In the evening, the wild wideness of light's colors casts forth a last decree of the sun's beauty. Dark silhouettes of leafless trees leave hearts hungry for something they had missed when the trees stood in lights fullness. The dying light calls forth the worshipping side of man, and we wake up to the light and call after its going, aching for it to stay. We remember its true beauty just as we remember the true beauty of the elder who we love when we see them withered and dying, their life's past glory burning in our hearts in a way we had never known.
I stood in his light ungratefully. I saw him and knew him, saw him and did not esteem him. I did not praise nor beg nor ask nor listen, I went on with life as life was to be on with. But now I see him pass, and my heart cries out to him and praises the beauty I had forgotten. His last light casts itself on those around me leaving only the shapes of things previously known in full. These I knew, these true and beautiful ones I knew but never loved. All the shades of his light were known before, but undiluted I had never honored nor recalled them. The dying, suffering light sets, and my heart breaks and waits. Then I remember:
He has bound himself to his cross. And by his cross he binds himself to us like the sun has tethered itself to the earth. He will arise, and I will see his face and know his grace once more.
May Your dying and reviving always be in our hearts. May Your dawning and evening meet us new every day renewing our remembrance of who You are and what You have done.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Sunday, February 19, 2012
An Honest Poem
The Lion and a Lamb
The rain fell for a fourth day
deluding the rhythm of cars and lights.
Driving from the church
my Camry rolled to a halt.
A Lexus was stopped alone against the curve.
"Just like mine only dressed in luxurious turns."
In it, Idling in the opposite flow,
A lonely lady hid in sheets of acidic rain.
She sat bent low
holding the steering wheel with withered arms.
Her hair shorn like a lamb before slaughter
and her head wrapped in blood red silk.
Her weeping cries bayed into the sobbing windows and
drowning rain.
My lion's heart felt her dread.
A lifeless life bearing
tumors in her womb
carrying her towards those four mourners
in a green field with grey stones.
But in the cage of plastic and glass
the lion held.
His burning brown eyes looking through mine
His tears I tried to blink away.
The light turned green and on I drove,
forever silent on a still rainy day.
The rain fell for a fourth day
deluding the rhythm of cars and lights.
Driving from the church
my Camry rolled to a halt.
A Lexus was stopped alone against the curve.
"Just like mine only dressed in luxurious turns."
In it, Idling in the opposite flow,
A lonely lady hid in sheets of acidic rain.
She sat bent low
holding the steering wheel with withered arms.
Her hair shorn like a lamb before slaughter
and her head wrapped in blood red silk.
Her weeping cries bayed into the sobbing windows and
drowning rain.
My lion's heart felt her dread.
A lifeless life bearing
tumors in her womb
carrying her towards those four mourners
in a green field with grey stones.
But in the cage of plastic and glass
the lion held.
His burning brown eyes looking through mine
His tears I tried to blink away.
The light turned green and on I drove,
forever silent on a still rainy day.
Friday, February 17, 2012
We are jaded
Sometimes I have epiphany moments where life suddenly feels utterly vibrant. Every smell and sound becomes mystically relevant and every scene seems new and meaningful. I do not remember what my childhood was like, but in a way when I have these moments I feel I have become a child again. The world breathes mystery into my heart and I look around with curious eyes wondering what this really is. The rustle of a robin in the in low ivy makes me wonder at its story; the movement of my feet and the soft feeling of clover and grass begs me to see something more than just my inner thoughts. Instead of looking inward towards my wants and needs, the voices and styles of the world around me draw me away into a world that is all too real and wonderful.
My favorite word has for a while been the word 'jaded.' I love the odd flowiness of it and its root reference to a beautiful stone. But its meaning is what really gets me, Webster defines it 'as made dull, apathetic, or cynical by experience.' Most of us are jaded. We are thoughtlessly wasteful of the joy and wonder of being selflessly aware of the world and others in the world. Even if we are aware we are only aware of it in reference to what it has to say about us, who we are and how we are viewed. The weariness of our self life has made our eyelids too heavy to see the world we have been given; we were born heirs to a world of wonder and life yet our lives of self have borne us far away from the pleasure of being in this world and a part of its beauty.
Yet again Christ says: "Come to me all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
For the burden we bear is ourselves and the yoke we take up is Christ's cross. How telling is it that Christ's cross is a lighter burden to bear than our own selfishness? Christ tells us elsewhere that to know him we must become like little children again. And in becoming children we cast aside our jaded perspective and renew a right view of the gift we have been given.
My favorite word has for a while been the word 'jaded.' I love the odd flowiness of it and its root reference to a beautiful stone. But its meaning is what really gets me, Webster defines it 'as made dull, apathetic, or cynical by experience.' Most of us are jaded. We are thoughtlessly wasteful of the joy and wonder of being selflessly aware of the world and others in the world. Even if we are aware we are only aware of it in reference to what it has to say about us, who we are and how we are viewed. The weariness of our self life has made our eyelids too heavy to see the world we have been given; we were born heirs to a world of wonder and life yet our lives of self have borne us far away from the pleasure of being in this world and a part of its beauty.
Yet again Christ says: "Come to me all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
For the burden we bear is ourselves and the yoke we take up is Christ's cross. How telling is it that Christ's cross is a lighter burden to bear than our own selfishness? Christ tells us elsewhere that to know him we must become like little children again. And in becoming children we cast aside our jaded perspective and renew a right view of the gift we have been given.
Monday, February 6, 2012
By Hearing with Faith
Gal. 3:2: "Let me ask you only this: Did you recieve the Spirit by works of the law or by hearing with faith?"
Our life in Christ does not begin with our action nor does it continue nor depend upon the working and doing of our hands and feets, but rather in the receiving and hearing in faith of the spirit and word of Christ. When we attend church or pick up our Bibles or kneel down in prayer or commune in fellowship with other Christians, it is not an act of obligation but the real gift of life. Any activity in Christ only begins when these things become joys, our bread of life. The consequence of our receiving of these gifts in faith is the fruits of true faith, the bearing forth the fruits of the Spirit of Christ.
The gospel is not meant as a one time rite of passage into the christian faith, but rather the message spoken to our hearts over and over again repeating the everlasting truth of the love and grace of Christ that quite literally breaks our hearts of stone and continually reminds us where to look when we struggle with our rusty, broken lives. Forgetting is our forte, remembering Christ daily is the beginning of our abiding life in Him.
Our life in Christ does not begin with our action nor does it continue nor depend upon the working and doing of our hands and feets, but rather in the receiving and hearing in faith of the spirit and word of Christ. When we attend church or pick up our Bibles or kneel down in prayer or commune in fellowship with other Christians, it is not an act of obligation but the real gift of life. Any activity in Christ only begins when these things become joys, our bread of life. The consequence of our receiving of these gifts in faith is the fruits of true faith, the bearing forth the fruits of the Spirit of Christ.
The gospel is not meant as a one time rite of passage into the christian faith, but rather the message spoken to our hearts over and over again repeating the everlasting truth of the love and grace of Christ that quite literally breaks our hearts of stone and continually reminds us where to look when we struggle with our rusty, broken lives. Forgetting is our forte, remembering Christ daily is the beginning of our abiding life in Him.
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