The  Tear


It was a small thing...or so it seemed...

    passing all unnoticed through the skies

        except for gathered and unnumbered masses

             who watched its guided plunge.

But they, they kept a solid silence

    in the face of majesty surpassed

        where no words or even thoughts were good enough

             to say, to think, but perhaps only feel;

And even feelings failed to compass it about,

    nothing large enough to understand,

        nothing but the source of it,

             nothing but its endless end.

It bore within its falling substance

    the fullness of the Father's pain

        that He, to turn them back to Him,

             had split Himself upon the ragged cross

Letting His manifested, earthly form

    be separated from His being,

        left to become, not bear, but to...become

             the form of all that had seemed to go so very wrong.

It was in that splitting of Himself

    the tear began to fall

        into that agony of undoing all the done,

                the very moving backwards of all time

To that place unknowable before eternity began

    where God, utterly without limit, utterly All,

        before He enfolded Himself, entering in

            to that small realm we call eternity...

Before, oh yes, before the foundation of the ages,

    where in the very center of the depths of God

        lay hidden the divine Mystery,

            the reason for it all,

A marked-off portion for some high and future purpose,

    glistening with a beauty undescribed,

        a foreshadowing never really understood,

            robed in His very brightness and His song...

A woman, formed out of God,

    not bone of His bone, but spirit of His spirit,

        being of His Being, not belonging to creation,

            fashioned from the spirit of an uncreated God,

His counterpart, His bride,

    the Mystery hidden in the heart of God

       made from uncounted millions

            of the marked-off portions of Himself.

The All of God had poured

    through the wide-flung door,

       into the realm of visibility, into time and space,

            out from that age before the ages

And into God manifested on the Earth,

    until the very center of a pre-eternal God

       came once more into view,

            the Mystery coming with it all,

Hidden now in Christ,

    Who saw it all as already done,

       Who dwelt uniquely in the new creation

            As He walked the old.

It was in that moment of His cry,

    "It is finished,"...and it was...

        that from His pierced side, Adam-like,

            eternal Eve released,

Flowing to the mudded ground in a fall of blood,

     puddled, waiting for the tear,

        to join its uncreated, living water

             with the manifested blood of God,

That in the joining of the two,

     all separation would find its end,

        and gateways be flung widely open

             to everlasting life.

But...where...was she, this Bride of God,

    on Easter morning, where be found,

        the first portion of His counterpart,

             the first fruits of the whole to come?

"Gardener?" she said, wiping tears with her cloak,

    peering into the brightness of the morning sun.

        "Where have you taken Him Who is my Lord?"

             as, within, her human spirit lay so grey and dead.

It was then the Lord she had not recognized

    took from His opened side a part in Him, of Him,

         a portion of the Mystery inside the form of God,

             about to be loosed into time and space.

And by ways beyond all knowing,

   cast this portion into she who sought,

         so that, for the first time ever,

             a human spirit had risen from the dead.

The Spirit of the Life of the Lord,

    entering into the very heart of her,

         the Life of God in her, one with her,

             in Him before the foundation of the world,

Now her...

    the resurrected Lord

         become the indwelling Christ,

             the first part of the wholeness of His bride.








By Jo Anzalone

March 21, 2007


Back to Jo's Other Place