This is the Spirit of Truth

Haiku of promise

Spirit, advocate,
mystery God at our side;
within and without.

Spirit of truth who
abides in each open heart;
gift from the Father.

Spirit of Jesus;
among us, unseen presence,
sharing risen life.

Divine indwelling;
the Son in the Father,
the Spirit in us.

It’s all about love;
thus the Spirit recalls us
to Jesus’ commands.

You who follow me
will prove it,
Jesus told them.
Love will be the sign.

I will be with you,
I will show myself to you;
we will dwell in love.


© Ken Rookes 2017


The dead do not commonly return to life.

The laws of nature,
gravity, motion, molecular forces,
the rotation of the planet,
the limitations of light’s velocity,
DNA’s blueprint,
time’s one-way direction,
and the cycles of life, death and new life,
seem to be upheld punctiliously
by the creator of the universe.
The dead do not commonly return to life.
The resurrection of our Lord
is held to be the exception;
and who knows what actually happened
on those few occasions
when he is said to have raised the dead.
Even his own risen appearances
are matters for speculation;
feel my wounds / touch me not /
now we see him / now we don’t.
We need to sit with the mystery
and embrace the uncertainty;
assured only that he who died
is strangely with us,
and that his Spirit is here
loving us into life and risk.
© Ken Rookes


Grasping after the ungraspable
mysterious God,
who allows God’s-self to be glimpsed
touched, known and argued with
in the very human Son of Man,
as he walks dustily and hungrily
along lonely paths;
stepping among anxious people
who press insistently and demand answers.
Reaching after elusive meaning
in a world that weeps, mourns,
confounds and hides;
in which the surprising Spirit
of a strangely gracious God
emerges from human shadows
to disturb and shake.
She affirms the doubting,
lifts the faltering
and breathes stillness into the fear.
Always this servant Spirit comes
to brush tender tingling life,
hinting at the mystery
of the three-personed God
in whom all things have their beginning;
and their end.

© Ken Rookes


In the breaking of bread

In the breaking of bread
the Lord is known.
The human-shaped God
takes the hospitality of heaven in his hands
and distributes it to his friends.
“This is for you,” he says
looking into the eyes of the hungry.
“This food is me. Take me deep inside
your eyes, your head, your heart and your belly.
Take me into your dreams and your struggles,
your fears and your waking thoughts.
Take me deep into your cryings
and your rejoicings. Take me as you journey
towards the wonder of love
and the mystery of grace.
Find me deep within your sharings,
your yearnings, your laughings,
and the fullness of your life together.
See me with you in the loneliness of dark night
and when you close your eyes
against the blinding light.
See me; even when I disappear.
This is for you,”
he says.
© Ken Rookes

The edge of his cloak

The edge of his cloak
was enough;
the slightest brush of cloth
against the eager hand,
the faintest flicker of light
within a darkened place,
the smallest whisper
amidst the clamour,
the softest rustle of a breeze
among the fallen leaves,
the briefest glance of recognition
in a room of strangers,
the gentlest sigh,
the tiniest touch,
the least shiver of presence.
The edge of his cloak;
it is enough
for the healing
and the living
and the singing.


Ken Rookes


Another poem about this story can be found here