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Commentary
This poem was inspired by one of the accounts of Jesus’ interaction with his disciples after the Resurrection. Let me quote that at length:
While they were still talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.”
They were startled and frightened, thinking they saw a ghost. He said to them, “Why are you troubled, and why do doubts rise in your minds? Look at my hands and my feet. It is I myself! Touch me and see; a ghost does not have flesh and bones, as you see I have.”
When he had said this, he showed them his hands and feet. And while they still did not believe it because of joy and amazement, he asked them, “Do you have anything here to eat?” They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate it in their presence.
Luke 24:36-43 (NIV)
I’m not going to write the book that could be written about this passage. For that, let me refer you to an excellent book I was reading when I wrote the little poem:
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Commentary
OOF. I took a long walk with a wise friend yesterday. I tried out my interpretations of the world on him. Some of them he found wanting. For his intelligent honesty and other reasons he remains a VERY GOOD FRIEND.
On the other hand…. It is sometimes essential for me to strip away the excuses and alternate explanations for what strikes me as evil. I’m a poet, after all, not an apologist or diplomat.
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Commentary
A friend pointed out to me that in this poem, as in another recent poem (“Joyful Chagrin“), I may be going beyond anthropomorphizing or personifying nature, and am now flirting with a philosophical view called panpsychism. I had to look up the term, and sure enough, I do flirt with that view. It’s hard to escape when, for your entire life you have read about trees “clapping their hands,” and how “even the wind and waves obey him.”
The Title, “Matter’s Obedience” I tried a couple of inversions in coming up with the title. The first attempt was “Matter Loves God,” which is an inversion of the recognition that “God loves matter.” Then, I inverted “Obedience Matters” to the current title: “Matter’s Obedience.” Those two attempts are related. Obedience is an evidence of love.
Can the physical universe really respond to God in loving obedience? I’ll keep saying it can, until God tells me “No, silly Brad. But I love you nonetheless.”
(background image adapted from one by “wal_172619” on Pixabay)
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Commentary
This poem springboards from reading an argument that Jesus’ divinity is present in the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), not just in John. In the actual argument, Brant Pitre shows that Jesus did things that his first century Jewish observers would have interpreted as implying his divinity (see the comparison below, taken from p124 of Pitre’s The Case for Jesus). So the Synoptics implied what John stated.
Face of the Deep In using the phrase “face of the deep,” I am playing with the King James Version rendering of Genesis 1, verse 2:
And the earth was without form, and void: and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.
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Commentary
I often think of Stephen Crane’s poem that goes like this:
A man said to the universe: “Sir, I exist!” “However,” replied the universe, “The fact has not created in me A sense of obligation.”
A Man Said to the Universe by Stephen Crane
I have read this about Stephen Crane:
influenced by the Darwinism of the times, Crane viewed individuals as victims of purposeless forces and believed that they encountered only hostility in their relationships with other individuals, with society, with nature, and with God.
You can see that sense of hostility in Crane’s poem about a man addressing the universe. Perhaps you see it in my poem as well.
I’ll admit: I’m expressing a sense of isolation or alienation–perhaps even hostility–that I feel all too often these days. It’s akin to what Stephen Crane expressed. My sweet Christian friends will be quick to remind me of our shared faith in a loving, embracing God. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t express my occasional dark thoughts in poetry. Otherwise, how many Psalms would we have in the Old Testament?
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Commentary
This poem was inspired by a passage in Brant Pitre’s excellent “The Case for Jesus.”
Being a student in the ancient world was radically different from what it is like today, when it simply means you may (or may not) listen to a fifty-minute lecture three times a week for a semester. Being one of Jesus’ students meant following him everywhere, and listening to him all the time, for anywhere between one and three years.
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Commentary
In my crawl through the book of Acts, I’m to chapter 20, and I hit this passage:
On the first day of the week we came together to break bread. Paul spoke to the people and, because he intended to leave the next day, kept on talking until midnight. There were many lamps in the upstairs room where we were meeting. Seated in a window was a young man named Eutychus, who was sinking into a deep sleep as Paul talked on and on. When he was sound asleep, he fell to the ground from the third story and was picked up dead. Paul went down, threw himself on the young man and put his arms around him. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “He’s alive!” Then he went upstairs again and broke bread and ate. After talking until daylight, he left. The people took the young man home alive and were greatly comforted.
Acts 20:7-12 (NIV)
What’s the point of Luke’s account? Don’t sleep in church? God’s power was displayed through the Apostle Paul? It’s probably something along those lines, not the supposed “moral of the story” I suggested in the last stanza of my poem. But I couldn’t resist. I sent the poem off to three of my preacher friends. So far, they haven’t responded. They’re probably busy crafting succinct sermons. Good luck, I say!
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Commentary
This poem is my sour grapes version of the philosophical thought experiment “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”
Why sour grapes? Somewhere in this big world, there’s an audience for my poetry. But aside from a handful of kind family and friends, I haven’t found that audience. Moreover, my potential audience keeps getting smaller and smaller as my thinking about this world gets more and more idiosyncratic.
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Commentary
For now, I’ll just copy what I wrote on Facebook:
Susan tells me she’s glad I find comfort in writing. I think it’s called lament.
I don’t know about that last line. How can death be a disease? I tossed down this whole poem almost intuitively, not thinking deeply about my word choice. When that happens, I tend to trust my subconscious. There may be more there than meets the eye.
#changeordie #resistingchange #preferringdeath
(background image by Fernando Zhiminaicela on Pixabay)
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Commentary
There’s a Price to Passion
I respond powerfully when music is performed well. God bless good musicians!
Unfortunately, my response is equally powerful when music is performed poorly.
If you don’t share this powerful response to music, you may not understand or sympathize with the following….
Sometimes when I’m at church, I find it hard to worship. My body wants to move with the music, but doesn’t feel a groove. It may be a drummer who’s drumming to the beat of a different march. Or it may be guitarists and pianists who are stepping on each other rhythmically. My voice wants to harmonize, but harmony’s made practically impossible by off-pitch musicians or bad accompaniment. It’s a real struggle then to maintain my equanimity, much less worship.
You know who I really pity? Those with perfect pitch. How miserable is their journey through life?
(background image is Rembrandt’s “Saul and David”)
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Commentary
This poem comes out of reading Acts 19 (the riot in Ephesus), and contemplating what 21st-century white evangelical Christians could glean from the story.
Wouldn’t it be something if the Way actually threatened OUR comforts and privilege as it did the pagans in first-century Ephesus!
Consider this last paragraph from a 2019 piece by Washington Post columnist Michael Gerson:
Many white evangelical Christians hold a faith that appeals to the comfortable rather than siding with the afflicted. They have allied themselves with bigots and nativists, risking the reputation of the gospel itself. And, in some very public ways, they are difficult to recognize as Christians at all.
In my crawl through Acts, I’m to chapter nineteen. When you look up “Is there humor in Luke’s writing?” you’ll often be pointed to Acts 19 and the story of Sceva’s seven sons. Yes, there are serious considerations…. But in the context, this does strike me (no pun intended) as a story that amused Luke.
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Commentary
When you’re not an Anglican, but serving them in the soundbooth, and the priest comes up and says, “Just let the slides go black; come down and let me wash your feet.” Maybe next time I’ll be less duty-bound, and accept. It would have been a blessing, all around.
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Commentary
On two or three recent occasions, I have needed the word “extrapolate,” but couldn’t think of it. So, I had to resort to “compensate.” This morning, the word I was seeking popped into my mind, and I was so happy I wrote a poem.
It is said that Peter Mark Roget (1779–1869) made lists of related words partly to combat his persistent depression. Which of us hasn’t benefited from the resulting Roget’s Thesaurus? As you can probably guess, he was a brilliant and accomplished man. He also lived a long life. He was deaf by the time he died at age 90. I didn’t know that yet when I attributed my own prayer to him in the title of this poem.
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Commentary
One of the things I have been gnawing on lately is an observation that Christians sometimes refuse to acknowledge that we are sinners. When some intrepid preacher points out one of our common everyday sins,* some of us go out of our way to marginalize that preacher. It’s ridiculous. My theory is that we wish to hang on to certain sins.
I know some will read this poem and immediately think “Unwholesome!” a la Ephesians 4:29. We need to work on our understanding of that verse. It must surely have to do with the speaker’s (or writer’s) INTENT, be it to build up, correct, benefit… or be it merely to shock, and give the speaker/writer some undeserved attention.
My intent in writing this is for the reader to recognize himself or herself in their unspoken(?) complaint, and then to REFLECT: “Do I ever do what this poem speaks of?”
*Like racism. This is something we all struggle with. But I have seen and heard people claim that’s all in the past. Bologna!
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Commentary
Yesterday I read an article exploring why lay people often insist that we should not end sentences with prepositions. Linguists say we CAN do so in English, and that the rule came from a wrong-headed attempt to conform English to Latin.
I like French and other Romance languages. But I don’t like silly rules, such as the one that says you can’t end a sentence with a preposition, or that you can’t start a sentence with “but.”
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Commentary
This is a poem in search of a theodicy. It asks, “How is God good if only a small percentage of the men and women he created are to be saved from destruction?”
Let me put that more personally… This poem is an actual prayer. I want God, the Potter, to answer. I trust his goodness, but I wish for him to verify that his goodness is displayed even in pots being made for destruction.
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Commentary
My blood pressure was elevated this morning after the fitful sleep of a poet interpreting his world through metaphor. How fitting that I landed on a medical diagnosis.
THE IDEAL THAT IS SHORTCHANGED BY AUTOIMMUNE DISEASE:
So Christ himself gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.
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Commentary
My father was a theologian who spent his entire adult life thinking and writing about the Kingdom of God. Was he right or wrong about the Kingdom’s current status? I don’t know.
Maybe it’s like the Queen in “Through The Looking Glass” would put it: “You think this is the Kingdom? I could show you a Kingdom compared with which you’d call this a pile of manure.”
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Commentary
This poem may sound playful, but it really is a lament.
I listen to the podcasts of an Evangelical pastor who is working through his former allegiance to Evangelical beliefs and practice. He, like many of us, is distressed by the behavior of Evangelicals–make that White Evangelicals–in the past few years. Since our behavior has been so horrible, we’re forced to question our beliefs. One of his recent podcasts examined a belief that I still hold somewhat dear. Somewhat. Frankly, I am conflicted. The image of a leaky bucket came to mind as I considered my loss of confidence in this cherished belief.
I’m not going to go into details about the particular belief. Nor am I going to argue with anyone about what I perceive as horrible behavior by White Evangelicals. I’ll leave arguing for people who are good at it. The Holy Spirit is probably more convincing than I am. Right?
(background image is a mashup of the pail, by omnigrapher2016, and the stream, by lalami78, both on Pixabay)
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Commentary
On my way to church this morning, I was listening to “A Way With Words” on the car radio. One caller was asking about the interjections “Say!” and “Hey!” It dawned on me that my imagination has always shut down when someone says “Hay is for horses.” In my mind’s eye, I spelled out the homonyms: “hay” and “hey.” That’s when this poem was born.
(background image based on one by “12019” on Pixabay… with a little generative fill behind the horse)
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Commentary
This morning, after I awoke, and long before I got out of bed, I began imagining a travel guide for people visiting my island. In this guide, I would introduce travelers to three groups of people they’re likely to encounter: God-deniers, God-fearers, and God-danglers.
You’ve probably never heard of God-danglers. These people may or may not utter the curse “God dangle it!” In fact, many of them would be far too proper for something so close to profanity. The term “God-dangler” originally* referred to people who wear a chain with some form of religious pendant. And—this is important—they wear it AS a talisman. In other words, they think of God as their magic charm.
But a pendant is close to the heart, and it’s important to understand that God isn’t really close to the heart of God-danglers. That’s when it occurred to me that God-danglers sometimes dangle swords at their sides. Swords, like talismans, are something people rely on to get their way.
So there you have the complete history of the term “God-danglers.” These are people who don’t technically DENY God. They also don’t really FEAR God. Rather, they see God as someone they’d better dangle along to insure they get their way while getting’s to be got.
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Commentary
Slow music, even slow dance Are sometimes great But I’m sure you can relate: They’re not for me When I get up early And the night before, I stayed up late.
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Commentary
Once, long ago a hospital chaplain told me that the hospital is extra busy when there’s a full moon. I believe it. That’s why I looked up the moon phase when I wrote this poem. I was seriously thinking that maybe there was a full moon out there. But there wasn’t. So that’s not it!
Here’s a confession. That first line–My brain’s on patrol–is a clue that the real problem is in my mind. I went to work today dreading the return of a difficult patron. I’ll spare you the details so as to keep my job. Don’t worry…. I maintained my professionalism… on the outside.
It’s a good thing that Monday is a federal holiday, and that I work at a place that observes all holidays….
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To Be Published
I could become inscrutable, I suppose… Disclose despair By ripping off The clothes of grammar I have warmly worn Since I could dress myself.
A fugitive in Philistines’ Protection, I could let the spittle Punctuate my unkempt beard, ’Til readers feel They’re not alone As long they may have feared.
But what’s the point In publishing Some other poets’ lives? Better just to be My properly appointed, Boring self, A prude in others’ eyes.
— Brad Hepp, 12/29/2023
Commentary
I force myself to read poems that I don’t understand. It seems I’d need a decoding key to cipher why poets sometimes mangle grammar, and why they choose really odd line breaks.
I read these poems and don’t understand them at all, despite having been an English major, and despite having done almost seven years of graduate work after college. The poems make me feel stupid, and inadequate.
Maybe I should stop worrying about it, and concentrate on what God means for ME to do!
UPDATE What I’m grumbling about here is my sense that poetry seems to be honored in some circles only insofar as it obfuscates or even DENIES meaning. If you read the following short article about “Postmodernism Poetry,” you’ll recognize what bothers me. You may also be comforted—as I am—that it’s not that *WE* aren’t smart enough to understand those bizarre so-called poems, but that the POETS have abandoned reason. They really don’t think there’s anything TO be understood.
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Commentary
In my crawl through Acts, I’m still camping in Chapter 14. As always, I’m looking for how God works and how he thinks of things.
In this chapter, Paul and Barnabas get to Lystra. Right off the bat, Paul demonstrates God’s powerful kindness by healing a man who was lame from birth. The people of Lystra think that the apostles must be gods, come down in human form. They set out to worship them. But Paul and Barnabas set them straight.
WHAT’S THE CONTRAST? I’ve learned to look for contrasts in Luke’s story-telling. What’s he contrasting in this story? Most of us probably see him contrasting the fake gods of Olympus with the real God who created everything. That’s definitely there. But I think there’s something else.
A note in the NET Bible alerted me to a contrast between how fake gods leverage FEAR and how the living God operates out of KINDNESS.
Here’s the note: “In this region there was a story of Zeus and Hermes visiting the area (Ovid, Metamorphoses 8.611-725). The locals failed to acknowledge them, so judgment followed. The present crowd was determined not to make the mistake a second time.”
This business of the Lystrans trying to worship Paul and Barnabas as though they were Hermes and Zeus…. It’s out of FEAR. In contrast, everything that Paul does and says in this passage points to God’s KINDNESS.
REFLECT AND APPLY Read the passage with God’s kindness in mind. Then think about where God’s kindness is highlighted elsewhere in Scripture. Also think about where men oppose God’s kindness. Sometimes it’s people on “our side.” I think of Jonah, who should have known better. He didn’t want to go to Nineveh because he just knew God would be kind to Israel’s mortal enemies in Assyria (see Jonah, Chapter 4).
Now look at your life with God’s kindness in mind. What does that change? Can you see God’s kindness in your own circumstances? Are there opportunities to reflect God’s kindness in how you interact with others?
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Commentary
This is one of those poems that seemed pretty good in the morning, but not so good later in the day. Oh well. I think its goodness–if any–is felt most keenly when you’re seriously contemplating the long wait for Jesus’ return. Below is what I wrote when I had just penned the poem:
In my crawl through Acts, I got to chapter 14. Here, Luke surprised me with one of his occasional references to Jesus’ direct participation in the “Acts of the Apostles.” The fact that I registered surprise got me thinking about this long period now where we’re waiting for Jesus’ return. How are we to think of his seeming absence? I know the usual answer; is there more?
Please notice something…. I don’t usually capitalize “divine pronouns.” In this poem, it seemed useful for exploring relationships.
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Commentary
These days, I’m trying to get my head around Paul’s letter to the Romans. In the process, I’m trying to figure out how seeking glory is appropriate. What is glory? And what’s it like to attain glory? Is it “merely” God’s approval? It seems that would fall short of what we think of as glory. Or would it?
I know how horrible it feels to be accused, reproved, rejected. Can I imagine the opposite? This poem explores that notion. In short, I’m wondering if perhaps we all have a deep yearning for approval, and those who seek to satisfy that yearning by obtaining God’s approval are the ones Paul speaks of as seeking glory.
Consider these three verses from Romans 2:
To those who by persistence in doing good seek glory, honor and immortality, he will give eternal life.
Romans 2:7
[there will be] glory, honor and peace for everyone who does good: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile.
Romans 2:10
No, a person is a Jew who is one inwardly; and circumcision is circumcision of the heart, by the Spirit, not by the written code. Such a person’s praise is not from other people, but from God.
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Commentary
Let me get this out of the way…. I’m probably just not smart enough to understand a great deal of poetry. So this little poem of complaint may say more about me than about those poets I don’t “get.”
On the other hand, I really wonder sometimes if poets want to be understood. I DO want to be understood. That’s why I read my poems out loud, and write these commentaries. Does this mean everything I write is intelligible? Not yet, but that’s where I’m headed.
(background illustration based on a photo by Rene Rauschenberger on Pixabay)
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Commentary
I read somewhere that mental health experts have noticed a pandemic of loneliness in 2023. What happens in society happens to us. We’re not exempt. I certainly feel a sharp loneliness at times. Where does this come from? Can I fix it in my own life?
As I look around for answers, I am determined to be more strategic about friendships. There is just so much energy and time. I must work on what’s valuable, and resist what merely sucks.
(background image adapted from a photo by Peter H on Pixabay)
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Commentary
I was inspired to write this by a Facebook friend’s comment on my rambling, “thinking-out-loud” post about Acts 13:46, Romans, and how saving faith must surely be a faith that is thankful for eternal life. I’m telling you, the post was as rambling as that last sentence. But the Facebook friend bent her mind to my rambling and said, “Brad, I see what you’re doing here….” She went on to offer some tight restatements.
I sometimes think that God has given me exceptional eyes for beauty, and wants me to develop exceptional means to describe that beauty. Poetry and photography have been my go-to in fulfilling God’s purpose for me. But I recognize that my thinking is muddy. I don’t remember things. My vision of beauty is blurry. I need friends who can help me develop my descriptions of the beauty I see.
As I wrote this poem, I thought of two local friends, in addition to the Facebook friend. I texted them about how thankful I am for their collaboration. And I wrote the following to accompany the poem on Facebook:
I’m not sure there’s anything more beautiful than one person bending his or her mind to think WITH another person. The product may be all wrong, but the process is all right!
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Commentary
Here’s a little perspective on my rate of physical decay and spiritual growth. It was prompted by one of those slightly worried self-examinations: “Am I making any progress in becoming more like Jesus, or am I just fooling myself?” The answer–my answer, for what it’s worth–was this comforting poem.
AN EXCHANGE WITH SOMEONE VERY CLOSE TO ME HINTS AT THE CONTEXT:
THEM (regarding the poem): “Gut wrenching and amazing.”
ME: “Thanks. There’s something I really want to explore from my crawl through Acts. In giving his audience a summary of God’s dealing with Israel (Acts 13), Paul refers to Jesus’ resurrection as the fulfillment of His promise of a Son, who—unlike the first “son,” Adam—is no longer subject to decay. That, and any number of other reversals is what I look forward to in Eternity for myself and those I love.”
