You were a miracle of conception, brought forth from nothing, an act, the energy of human will, wailing, and birth. Every work of your being was conformed to an unseen image, written forth as an unwinding thread, thinly drawn from the life that marches between all the order of celless atoms and formless voids. You walk the path paved by every father, daughter, mother and son before you, why fear?
Why do you cry at your death, fret and worry at this cloud?
This is what you are, a cloud, a margin forming out of nothing, vapor rising forth in trails of blood toe to head. This existence is the favor of perfect order in every threaded molecule. Nothingness is not far from you, yet you are here, screaming, beating against it with the same thin heart beat that you had six weeks from your conception...
This will pass, but will you know something more than this life?
What is it that holds you here, still, alive against the dark face of nothing?
Ask,
turn,
and face the question.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
In the Evening, Remember
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Rare Life
Sewn, rooted, flung
Systematically Vibrant
Colorfully collected
Filling and overflowing, consuming and reproducing
Violently unique
All freckled and folded
It grasps, moves full of hope
Urging forward, outward
Then gives forth itself
Begetting again
Life
Life knows its own preciousness.
To Ends and Deeps it reaches out
And the Earth bears forth its abundance.
Sings, soothes, feeds, kills and destroys, and yet again is reborn
Life flows on
Tuning itself to an unknown melody
Bound and boxed in by nothing, eternally creative
Its vibrant voice calls forth:
Echoing hard knowledge even from its darkest forms,
Murmuring truths to captive minds
Life speaks on
Carefully hold it
Guard it and know it,
Use it, create with it
Speak of it and name it,
Open it and see
The Heart of Me
Systematically Vibrant
Colorfully collected
Filling and overflowing, consuming and reproducing
Violently unique
All freckled and folded
It grasps, moves full of hope
Urging forward, outward
Then gives forth itself
Begetting again
Life
Life knows its own preciousness.
To Ends and Deeps it reaches out
And the Earth bears forth its abundance.
Sings, soothes, feeds, kills and destroys, and yet again is reborn
Life flows on
Tuning itself to an unknown melody
Bound and boxed in by nothing, eternally creative
Its vibrant voice calls forth:
Echoing hard knowledge even from its darkest forms,
Murmuring truths to captive minds
Life speaks on
Carefully hold it
Guard it and know it,
Use it, create with it
Speak of it and name it,
Open it and see
The Heart of Me
Monday, December 12, 2011
Since everyone else is commenting on Tebow...
From an article I read that comes from a secular perspective:
"The crux here, the issue driving this whole "Tebow Thing," is the matter of faith. It's the ongoing choice between embracing a warm feeling that makes no sense or a cold pragmatism that's probably true. And with Tebow, that illogical warm feeling keeps working out. It pays off. The upside to secular thinking is that — in theory — your skepticism will prove correct. Your rightness might be emotionally unsatisfying, but it confirms a stable understanding of the universe. Sports fans who love statistics fall into this camp. People who reject cognitive dissonance build this camp and find the firewood. But Tebow wrecks all that, because he makes blind faith a viable option. His faith in God, his followers' faith in him — it all defies modernity. This is why people care so much. He is making people wonder if they should try to believe things they don't actually believe."
http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/7319858/the-people-hate-tim-tebow
Oddly, I think this could be said about what Christ has done for us. What we thought foolishness has now become wise and what was holy, other, different and unknowable has become one in empathy with us. I hate to trivialize Christ by comparing him to a modern popular figure, but I do think there is some value in recognizing parts of who he is through applicable, modern realities. When Christ tells us "take up your cross and follow Me," doing so would have seemed foolish to us before, but by becoming human and going before us, he has made us believe in that thing we actually could not believe in or act on before.
My favorite Christmas hymn has a verse that speaks to this:
Filled with mercy for the broken man
Yes he walked my road, and He felt my pain,
Joys and sorrows that I know so well;
Yet His righteous steps, give me hope again -
I will follow my Immanuel!
From the Squalor of a Borrowed Stable
P.S.
I am one of those hard core stats people, but I think I know that like life, sports mean nothing unless they reach somewhere deeper than simply the logical. Life was never meant to be lived, expressed, and experienced with only an empty pragmatic mind, or God would never have been able to simply say to his disciples, "drop all your stuff and come follow me."
"The crux here, the issue driving this whole "Tebow Thing," is the matter of faith. It's the ongoing choice between embracing a warm feeling that makes no sense or a cold pragmatism that's probably true. And with Tebow, that illogical warm feeling keeps working out. It pays off. The upside to secular thinking is that — in theory — your skepticism will prove correct. Your rightness might be emotionally unsatisfying, but it confirms a stable understanding of the universe. Sports fans who love statistics fall into this camp. People who reject cognitive dissonance build this camp and find the firewood. But Tebow wrecks all that, because he makes blind faith a viable option. His faith in God, his followers' faith in him — it all defies modernity. This is why people care so much. He is making people wonder if they should try to believe things they don't actually believe."
http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/7319858/the-people-hate-tim-tebow
Oddly, I think this could be said about what Christ has done for us. What we thought foolishness has now become wise and what was holy, other, different and unknowable has become one in empathy with us. I hate to trivialize Christ by comparing him to a modern popular figure, but I do think there is some value in recognizing parts of who he is through applicable, modern realities. When Christ tells us "take up your cross and follow Me," doing so would have seemed foolish to us before, but by becoming human and going before us, he has made us believe in that thing we actually could not believe in or act on before.
My favorite Christmas hymn has a verse that speaks to this:
Filled with mercy for the broken man
Yes he walked my road, and He felt my pain,
Joys and sorrows that I know so well;
Yet His righteous steps, give me hope again -
I will follow my Immanuel!
From the Squalor of a Borrowed Stable
P.S.
I am one of those hard core stats people, but I think I know that like life, sports mean nothing unless they reach somewhere deeper than simply the logical. Life was never meant to be lived, expressed, and experienced with only an empty pragmatic mind, or God would never have been able to simply say to his disciples, "drop all your stuff and come follow me."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)