The Stained Glass Cross
Shards of glass,
In rainbows shades,
Shards of glass,
By God made.
Holy hues of faith and hope.
Vibrant hues of life and growth.
Quiet darks of sorrows known.
Crushed and broken by hammers strong.
Shards there be, with cutting edge.
Oft avoided with painful dread.
Other pieces gently worn,
In sands of time,
by waters borne.
By angels gathered, shards, aplenty.
Brought together in mercies many,
Placed in His hands holy pierced.
And so melded by Love’s Spirit,
Then carried by the holy Dove,
The shards were made a cross grow.
But others aghast,
sought and fought,
some shards to cast,
out from the cross.
Their hue, their cast,
they held best,
Did not fit the mold,
they felt blessed.
So, nail-pierced hands,
in sadness wrought,
From those other hands,
the tiny molds of fear
and hate they brought.
That others differ in journeys made,
And perhaps their differing loves portray
Realms of my Kingdom to be framed.
To cast them away you may try,
Yet to my Sacred Heart they fly.
So the stained glass cross is being made.
Windows aglow in holy shades.
Windows into His Kingdom's love portrayed.
That together, His Holy love we seek,
Free in Truth, to reach and speak,
His love and light to shine and share,
Within and to all who dare
Peace and love's light to know.
[Picture: East Apse Window
St. James Cathedral, Seattle, WA}
