The Mud On My Boots

Death, once again, interrupted life.

I noticed it

In yet another church

To give yet another eulogy

To whisper yet another prayer

Flowers and food were placed

Friends and family, seated and waiting.

Bible and notes, in hand and ready

New shirt, ironed jeans and boots that were…

muddy.

Into this place, that represents all that’s Holy, I carried, mud.

Not just any mud, not from here

But, from a grave just outside a sleepy little town, seven hundred miles south

In less than a week, from one grave to another, I carry mud

It follows and calls and clings

This mud upon which we sit

Yawns to swallow us all

Because it’s tasted blood.

The earth cries out

For justice

For Abel

For this morning’s innocent babe

I see in the mud on my boot

Innocent Blood

I’ve helped shed

You have too

Death, never satisfied, never full

Always reaching, grabbing, stealing

To give what we deserve

Ashes to ashes, earth to earth, dust to dust

Yet, there’s Other blood

Righteous Blood

Not just any, not from here

But His who created the mud

His shed outside a sleepy little town

Mixed with ours, in the mud

And offers hope 

LIFE once and for all, interrupting death

So when this corruptible has put on incorruption, and this mortal has put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.”

“O Death, where is your sting?

O Hades, where is your victory?” (1 Cor. 15:54,55)