The Gift Returned: a poem exploration

The gift returned.

“He gave his only son,”

And we forever look on the cross, 

That tool of death,

And see God’s love exposed,

In all its terror.

Miserable sinner that I am,

I spin webs

Of petty crimes and sins committed,

Forever ungrateful.

My love is unequal to the gift,

And so I tremble in fear

Yet yearn for Grace.

Here we are then:

Caught forever

Unequal to the gift

Or Giver.

It is an unbearable condition.

O God, for whom time

Is a play thing,

A building block,

A social construct,

Take me back to the tomb,

To the moments between

Death and resurrection.

In the freedom of that moment,

Let me lift the vail

And see the face

Of Him who died

That I might live.

I dream:

I see Him there.

His face is peaceful.

I kiss him gently,

And leaning, whisper in his ear,

“It’s alright,

You didn’t have to die and live again

For me, or for the world.”

I imagine

The terror of accepting the gift 

Too great to ever repay,

Of the offering 

That requires death

And a cross,

And I say, “no.”

“No. God, no.

Don’t die for me.”

I’m not worth the trouble,

Double trouble if you do,

For then I am forever

Both a sinner and a debtor,

Locked into the dread economy

And strange dance,

Of redemption and release.

Let me run back and tell Pilate

Not to play his part,

And the Sanhedrin not to play theirs.

Let them and me look away

And not take the gift in hand

And lead Him to the gallows.

Rather let us look on Him while living

And see the love exposed and evident,

The transfiguration of mere flesh

To God present,

And see that as gift enough.

Perhaps we could look on him

And not despise,

Could look at him, 

and let him go wandering

Away, into a paradise unblemished

By agony and blood.

In imagination I wonder,

Could I or we accept the Incarnation

As enough? 

Could we see God present

Without the cross?

Is it possible,

With less severity,

To teach

The way of life

Unfettered,

Not bound to violence

And my forever debt?

“God gives his only Son,”

But must I receive

Such an encumbered offering,

Just like that?

“No,” I whisper to Him who is veiled.

“Not that,”

Rather, this:

God have his only Son

To be here, for a while,

For any / every while,

That in Him,

God might walk again

The shaded paths with us,

And we might know God’s love

In the intercourse along the way,

And Eden be restored.