You’ve cast our souls into the night,
The frigid air assails our lungs.
What aid does Jacob’s ladder bring
When ice engulfs the rungs?

The pit of torment saps our strength,
But God, you’ve told us all ends well—
Your comforts are as far from us
As heaven is from hell.

A God almighty? God who’s good?
The both of these cannot hold true
So I in suff’ring shake my fist
‘Til one falls out of view.

Shall we go find another god
Who’ll meet us in our barren land?
Or strike me down for my complaint—
At least I’ll feel your hand.

The only strike that pierces through—
A whisper hardly heard aloud:
“Who told you I’ve abandoned you?
Who puts me on a cloud?

Be still and tell me can you feel
The clothes that on your bosom rest?
Alike the fabric you forget,
I’m woven ‘round your chest.

My first incarnate evening I
Was far more naked than was Job,
More naked still I breathed my last
So you could have my robe.

The garment that I give to you
Endures beyond the hide bovine.
To Adam gave I creature’s skin
But you, I clothe in mine.

Like leather I was beaten, stretched
To wrap your form—oh taste and see—
What I permit to strike your flesh,
It pierces first through me.

A mother’d rather lose an eye
Than let her infant cry alone!
Oh how much more I give my life
To suffer with my own.”

My God, I fear your words fall flat
As fumes of anguish still persist.
Yet if that’s where you dwell with us,
What flattens is my fist.

I must confess my heart has strayed
In search of salve from louder gods.
Can wealth or nation, health, career
Redeem me? They cannot.

My Lord, I cry out, can we trust
That all these things you will raise new?
Clothe us with sufficient grace
In pain to carry through.

An air-tight why for every trial
Perhaps I’ll never come to know.
But I know this—Immanuel,
You are my only hope.

© Tanner Rinke 2024