Poetry On The Odyssey: Dear Jesus
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Poetry On The Odyssey: Dear Jesus

A poem written to the Messiah.

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Poetry On The Odyssey: Dear Jesus
Erin Powe


Dear Jesus, thank You

For Your love unto death,

Unto whips on Your innocent flesh

And nails through Your hands

That formed the world,

That comforted and healed and held,

Now pinned down on wood,

Now risen and held out

For Thomas to see and touch,

That we might see and touch,

Through Thomas.


Dear Jesus, thank You

For Your scandalous grace,

For laying the burdens of sinners

On Your own back,

Walking the way to our salvation

With a cross across Your shoulders,

For redeeming the tax collector,

Who was crouching in a tree,

For redeeming desperate Mary,

For redeeming me.

No sin is too scandalous

To be washed white

By Your blood.


Dear Jesus, thank You

For Your endless empathy,

For tears split long over Lazarus

For his sisters,

Though You knew that he would

Wake and walk.

You didn't take the best and brightest,

But became best friends

With some fishermen,

A tax collector, a traitor.

Even these, given grace,

Turned children and beggars away,

But You said, 'Let them come to me'

Pouring yourself out unto exhaustion,

Out unto death.

That You would ask for

The forgiving of those who

Crucified You,

Brings us to our knees.


Dear Jesus, thank You

For Your patience,

With disciples on a boat,

Frowning at Your command

To move the nets,

And with the angry intellectuals,

Always coming and questioning,

With Nicodemus, confused

About new birth,

With Your worried parents,

Searching the city for You.

Your gentleness

Weakens harsh hearts.


Dear Jesus, thank You,

For Your humbling humility,

For Your willingness to be

The Lamb on my rightful tree,

And not say a word,

To come down from Your throne

And wrap Yourself in flesh and bone

To save us all,

To be rejected by mortal men,

And walk long roads

In beaten sandals and

At the close of the day,

To kneel and clean, lovingly

A crowd of poor men's feet.


Thank You,

That You are,

The Blood on our doorposts,

The One in our place.

Our saving grace,

Always present in our pain,

A man of sorrows,

Now resurrected,

And seated

In glory with the Father.

Forgive me,

That I do not

Love You more.

In Your name,

Amen.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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