A poem on 2 Peter 3:3-14.
The Scoffers come with laughter loud and dry,
“Where is the Promise?” they ask, and wonder why.
“For since antiquity, the world remains the same.
What storm or flame will end this ceaseless game?”
They will not see, though Waters carved the stone,
that Earth once Drowned and skies were not its own.
The Word that shaped the Heavens and the Deep
holds back the fire where Judgement’s fury sleeps.
But like a Thief, the Day shall come unseen,
and skies shall melt where stars once brightly gleamed.
The Earth, consumed, will show our Works laid bare.
What, then, remains but hearts prepared in Prayer?
For if the End should find us unaware,
how shall we stand before the Fire’s glare?
Should not our lives, like silver tried by flame,
reflect the One who calls us by His name?
We wait, yet hasten, for that Day of Grace
when Righteousness shall fulfill its rightful place.
Till then, the Scoffers’ voices fade to air,
and Steadfast Hope becomes our Daily Prayer.
The Lutheran Column 