Matt Saunders

Muscle and spirit

Marked by the cross, he is muscle and spirit
 
it is the earth and heaven
 
in the veins of this man, here he stands
 
Matt who is muscle and spirit
 
Marked by the cross, he is gentle in spirit 
attentive too
 
his spirit plans for and plans with
it is a spirit that yearns to sink into living
 
… but not for himself… but for those he loves 
 
it is three others his spirit loves, with every muscle, he loves
a wife and two children
 
Marked by the cross, he anxiously wonders, “will the muscle in my chest
hold? is it dependable, this muscle of flesh, pumping blood? will this 
muscle pulse and beat as long as his spirt loves in gentleness? 
 
It must. It must. Do not fail in this decade or the next, nor the next yet

But not for his sake but for those he loves, for the sake of the nearness 
that is unquenchable to his muscles and the desire of his spirit
 
With each muscle and spirit, he let's two of them go. He sees them off. 
 
Depart, so you might return bound even more fully in spirit and muscle 
to his wife and his soul. 
 
Bring back more to love and play with and care for. Grow our union, 
deepen our connections. Bring more and this gentle man will make 
games for them, games played with muscles but that bind in spirit. 
 
This satisfies him completely. This makes him full.  
 
But the end… it will come. the mark of the cross is the confession 
that the end it is real and it is dreaded
 
The end is when spirit is lost and muscle fails. 
 
It is no game, but the games that bring union and connection can
steady muscle and deepen spirit for the coming. The end will come, 
and this confession of its inevitability, bends his knee to the cross, to 
allowing the crosses dusty dirt to mark and claim him. 
 
It is his hope. it is his gravity. 
 
For all who call him friend and pastor, 
he is here, here marked by the cross. 
 
the muscle of union holds. Spirit of connection sure. 
 
Muscle and spirit, beat and reach. 
 
The Holy Spirit who by the command of the father, makes of 
the son flesh, he, this one of the cross, is the union that 
makes all ends new beginnings, He makes games of joy 
of death itself. He makes death his playground, those marked
 by death are made, through its dark portal, children of God. 
 
This son of flesh—of muscle and spirit—who goes to the
cross, marks us all, giving his own Spirit to our muscle so we 
might play forever in his eternal union. Not in a game of
frolic but of celebration for all dust of muscle is made new 
by the Spirit of eternity. 
 
Behold, here is Matt, marked, as witness, 
from head to toe, by the cross.