s arms wrapped me,     he came down to the bottom of the pit     his body the anchor keeping me steady. Spewing fluids, mouth agape I shook,     my eyes, swept in the conviction, caked with tears. There the well emptied, tongue wrung dry     and a bundled sleeping bag soaked through. I hacked out my disbelief:     “What does this mean? Once for each snowflake fallen     I piled that question higher in the nighttime     the count begged an explanation      And our hope for you is firm because we know

The veil shattered at my brother’s feet,     he, holding me, prayed,     and I listened. Through his mouth the Spirit descended, the Lord spoke,     that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort     and He answered me; he told me the meaning:     “It’s over now…” I’ve paddled away; what does this mean?     “You can come home now.” To the moon I brought all I’ve carried     at its height I crucified,     and ran for so long,     what does this mean?     “You don’t have to run away anymore.” What does this mean?     “It’s over… come home… you don’t have to run…” Finally the question, stacked to the moon, had been addressed,     In heaving I knew one word like the toddler learning to speak:      “Abba”     All things are possible for you Bind my wandering heart to you      But while he was still a long way off     his father saw him     and was filled with compassion for him.