The Planting Poetry When Jesus was whipped, split, hung out to die, and even after, his stilled heart spread dry... When they locked his cold, shrouded flesh into the grave Did they think they were burying him? Jesus was not planted. He, that one perfect seed dropped from the crucifixion tree tamped into rock and dust, watered with blood, vinegar, the spit of hate... They didnt know that three days later that seed would shoot through stone a solid trunk, a forest of tender buds, green leaves, with rich, coo shade, ripe fruit an plump seeds. The tree in Eve and Adams orchard, te garden palms in the temple, the fronds beneath the donkeys hooves, Zaccheus Sycamore stair to heaven, the withering fig tree, the cedars of Lebanon, the Olive tree that we are grafted into, and the Tree of twelve flowerings rooted in the rushing, living river of the God, the tree whose leaves will heal the wounds of the nations. And all the birds of the air will come to rest in the branches to sing Allellu! All Praise and thanks for te planting of the precious Tree of Life! Leslie Leyland Fields
Posted on: Wed, 19 Mar 2014 19:53:34 +0000
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