I wrote this in the midst of preparing for this Sunday’s sermon, from the text of Hebrews 2:14-18. I was considering the priestly work of Christ, but from a priest’s perspective before the incarnation.

Rent flesh and holy days;
I’m up to my neck
In the guts of God’s great mercy.
For tender flocks are culled to stem
The rising tide of rebellion-bred judgment
And make a path of goodness
For the broken and depraved.

That’s me. And you. And all our
Dearest brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts
And mothers and fathers and lovers and poets
And soldiers and surgeons and rulers and beggars
And rapists and saints and killers and kings.

An unending et cetera of the lost.

Thus we turn to the liturgies of restoration.
These lambs and rams and calves and doves
Are mere shadows of the grace to come,
Much as our song and dance is but a glimmer of
The eternal festival that awaits our lowly tread.

From one priest to another,
Would that you should stem the blood
Of these creatures.

I know not the awful nature of my petition.

Quiet the lamb who knows
To horror and glory he goes.