Saturday, January 1, 2011

Ezra the Scribe

Why did Nehemiah and I suffer
The humiliation of those ten tribes
Of traitors, the dangers of the return,
The obstructions, deceptions, threats and jibes?

For His glory. I’d read of Solomon,
Of Moses, of the cloud and fire, the shine
Behind the veil, the glory descending
On His House, the dwelling of the Divine.

I longed for it all my life, the temple,
The holy ark, the sacrifices spilt.
Solomon said, “Heaven cannot hold Him,
Then how much less this house which I have built!”

But we built again, stone on stone, weeping
All the while for the old, crafting the new.
The altar, the music, then the delays.
I waited and aged, as the temple grew.

Malachi said that the Lord, whom we sought
Would come to His temple suddenly,
As in the days of old and former years,
A fierce fire, consuming iniquity.

We completed the work, but the people
Were wicked, wayward, disobedient.
I assumed Malachi was wrong -- we’d failed.
A scribe, who knew not what a prophet meant!


December 31, 2010
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