It’s about the blood —
joining boards at angles,
edges are negotiations,
prone to pinch,
and nails pierce like
talking points,
splinters burn like lightning
beneath the skin —
red stains in the palms of hands.
It’s about the blood —
a lifetime of little cuts
saw-blade nicks
chisel slips on turning lathes
scrapes from roughened surfaces
in rapid motion,
currency to pay
for chalices and tables,
for chair legs in church parlors,
and for crosses. Always crosses.
It’s about the blood
smeared on every lintel, doorpost,
pulpit, pew —
forensic faithfulness:
a wound for every wonder.
Impassive as a judge’s smile, the paschal lamb
has nothing more to say
after the planer’s blade has smoothed
the ragged faces of the cross,
and with every hammer-blow the blood
sinks deeper in the heartwood
unseen and silent,
until all that’s left is argument, quid pro quo.
Leave the dead behind
in the night when angels pass,
and head for parted water.
But it’s about the blood
crying out from every field
and every brother without a keeper,
every lamb laid on every altar,
every cup on every covenantal Table.
That’s where the wounded Body lies
awaiting autopsy
while survivors lurk in hallways
fighting over the personal effects.
PAUL HOOKER is a teaching elder member of New Covenant Presbytery and associate dean for ministerial formation and advanced studies at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary.
