The cross we know as absolutely static—
and utterly artificial in its perfectly straight lines
And it ever seeks to impose that artificially still state of being.
moves, whirls, dances—
and is so alive
even the cross couldn’t—can’t
maintain the imposition of its absolute stillness on him.
So when, following, our crosses we pick up,
it’s the lively movement
of relationship and conversation
and service in the way of God—
it’s imagination and creativity and humor,
laughter and love—
in which to trust,
never the weight and inertia
of the attempt to conclusively know.