I am not wise,
Only baptized,
In ancient utterance
With antiquated voice.
Do not mistake articulations
Long-discarded,
The emissaries' understanding
Long-forgotten,
For my discerning left from right,
My knowing what ought from naught,
As if I am he who pierces
Shrouding cloud with arcing light.
No, I am not wise.
Only deep-immersed
In distant memories,
In longings long out-dated.
There is One
We knew and know and will know still,
Even a Son of Man,
Rightly wielding God's redemption.
Perfectly announced,
Perfectly pronounced,
His voice thunders;
The mighty cedars bow and break.
Though heaven saw his heart,
Caring not for outward frame,
The horn of oil lavishly was poured
Not upon his head
Where the diadem of peace sought rest;
Rather on his feet it fell,
To anoint him with our weeping,
To immerse him in our folly's depth.
We nailed him to a tree.
Its lifeless trunk and branches
Our lifeless tools constructed
To intersect the height and breadth.
Stripped, no sap of life
To fragrance forth with breath,
It was fashioned forth for death,
That he— not we— might die as fool.
I am not wise.
Yet unearned favor undeserved,
May reveal this dripping fool
Wielded wisely as his tool.
---
Surely I am too stupid to be a man.
I have not the understanding of a man.
I have not learned wisdom,
nor have I knowledge of the Holy One.
Who has ascended to heaven and come down?
Who has gathered the wind in his fists?
Who has wrapped up the waters in a garment?
Who has established all the ends of the earth?
What is his name, and what is his son’s name?
Surely you know!
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