Words by Diane

Today, I see how vulnerable we are. Yes, I said 'we':
We tithing, prayerful, Spirit-filled, respected citizens
Of heaven - and of earth. Christ's new creations still abide
In messy crumbling clay. We are no strapping denizens
Of valour, thinly veiled in flesh. Our old selves died,
It's true: but just as with inferii, evil will empowers
Those rotten corpses all too eagerly, and easily
Corrupts the lives and loves of all around. That will is ours.
We think we know this well. Yet we are shocked when dead men rise
And darkness pounces, pantherlike, and dares to take its prey
From our dear flocklet; and when strident crows peck out the eyes
Of lambs. 'But why? And how?' the shattered, scattered remnant say.
Our brother fell. Betrayed, we mourn; and see a bloody tree,
And mercy's awful truth: he is no worse than you or me.