Tag Archives: jesus-christ

Royal by His Wounds, Holy by His Call: A Priesthood Proclaiming the Glories of the Lamb’s Eternal Light by Debbie Harris

22 Sunday Feb 2026

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, Praise, Royally Redeemed

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Royal by His Wounds, Holy by His Call: A Priesthood Proclaiming the Glories of the Lamb’s Eternal Light:

The poem is a lyrical, Christ-centered meditation on 1 Peter 2:9 (KJV), celebrating the transformed identity of believers as a chosen generation, royal priesthood, holy nation, and peculiar people.

It begins in the darkness of sin, where humanity was once enslaved, and describes God’s sovereign, gracious call through Christ’s incarnate love and sacrificial death on the cross. The torn veil and broken body of Jesus grant believers direct access to God, drawing them near to His heart.

The central stanzas proclaim the present reality of this new identity: believers are not self-crowned but robed in Christ’s righteousness, made royal by His wounds, holy by His call, and treasured as His own possession—engraved on His wounded side. This exalted standing is entirely by grace, not merit.

The poem contrasts the old life of striving and defeat with the finished work of the cross (“It is finished”), which makes believers heirs who now live in humble trust and quiet confidence in Christ’s royal life.

The closing call is one of reverent awe: lift your eyes, not in pride but in worship of Christ alone. His marvelous light exalts believers to royal height on earth—not to reign independently, but to reflect His glory. The purpose of this identity is single and clear: to proclaim evermore the excellencies and praises of Him—the Lamb—who called us out of darkness into His eternal, marvelous light.

Through trials and triumphs, believers become living ambassadors, bearing His praises like a sacred flame, all for the glory of Jesus Christ, the true King and Light.

In essence, the poem is a worshipful hymn that exalts Christ’s cross and call as the sole source of our royal priesthood, urging believers to live in humble, awe-filled proclamation of His glories rather than self-exaltation.

But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light. (1 Peter 2:9 KJV)

In shadowed vales where sin’s deep midnight reigned,
A sovereign call shattered the gloom’s despair—
Not ours the spark, but His, who rent the air
With love incarnate, bleeding, unrestrained.

No merit ours, no veil we tore apart;
The temple curtain split by nail-scarred grace,
His body broken opened heaven’s face—
We, once afar, now near His beating heart.

Behold, a royal priesthood stands arrayed,
Not crowned by self, but by the thorn-crowned King;
In robes of righteousness His blood doth bring,
Each soul a vessel where His light is stayed.

A holy nation forged in crimson flood,
A people His, possessed by boundless love;
Chosen not for worth, but mercy from above,
Engraved forever on His wounded side.

From chains of night, where death and darkness strove,
He summoned us—His voice, the living Word—
Into the splendor of His light outpoured,
Where glory shines in Him whom we adore.

No striving now to seize what grace has given;
The cross declares: “It is finished,” complete.
We rise as heirs where once we lay in defeat—
In humble trust, His royal life we live.

So lift the gaze, let reverent splendor gleam:
Not pride in self, but awe at Christ alone—
His excellence our song, His light, our royal height,
Proclaiming evermore: “The Light is His!”

Through every storm, in triumph or in pain,
We bear His praises like a sacred flame—
Chosen in Christ, royal by His great name,
Ambassadors of His eternal reign.

The Wondrous Exchange of the Cross: Self Slain, Christ Exalted, All for His Eternal Praise by Debbie Harris

21 Saturday Feb 2026

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, Praise, Royally Redeemed

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The poem celebrates the believer’s union with Christ in His death: the true Christian reckons themselves crucified with Him, so the old self dies and all personal ambitions end. From then on, life has one purpose—to live solely for the glory of Christ. Through this “wondrous exchange,” self is slain, Christ is exalted, and every thought, deed, and breath proclaims His eternal praise.

In shadowed hour when Christ gave up His breath,
The true-hearted soul counts its own life slain—
Dead with the Lord who conquered sin and death,
No longer bound to earth’s self-seeking chain.

We judge ourselves as crucified that day,
When nails and spear His holy body tore;
The old man buried in the tomb’s cold clay,
Alive no more to chase what was before.

Henceforth the heart, once captive to its will,
Feels heaven’s constraint: no other aim shall rise.
Not gold, nor fame, nor fleshly passions fill
The purpose now—to glorify the skies.

For Him who died and rose, our lives we yield,
A living sacrifice, redeemed by grace;
In every breath, in every battlefield,
We live for Christ’s eternal, matchless face.

O wondrous exchange! From death to life we spring,
No longer ours, but wholly His to claim;
Let every thought, each deed, each offering
Proclaim the glory of the Savior’s name.

Blessed Is the Man or Woman Who Walketh Not in the Counsel of the Ungodly by Debbie Harris

20 Friday Feb 2026

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Psalm 1 (KJV)

1 Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.
2 But his delight is in the law of the LORD; and in his law doth he meditate day and night.
3 And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.
4 The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away.
5 Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous.
6 For the LORD knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish.

O happy soul, whose feet decline
The counsel of the impious throng,
Who shuns the sinners’ path malign,
Nor joins the scoffers’ mocking song—
Not walking where the wicked lead,
Nor standing firm in vice’s way,
Nor seated where contempt is bred,
In scornful ease to spend the day.

But in the sacred law divine
His chief delight is ever found;
There day and night his thoughts entwine,
In meditation deep and profound.
Like some fair tree by rivers set,
Whose roots drink deep the ceaseless stream,
In season ripe its fruit is met,
Its verdant leaf no withering dream.

Whate’er he doth shall prosper well,
No drought shall parch, no storm prevail;
His boughs in fruitful beauty swell,
His greenness shall forever hail.
Not so the wicked—light as chaff
They whirl before the wind’s fierce breath;
No root, no weight, no stable staff,
They scatter to the realms of death.

The ungodly shall not stand the test
When judgment’s awful hour is come;
Nor sinners join the righteous blest
In God’s eternal, holy home.
For God beholds the righteous path,
And guards it with His watchful eye;
But they who tread the way of wrath
Shall perish, lost eternally.

The Faithful Covering: From Pitch-Sealed Arks to the Blood-Sealed Soul by Debbie Harris

20 Friday Feb 2026

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, Prayer, Royally Redeemed, salvation

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We are not left to hold ourselves together by willpower, discipline, or personal stability. Through Christ’s finished work on the cross, God actively sustains us—inside and out—amid life’s storms, overwhelming seasons, emotional waves, or faith-stretching trials. We are not barely afloat; we are covered, cherished, and held in His unfailing grace.

In ancient days when judgment fell like rain,
A righteous man received the Lord’s command:
“Build thee an ark of gopher, strong and plain,
And pitch it round with bitumen’s dark hand.”
Inside and out the thick black seal was laid,
No drop could breach what God Himself designed;
Through forty nights the deluge roared and swayed,
Yet safety held where grace and pitch combined.

Then came a mother, heart in anguish torn,
Who wove a fragile boat of reed and slime,
And daubed it well with pitch from dusk till morn,
To guard her child from Pharaoh’s cruel crime.
Upon the Nile the little ark was set,
A basket borne through waters wild and deep;
The covering kept the infant safe from threat,
Till Pharaoh’s daughter drew him from his sleep.

Two vessels small, yet echoing one theme:
Not wood’s own strength, nor builder’s skill prevailed,
But God’s provided coat, a faithful dream,
That turned destruction back and life entailed.
The ark through flood, the basket through the stream—
Both sealed by pitch, both shadowed forth the Son,
Whose blood, once shed, redeems us from the dream
Of self-held strength; in Him our all is won.

No longer do we clutch at trembling frame,
Nor fear the rising tide will sweep us under;
In Christ all things cohere, He bears our name,
His finished work our souls in mercy sunder
From wrath’s dark flood. Though waves may crash and roar,
And seasons press with weight we scarce can bear,
The covering holds—eternal, evermore—
For He who pitched the ark is present there.

So breathe, dear soul, when storms assail your peace;
You are not left to drift or fall apart.
The same sure hand that brought deliverance
Now holds you fast within His steadfast heart.
In Christ you stand, not barely kept afloat,
But covered, cherished, whole—forever His.
The pitch of old, the cross of love, the note
Of grace resounding: You are held in bliss.

Closing Prayer

Faithful God,
You who sealed the ark against the flood
and coated the basket on the Nile with Your protecting hand,
thank You for the greater covering we now have in Christ.

His blood, poured out once for all, has sealed us inside and out—
not by our strength, but by Your unfailing grace.
When the waters rise and our hearts tremble,
hold us together in Him.
Let us rest, not in our own frail vessels,
but in the finished work of Your Son.

Breathe Your peace over us today.
Remind us: we are not barely afloat;
we are covered, cherished, and held forever in Your steadfast love.

In the name of Jesus, our true Ark and Covering,
Amen.

Swallowed and TransfiguredThe Contemplative Act Whereby Ezekiel Partook of the Scroll of Woeand Discovered the Hidden Sweetness of Union with the Divine Will by Debbie Harris

15 Sunday Feb 2026

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Ezekiel 2:9–10
Then I looked, and behold, a hand was extended to me; and behold, a scroll of a book was in it. When He spread it out before me, it was written on the front and back, and written on it were lamentations, mourning, and woe.

Ezekiel 3:1–3
And He said to me, “Son of man, eat what you find; eat this scroll, and go, speak to the house of Israel.” So I opened my mouth, and He fed me this scroll. He said to me, “Son of man, feed your stomach and fill your body with this scroll which I am giving you.” Then I ate it, and it was sweet as honey in my mouth.

Ezekiel 3:14
So the Spirit lifted me up and took me away; and I went embittered in the rage of my spirit, and the hand of the Lord was strong on me.

No gentle volume offered to the hand,
No silken page to turn with measured care:
A scroll unfurled in flame, on either hand
Lamentation, mourning, woe laid bare.

“Son of man,” the voice resounds through bone,
“Eat what lies before thee—fill thy frame.
Devour the writing, leave no line unshown,
Make judgment’s ink the substance of thy name.”

I parted lips as one who meets his fate,
And took the roll entire upon my tongue;
The taste of honey flooded palate, throat,
While gall of sorrow pressed where breath is sung.

Yet sweeter grew the sweetness as I chewed—
Not honey stolen from the summer comb,
But honey born of perfect will subdued,
Of love that wounds to heal the heart’s deep home.

O mystery of eating strange and deep!
The Word descends not to the outward ear,
But deeper, past the tongue’s dividing keep,
Into the belly’s cavern dark and sheer.

There in the crypt of self the scroll dissolves,
Its bitter script transmuted into light;
What once was woe the inner furnace solves,
And turns to sweetness burning through the night.

No longer separate, the man and message blend—
The prophet is the lament he must bear;
His sinews bear the weight that God would send,
His breath the very sigh of heaven’s prayer.

Thus swallowed whole, the soul is lifted high,
Transfigured in the act of full consent;
The hidden sweetness blooms where tears once lie,
And union with the Will is sacrament.

Let others skim the surface of the page,
Debate its edges, quote its phrases bright:
The true disciple enters that fierce stage
Where eating is the only way to sight.

For God requires not admirers mild,
Nor connoisseurs of sacred text and lore—
He seeks the one whose inmost self is styled
By every syllable the scroll once bore.

So eat, O pilgrim, let the honey stay,
Though sorrow churn the stomach in its course;
The Word, once taken in, will never stray—
It is the life, the way, the very source.

Free Verse; Neglect Not So Great a Salvation: The Urgent Invitation Before Time Closes and Judgment Opens by Debbie Harris

15 Sunday Feb 2026

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Neglect Not So Great a Salvation: The Urgent Invitation Before Time Closes and Judgment Opens
(Free verse summary)

This free verse poem is a quiet, introspective meditation on the fragility of life and the gentle but insistent call of God to salvation. It portrays human existence as a fleeting mist or breath on glass—brief, easily erased—while a still, small voice speaks in the silences between heartbeats, asking why we delay.

The poem recalls the rich young ruler who stood before Jesus, felt the direct pull of truth, yet walked away sorrowful, choosing familiar wealth over unknown freedom. It reflects how we mirror this in subtler ways: postponing response with excuses of “tomorrow,” drowning conviction in noise, letting the heart grow calloused through repeated delay until the once-vivid tug fades—not because God withdraws, but because we stop listening.

Yet mercy remains present and patient. The invitation is immediate—“Behold. Today.”—not conditional on worthiness or convenience. God calls not to restrict but to liberate, offering abundant, eternal life instead of temporary comforts.

The closing urgency is stark: this breath is all we have; tomorrow is an illusion no one reaches. Eternity has no second chances, only this open door of grace that will one day close—not from divine cruelty, but from the simple end of time. The poem pleads gently yet firmly: when the tug returns, do not brush it aside. Turn. Answer. Step through—while the hand still reaches.

Somewhere a voice is speaking,
not loud, not lightning-split sky,
but the hush between heartbeats,
the pause after a name you almost remember.

Life arrives in mist,
lingers like breath on glass,
then wipes clean.
You blink and the room has changed;
the child is grown,
the friend is gone,
the promise you made to yourself
slips further down the calendar.

Many feel it—
that pull when the house is still,
when laughter fades and the ceiling stares back,
when something older than you
leans close and asks,
What are you waiting for?

The rich young man felt it too.
He stood inches from the one who is the way,
saw love looking straight through his polished surface,
heard Sell everything. Follow me.
And sorrow wrapped him like a cloak.
He walked away slowly,
each step measuring treasure against truth,
choosing the weight he already knew
over the freedom he could not yet carry.

We do the same in smaller ways:
scroll past conviction,
turn up the noise,
tell the Spirit Tomorrow, when life settles,
when the kids are older,
when the bank account breathes easier,
when I’m not so tired.

Tomorrow is a thief with soft hands.
It steals the present while promising more time.
And the heart, trained to wait,
grows skillful at waiting—
until waiting becomes habit,
habit becomes hardness,
and the once-clear voice
sounds fainter, not because it stopped,
but because the ear stopped turning toward it.

Yet here, now,
mercy has not moved.
The invitation hangs in the air
like light through half-open blinds:
Behold.
Today.
Not when convenient.
Not when you feel worthy.
Now.

He does not shout to shame you.
He speaks to save you.
Not to chain, but to unchain.
Not to take life, but to give it—
thicker, truer, forever.

Eternity has no clock.
No second chance waiting in the wings.
Only this breath,
this moment,
this door still ajar.

If the tug returns tonight,
do not brush it aside like lint.
Do not say Later.
Later is a country no one has ever visited.

Turn.
Answer.
Step through.

The vapor rises, thins, disappears.
But the hand that reaches for you
does not vanish.
It waits—
until it cannot.

Free Verse: Ancient Evil Unveiled in Modern Files: All Eyes on Jesus—Victory Already Won, Hope Unshakable by Debbie Harris

15 Sunday Feb 2026

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The world tilts sharp when shadows break open,
files spill like blood from old, sealed wounds—
names, whispers, horrors etched in ink and image,
childhoods stolen, innocence sacrificed on altars
of power, pleasure, and something darker still.
Cannibal whispers in the margins, ancient rites
dressed in modern suits. The stomach drops,
a pit yawns wide, familiar to some who walked
this road years ago, alone in the quiet knowing.

You feel it now—the spin, the sick vertigo
of realizing evil is not rumor, not metaphor,
but flesh and breath and deliberate cruelty.
It is not new. Cain’s hand trembled first;
Molech’s fires burned long before cameras clicked.
Since the garden’s fall, the serpent coils
through every age, wearing crowns, robes, smiles.

Yet here, in the reeling, a fork appears:
despair’s black river, or the narrow path
upward to the One who saw it all before—
who descended into the abyss itself,
carried the weight of every violation,
every tear forced silent, every body broken.

He did not turn away. He entered.
And on the third day, light cracked stone.

So run, dear heart, not from the truth
but through it—toward the steady flame
that no redaction can erase, no name can dim.
Let the heaviness press you lower,
until you find the Rock beneath the quake.

You are not alone in this awakening.
Prayers rise like incense for you,
for the shaken, the grieving, the newly sighted.
Evil roars, but it is wounded, mortal.
Jesus holds the gavel, the throne, the dawn.

Choose light. Speak gospel into the dark.
Live honor where shadows once ruled.
Let faith outlast the fear, hope outshine the pit.
The battle was won on a hill far off;
the echoes now are victory’s aftershocks.

All eyes on Jesus.
The darkness trembles.
The Light remains.

🤍✝️

Marvel of Marvels: Repentance Opens Heaven’s Arms and Seats Us at the Table as Sons and Daughters of God Most High by Debbie Harris

21 Sunday Dec 2025

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, salvation

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Summary of the Poem

Marvel of Marvels: Repentance Opens Heaven’s Arms and Seats Us at the Table as Sons and Daughters of God Most High

This poem celebrates the breathtaking miracle of divine grace: no matter where a person begins—whether in pride, comfort, sorrow, shame, self-sufficiency, or brokenness—a single moment of honest repentance instantly transforms them into a beloved child of God.

It emphasizes that no one earns this gift through merit, status, or effort. Everyone—rich or poor, proud or humbled, searching or lost—stands on the same level ground of mercy. In one turning of the heart, heaven’s doors swing wide, the Father rushes to embrace, and the repentant soul is not merely forgiven but fully adopted: welcomed, known, crowned, and seated at the family table as a true son or daughter of the King Most High.

The poem overflows with awe at this “marvel of marvels”—how the eternal God redefines us not by what we were, but by His boundless love, making us forever heirs in His kingdom. It is a song of wonder at the overwhelming, unearned intimacy and royalty that grace bestows the instant we say yes to mercy.

From halls of pride or streets of shame,
from comfort’s throne or sorrow’s chain,
one honest cry, one turning heart—
and heaven’s mercy rushes in again.

No merit weighs upon the scale,
no status earns the open door;
the proud, the poor, the seeking soul—
all stand the same on grace’s floor.

A single breath of true repentance,
a whisper turned to living faith,
and distance vanishes in light—
the stranger welcomed, fully embraced.

Behold the wonder: God Most High
stoops low to claim the wandering one;
not servant, slave, or distant guest,
but daughter, son—forever known.

From every nation, tongue, and story,
from every path that led astray,
the Spirit calls, the Father runs,
and crowns the repentant child today.

No longer defined by what we were—
by wealth or want, by strength or fall—
but redefined by love divine:
beloved heirs, and that is all.

Oh boundless grace that makes us royalty,
that seats us where the angels sing;
one moment’s yes to mercy’s call—
and we are children of the King.

Every Mountain a Jewel, Every Sea a Song: The Whole Earth Crowned with the Beauty of Our Saviour(Colossians 1:15–17, KJV) by Debbie Harris

12 Friday Dec 2025

Posted by in Bible Centered Poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational

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Colossians 1:15–17 (KJV)


Who is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of every creature:
For by him were all things created, that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers: all things were created by him, and for him:
And he is before all things, and by him all things consist.

The whole earth was created
and crowned with the beauty
of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

Every blade of grass
a thread in His royal robe,
every mountain ridge
a jewel set upon His brow.

The oceans roar His praise
in thunder-language of waves,
the forests lift green hands
and tremble with His name.

Sunrise spills molten gold
across the waking lands,
a daily coronation
for the King who holds the worlds.

Stars burn as candles
round His midnight throne,
and every breath of wind
whispers, “All for Him,
all by Him,
all through Him alone.”

The whole earth—
a single, shining diadem
laid at the feet
of Jesus Christ,
the everlasting Lord.
Amen.

May We Never Underestimate the Righteous and Holy Power of Our Risen Savior by Debbie Harris

26 Wednesday Nov 2025

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Summary of “May We Never Underestimate the Righteous and Holy Power of Our Risen Savior”The poem is a fervent, worshipful warning and celebration: Christians must never reduce, tame, or forget the full, awe-inspiring reality of who the risen Jesus truly is.It begins with a solemn charge—never to underestimate the holy power that conquered death itself. Christ is portrayed not merely as a gentle teacher or moral example, but as the sovereign King who silenced storms, shattered hell’s gates, and rose victorious from the tomb, bearing scars that are now emblems of eternal dominion.Stanza by stanza, the poem contrasts the limitless might and terror of His glory with the frailty of human pride, empires, and darkness. No night is too deep, no heart too hard, no kingdom too strong to withstand the light and love of the Risen One. Every knee will ultimately bow—not by persuasion, but by the undeniable authority of the Lamb who was slain and yet lives forever on the throne.The closing stanzas shift from warning to exultation, calling the soul to awaken and join the angelic anthem: “Worthy is the Lamb!” The resurrection is not a past event to be sentimentalized; it is the present, reigning, returning reality of the all-conquering Christ.In essence, the poem is a passionate plea to behold Jesus in His full biblical majesty—terrifying in holiness, tender in mercy, and absolutely unrivaled in power—so that we worship, fear, love, and live in the light of the One who lives and reigns forever.

May we never underestimate
The holy power that death could not hold,
The King who rose when the morning was late
And turned the grave to a gate of gold.

He spoke, and tempests forgot their rage,
He stood, and iron-barred darkness broke;
The chains of hell fell off like a page
Torn from the book that Satan wrote.

No night so deep but His dawn can rend,
No heart so hard but His love can move;
The proudest knee in the end shall bend
Beneath the scar that is crowned with love.

Let empires boast of their marble and might,
Let tyrants thunder and legions roar—
They crumble to dust in a breath of His light,
For Christ is risen, and reigns evermore.

May we never belittle or tame
The terror and tenderness blended as one
In Him who still bears the print of the nail
Yet sits on the throne when all thrones are gone.

Awake, my soul, and with angels cry:
“Worthy the Lamb upon Calvary slain!”
All heaven thunders the glad reply—
He lives, He reigns, and He comes again!Amen.