Poems for Sunday, October 19, 2025 (Feat. IJ Makan)

Jeremiah 31:27-34, Genesis 32:22-31, & Luke 18:1-8

Photo by Ashley Batz on Unsplash

No Curtain Seperates
After Jeremiah 31:27-34

Where is the Ark of the Covenant?

It does not lie in a temple guarded by monks and priests.

Do you not know that the Eternal has placed His law within us, inscribed not on stone but on our hearts.

The ark is not a relic of the past to be sought out, but it resides in us. Our bodies are now the holy temples housing it.

No curtain separates the Holy of Holies from the mundane.

The Bridegroom and bride are one. In this union, we find our humanity.

The Eternal Lamb sacrificed Himself for our iniquities on the true altar. All the cosmos sings this profound melody.

Sacrificed on the sixth day. Resurrected on the eighth day. Marking the first day of eternity. How can we not rejoice?

We exist on the eighth day as living temples, carrying the presence of the Eternal within us.

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Peniel
After Genesis 32:22-31

“Peniel,” I whisper.

But how can man see the face of God and live?

This flight up the mountain is fraught with struggle. My youthful strength begins to fail the closer I draw towards the Light.

I’m breathless under the weight of Light. You permeated the air; with every inhalation, I see more. Yet my eyes cannot open to this blinding Light.

Your brilliance sears me.

Shall I give up now and turn back?

Not unless the Light banishes me into darkness forever. I do not seek transient glories—what are they but husk blowing in the wind?

I seek only to see the Pure Light, that which preserves this very cosmos.

And I would rather go blind than have eyes attuned to darkness.

Do you hear my cries? My hands are burning as I clutch the Light. My flesh is charred, and my hip is out of place.

But shall I let go now? I will not let go until you ask my name. You would have to set me aflame; even then, my ashes would cry out.

“What is your name?”

So I descend the mountain with a limp.

Awestruck and terrified, I cry out, “Peniel.”


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Awakening
After Luke 18:1-8

Hear me, Creator of Souls, abandon me not in the darkness. Even when my voice is broken, you are nearer to me than my own heart.

But now the wicked are encircling me. Their shadows looming like a winter storm.

They have taken my voice, leaving me with only the faint echo of my own breath.

The air has frozen now, heavy as lead, pressing down on my lungs. The cold suffocates the warmth of hope. Yet in this desolate silence, a melody emerges.

This desert flute sings my prayers like the last embers of a dying fire. It carries them to places untouched by human feet, beyond the valley of the shadow of death.

I pray not for the destruction of the wicked, but for their hearts.

May your justice strike like lightning. Awakening from these ashes, a love that burns their frozen hearts.

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About this week’s contributor: IJ Makan is a liturgical artist and the creator of Becoming Antifragile, a platform distilling timeless wisdom on love, meaning, and happiness. He lives in Ottawa, Canada with his wife and kids.