I Rise

The pastor at the church I attend gave a sermon about Christ rising from the dead and worked into talking about when someone cuts you down and how you can rise from that. I was trying to import it into my itunes and the sermon started playing. I didn't stop it and just listened as I worked on the computer. He mentioned the Maya Angelou poem I have pasted at the end of this post. He spoke the line "You may trod me in the very dirt, But still, like dust, I'll rise." And as he said that he stomped his foot on the floor and I could imagine the dust rising.

I love those moments when I am unaware and unexpectant and suddenly I realize I am in the middle of hearing the answer to the question I have been praying about.

I have attached the audio link to the sermon. It is titled CSI Jerusalem.

http://www.c2all.com/public/fileshowgroup.asp?ID=100561&fID=1857


Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Maya Angelou