It is grasped as easily as a gust of wind.
It comforts like the snuggle of a colic-y baby.
It is exposed in a lover’s embrace.
And with voices raised, it is buried 6 feet under fury’s wrath.
The need of the hour is resurrection.
Not to fly away.
Not some sad morning when this life is over.
incarnated among us is the Favor of God.
Why does favor look like that?
Disfigured, disjointed, parched, hopeful.
Secure as flesh pounded nails.
Penetrating as thorns through matted hair.
Smiling like lashes viciously striped.
Lavished like blood saturated soil.
Singing staccato notes in suffocation.
Stripped of pretense like a king on a cross.
When the stone was rolled away
And the Favor of God rose.
As the morning sun breaks the dawn
He breaks our hearts.
Greetings, you who are highly favored.