Is the greatness of God’s love making us soft, casual in our response to His Word? Should we have more of that zeal that the saints of old seemed to have?
Soft is the Spirit’s breath upon my soul,
So soft, I fain may think I am untouched.
Better He be gentle than heavy of hand,
Even at risk of endangering paltry trust?
~ ~ ~
For He will not take my heart by storm.
My position: my volition, itself His gift.
My will: perverse, myopic, self-serving.
His will: receiving from me short shrift.
~ ~ ~
And so He waits, patient yet impatient,
Desperate for me to wake up and to be
That person, that alter Christus, that is
Both my privilege and baptismal duty.
~ ~ ~
Lo, soft He breathes! Infusing me with life;
He believes in Project Me in spite of me!
While I, with head held down, blinkered,
Continually fail to be all that I should be.
~ ~ ~
Yet a day will dawn when soft will cease,
And account of my love stewardship made:
Should we fear Him on that dreadful day,
For sin-debt that has never been repaid?
~ ~ ~
For such great love calls for great response:
Not pious chatter, but practical service;
That selfless love the Master exampled,
Especially to the least – that’s our litmus.
~ ~ ~
Gift and task, gift and task is ours:
Gentle, generous gift of His grace,
Met with serious, sleeves-up task,
Fit and ready to run our godly race.
~ ~ ~
May I ever heed the Gospel’s warning:
Stay awake! You know not the hour!
But my witness can only be response:
His love, first given – there’s the power!