Lifting the Veil

Lift the veil in this morass of Sin,
That faith may blossom and hope enter in.
Let the Sun of Justice shine
Upon a people in decline,
That looking up from the tyranny of power and things
Your face may captivate and solace bring.

Pour down torrents of Thy Grace
To cleanse this dry and brutal place ,
Uproot to plant anew
A Day of peace like settled dew,
That minds be bright and intellects sublime
And our only glory may be Thine.

© 2016 Joann Nelander

Love Sweeter Than

Your love is sweeter than the honey dripping upon the lover’s tongue,
Sweeter than wine that wakens the palate to new delight.
Your love is aroma and taste penetrating the heart.
It is the roof growing higher,
And foundation of my world,
Glimpsing heaven and begging it near.

Your love is sweeter than my life.
It is invitation and enticement,
Known and unknowing,
Higher than happiness,
Straining to the Holy.

Your Love is the beginning and end of Life.
Falling on the world,
Drop by drop,
Yet, like a river in flood,
Endless and eternal,
The crossing of Now and Forever
Meeting in my bossom,
Drawing me free from myself,
Into You.

In Your thirst
You are all poverty,
Hungry,
And yet all supplying,
Giving and spent,
Still full in Your Emptiness.

Your Love is sweeter than this life,
Holy with promise,
You ring my heart with longing
And satisfy my depths and queries.
With Truth, You show me the heaven of Your Heart,
And bid me “Come.”

© 2016 Joann Nelander

Out of Darkness

I AM WHO AM,
God beyond my grasp,
Outside of Time and Space,
How am I to know You?

Calling with the cry of a Babe,
You reveal Yourself,
To a people in darkness
That we may behold You.

You bring Light to my blindness.
I see in this Holy Infant,
“The Father and I are One.”,
“Whatever you do for one of the least,
You do for me.”

The heavy weight of Adam’s Sin
Is lifted as the Babe become Man,
Dies for the sons of Man.
You bring Salvation,
Good out of Evil.

I know You in believing.
I know You in repentance.
I know you in my deliverance,
And freedom to cry, “Abba”.

© 2016 Joann Nelander

Eyes

How often I beseech
“All the angels and saints”,
Yet, fail to realize
The multitude of the holy,
I call to my side.

They do come.
They come ready to aid,
To do battle,
To protect,
And do bless.

God give me eyes,
That I may see,
For, indeed,
I am, too often,
Blind.

There are wise infrared eyes,
Spying the sky.
We see our universe at its birth.
For eons,
We knew of no such birth.

Blindness of a kind
Can kill.
A child in the womb,
Heart beating for the cameras,
Still fails
To make a Presence known.
How blind the eyes
That refuse to see.

Father of all that is,
Give me eyes of the heart,
That I may
Make a start.

© 2016 Joann Nelander

As you go, make this proclamation: ‘The kingdom of heaven is at hand.’

Endeavor

I love the way
You keep trying
To take the beautiful,
And make it more beautiful.

Is there no city on a hill,
No mountain grandeur,
Nor sweeping vista,
That can truly satisfy,
In its worldly reality?
Having travelled all byways,
Having scaled the heights,
Plumbed the depths
As far as you dare,
Seek still you will.
You want yet more.
You always will.

Memory does not suffice,
Camera and canvas fail.
Pixels and pigments,
Even when teased to their ends,
Falter and fall short
Of the image
Engraved on your heart.

It is as though,
At some level,
You intuit.
You fear.
You suspect.
No, you truly know.

There will always be,
One more quest,
Another dream,
Perfecting,
The not yet perfect.

You glimpse the Creator in creating.
With moon and stars,
With waterfall and rainbow,
With the wilderness and the wild,
You point.

For the sum of all,
Sunrises and sunsets,
Venues and vistas,
Still will not equal,
Just simply point.

You rise to the challenge,
Build to the crescendo,
And then must wait,
Wait till the Perfect comes.

At last,
At long, long last,
To know
The One to whom creation points
To know at last
The One True,
All Beautiful,
God.

© 2016 Joann Nelander

The Robe

Lord of the centuries,
Knit, of our pain, the knots,
That mysteriously arrange themselves
Across our days.

Guide, by unseen fingers,
Each little pearl,
To form a cloth
Alive with Your Golden threads,
Infinitely more than happenstance or tragedy.

Each strand of Time a mystery,
Bathed in trial and tears,
Yet rich in Awe,
Resplendent in Beauty,
And the gracious beneficence
Of sacrificial love.

Whole cloth,
Woven into a seamless robe,
You don in majesty,
Humble and meek in triumph o’er our graves,
As Life welcomes to the Banquet,
Our souls, now clad in bodies,
One with Your Own.

© 2015 Joann Nelander