“The Fire and the Flood” by Micah Siemens
— A meditation on Romans 5–8
By one man’s fall, death stalked the land,
But grace arose with open hand.
Where sin increased, love overflowed,
A second Adam bore our load.
Through Christ, the gate of life swung wide,
We died with Him—were crucified.
The flesh, that old rebellious throne,
No longer claims my heart its own.
The flesh—this self that loves its way,
That takes, then turns, and won’t obey—
It knows the law but twists the call,
Pretending freedom, bound in thrall.
But Spirit—oh, the breath that moves—
It lifts the weak, the will improves.
It speaks in groans too deep for speech,
And guides to heights the law can’t reach.
To walk by Spirit is not vague,
It’s how I turned when shadows plagued.
I didn’t pray—I clenched, I wept,
But still, the Spirit gently stepped.
He woke me in the morning’s hush,
When guilt had hardened into crust.
He whispered truth through aching bones,
And found me in my trembling groans.
No haloed dream, no shining light,
Just quiet strength to do what’s right—
To love the one I longed to scorn,
To lift the one I’d once ignored.
He drove me to forgive my dad,
Though wrath within me boiled and spat.
He held my tongue when pride would gloat,
He loosed my hands from shame’s old coat.
So why not sin, since grace is free?
Because I’ve died—I’m not that me.
I feel the war, the pull, the clash,
The law of sin still strikes and thrash.
But Spirit’s law is wind and flame,
It knows me, yet it loves the same.
It cries, “Abba!” when I fear,
It draws me close when shame is near.
I walk by Spirit—not by pride,
Not to be safe, but sanctified.
For flesh is death—I’ve known its sting,
But Spirit gives my dry bones wings.
“The Olive Tree” By Micah Siemens
— A meditation on Romans 9–11
The Potter molds both clay and flame,
He shapes the heart, He calls the name.
Some vessels rise to mercy’s song,
While others bear their judgment long.
Is this unjust? The cry goes out—
But who are we to charge or doubt?
He chose through Isaac, not through strife,
He called through Sarah’s promised life.
Not birth, nor will, nor human might
Can spark the flame of sovereign right.
Yet still He waits with patient fire,
His wrath restrained, His love entire.
A remnant saved, though few they be,
Their roots sink deep in mystery.
Not all who claim the ancient tree
Are sons of grace or heirs made free.
But oh! The Gentiles, once estranged,
Now grafted in—the lines are changed.
The ones who sought not righteousness
By faith were clothed in heaven’s dress.
While Israel stumbled, chasing law,
Their zeal was real, but filled with flaw.
Yet still, their fall is not the end—
Through Gentile grace, their hearts may bend.
The root is holy—Abraham’s seed,
And Gentile branches now take heed:
Stand not in pride, but trembling trust,
For God cuts off the proud and just.
The gifts and call He won’t revoke,
Though hearts grew hard, and warnings spoke.
Their disobedience made way
For mercy’s flood to have its day.
O depth of riches, wisdom, grace!
Who dares to grasp His hidden ways?
From Him, through Him, to Him are all—
Let every pride and boast now fall.
