Acts 16

They were stripped bare as the Holocaust,

beaten with rods blow upon blow,

thrown bloody-backed and bruised

into the iron gut of government injustice.

Sucking in air that stank of urine,

feces, and fear of death,

in the bowels of the prison

their feet were bound, but here they sang

like two children running across a grassy field.

Levity,

for they expected no more

of our broken earth

than it can offer to any of us;

they made no appeals to the powers of men

but stretched their sore, torn necks

against those filthy walls

and reminded one another of the God

who burns light in dark, stale places.

They sang and they prayed,

looking straight up Hope's beam of light,

through all those tomb stones,

square into God's wide, lush heaven

and found that a prison built

by the measly hands of men

shivered and broke loose at its joints.

Faith is a sonic boom.

Then like two fishermen with a thin line

thrown on a red-and-white bobber,

they waited,

knowing that their liberty was already sealed

as was their bond.

They lingered,

letting the holy current toy with their bait

while they held fast, held firm,

held still as their Christ did.

He could have roared off His cross

yet remained alert, primed, ears perked

and hardly breathing

so that He could listen to His Father

like a cowboy with his ear to a train track,

then conform, comply,

complete the whole task of trust

until it was finished.