give us rest

A distant sleepy dawn,

I see me, as Peter, fireside afraid.

Jesus burnishing bright hope in the fire’s light.


Wood, hands, Death, spear, stone,



Nowadays a ceremony spoken, or mostly listened to.

Juice-filled plastic cups, bread already broken, passed from row to row.

Even if there are never enough air-conditioned seats to hold the entire world,

There will always be enough of You,

Welcoming all with new wine, deeply flowing,

Refreshing with plenty of fresh bread.


I am seeking, feebly, like many for


To celebrate, eat, and drink palate-tingling grapes

In, outside of and always beyond the ceremonies.



You rise to shine.


Shining broader than a Sunday’s hour,

Shining on every nation,

Shining even on those who aren’t inside the brick walls on Sunday.


You didn’t fit, or walk in the door either.

You knocked, called out.

We were locked in, busy discussing, worrying or just

Wondering what to do.

So you just stepped through, forgetting bricks, walls.


You entered in.

You made a way so that all can come in,

A way of wood and nails.


Remind me of your way,

Your way of rest, forgiveness.

Forgiving the prostitute over the law teachers.

Healing the outcast sick as the elite doctrinally precise fumed.


As we celebrate,

Let’s lay no other burdens than forgiveness,

Let’s see that it’s not just for you, for me,

It’s for everyone.


Let’s escape from religious law,

To abundant, ongoing life.

There is something beyond Easter.

Someone who will give us rest.

Jesus, you are fresh new life at its best.

hoosier sunrisepoetryBy Jonathan McCallum

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boats moored out of harbor

Spring’s lingering light prompted a stroll down to the marina port where yachts and cruise boats were neatly parked, the mighty fishing boats puttering past, as the sun touched the horizon.

Outside the sea-wall of boulders and concrete cubes, a few lonely yachts were also moored.  Those vessels reminded me of something, struck something deep inside, something I’m living or attempting.  Moored outside, near the open sea, longing to venture forth.

Overlooking the marina-bound vessels, comments overheard—admiration of the big, the professional, the superbly crafted, most are dearly parked yearlong to only embark a few times over summer.  Yet I was drawn to those made of wood, creaky, with character, strength overlooked.

Across the port, a few boats were lifted up, temporarily out of the sea, for repair, barnacle removal.

I’m heading into port for a brief moment, guided by your words, drawing near because you are here.  Here I find you, comforted to hear your welcome, resting seaside with you is my repair.

We talk of friends far away, family across oceans.  We remember fish hauls, storms, the navigating and the wandering.

Soon I will head back out to sea, but my mind and heart are refreshed, grasping something more of horizonless beauty beyond, an unfathomable purpose amidst life moments of pain, loneliness, fear.

by Jonathan McCallum
Poetry Blog

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5 minutes

5 minutes to change into my wetsuit, hood, boots that shield me from chill of spring’s atlantic sea.
5 minutes to trot, short-board under arm, to the grey blue sea.
5 minutes to shiver, paddle-warm-up, duck-dive embrace coldness.
5 minutes and a lifetime to find you, talk with you, Ancient friend.
My heart is shivering before you, you warm it though there is no sun seen.
I hear your words wash, churn, splutter over me.
5 minutes more, waiting to catch a wave to the shore.
Paddling back out, hoping, longing for just
5 minutes more
With you.
Looking skyward every
5 minutes
I wait for grey glare to make way for full, unclouded sunshine.
5 minutes more,
Then I will be with you on that sunlit shore.
5 minutes more.

by Jonathan McCallum
Poetry Blog

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