As We Strain to Lift His Arms
Brandon Cook
We read in school the story of the hands of Hur
He who with Aaron of the oil-drenched beard, lifted Moses’ arms, as battle stirred
Metaphor or history falls beside the point
Sometimes a tale is true as poetry,
But I simply did not know nor could I fathom then
And still, I can hardly comprehend
It’s God’s own arms we all hold up
Heaving, heaving on the everlasting arms
We who groan in prayer and sorrow, looking up,
To stars whose cries are burning eyes far too far from Him to lend their help
Or the succoring kiss of friendship
So we are all He has
As we learn, again, that God is always crucified and
Is hanging now ragged as a war-torn heart
God Himself the battle and the battle’s end
As we all, with battered hands, strain to lift His arms