The blood you shed; so red, it shocks,
the very nature by which it was poured out,
blood red to purify, to make as white as snow.
So beyond any human comprehension,
And so your words we wrote and read in red, in Your Word,
your gift of Good News
of the gift of sacrifice.
And red the wine we pour and drink
to bring us back,
to remind us of that gift.
Lips stained red on Mary Magdalene
as she traded in false beauty,
the painfully inadequate mere promise of beauty she falsely felt with man,
traded it in for the One and Only Man
who could and would see her true beauty,
the beauty that He alone could truly give her.
Red the rocks, the sun, the rose,
the embellishments of your creation,
all pointing, all praising, all reflecting
Your glorious name.
Red every tongue which will confess,
every knee raw that will surely bow,
that stays kneeled in prayer, rubbed raw,
rubbed red for the healing,
the safety found there.
Red our hearts, when made of flesh,
that yearn for Yours, our heart’s desire.
Red the apple that was eaten
that caused the red of rage
that caused a world gone bad
to try and eradicate all truth,
Those shades and shades of true love,
the only importance,
the true romance.
And red on fire,
we for you when we truly see,
the way it’s meant to be.
But red the mocking of a hell
that taunts us, that calls us in,
robs us with it’s heat, its false comfort promised here on earth.
Red your eyes,
wet from tears,
when we look away,
when we see not your tears,
but only ours.
Red, a color of our celebration
of your birth, your fame.
A fame we, too often, hide behind false reds
of holly and suited bearded men.
The loss of red for Virgin Mary
when she was one of maybe too few who heard your call,
who accepted that great honor,
an honor veiled in the doubt and suspicion of this cynical world.
Red, a color of my flag,
that once waved in honor of a freedom only you could bestow,
but now trampled on,
because we’ve forgotten the One who gave it all,
the price of true freedom;
not a country’s freedom
but a world’s freedom
if they will come red eyed themselves,
to the cross where that red blood poured out
and only lay it all down;
Through the rage
and through the pain came the beauty of a Savior,
of a resurrection
and maybe there’s no red in Heaven.
Maybe it was left here for us,
an entirely human color;
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