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Commentary
I don’t think I’ve ever written a poem that stirred up as much emotion as this one stirs up in me. Today, I began reading a book* about a theologian who wrote extensively about beauty. This is a subject whose extreme importance I sense but cannot intellectually grasp. I thought maybe an introduction to Hans Urs Von Balthasar would help. So far, this book only serves to remind me once again how far my reach exceeds my grasp. I want to understand something essential in God, but the mind he has given me is insufficient for the task.
On the flip side of that frustration, there is this: Our beautiful Savior imprisoned himself in our limitations for a time in order to remove the worst of those limitations forever.
*The Cambridge Companion to Hans Urs Von Balthasar. It looks like I may have better luck with another book once I get my hands on a copy: A Key to Balthasar: Hans Urs von Balthasar on Beauty, Goodness, and Truth by Aidan OP Nichols
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Commentary
My commentary here is in two parts.
My Original Confusion (what I was thinking when I wrote the poem) In Luke 12, the tone of Jesus’ parables switches from reassuring to threatening. Just as the tone changes, Luke throws in a question from Peter:
Peter said, “Lord, are you telling this parable for us or for all?”
Luke 12:41
This is one of those seeming non-sequiturs that makes me sit up and ask, “What’s going on here!?” Luke doesn’t give us Jesus’ answer. Or does he? I don’t know yet. But I know that the passage makes me uncomfortable. Perhaps that’s exactly as it should be.
On Further Reflection (what I wrote on a subsequent day) You know, as I read through Luke 12 again this morning, I am getting a really different picture. How does Jesus describe the master (Himself) who returns at an unexpected hour and finds his servants being good to one another?
Blessed are those servants whom the master finds awake when he comes. Truly, I say to you, he will dress himself for service and have them recline at table, and he will come and serve them.
Luke 12:37 ESV
The picture is grim not for those good, Christ-like servants but for those who selfishly look out only for themselves.
Jesus doesn’t ask us to do anything more than He has done… or anything less.
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Commentary
Inflection points in life can be very good… or very bad. I experienced a major inflection point back in 2017, when I became my own boss. The years since then have been years of remarkable spiritual growth. My new freedom afforded ample time for frequent long walks where I listened through the Bible repeatedly, along with other inspiring literature. I spent more time with people who influence me for good. My eyes were opened to beauty I had never noticed in the world around me. I began writing poetry, which means that I began listening more closely to my heart. I watched my responses to fellow human beings, and noticed some deep-seated problems in myself. God has been fixing those problems, changing my heart. So the inflection point in 2017 was very good.
Right now, I seem to be at another major inflection point in life. Once again, it has to do with a career change. As I move through the coming five years, will I continue growing more like Jesus? If so, it will have been a very good inflection point. If not, it will have been very bad.
(background adapted from an image by “domeckopol” on Pixabay)
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Commentary
This poem is a lighthearted way of putting a serious problem: we humans often care more about being on the winning team than we do about accomplishing something that matters in the long run. We just want to win, to get our way, to come out on top. We race each other to the summit of Everest. There in the death zone, we plant our flag, and hasten to die.
(background image by Dimitris Vetsikas on Pixabay)
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Commentary
IT’S FRIDAY
My crawl through Luke brings me this morning to chapter nine. As everywhere in Luke, this passage is replete with metaphor, allusions, and strong undercurrents.
Although the word “sabbath” is not even mentioned in Luke 9, I am reminded of it in reading the account of the feeding of the five thousand.
On their return the apostles told him all that they had done. And he took them and withdrew apart to a town called Bethsaida. When the crowds learned it, they followed him, and he welcomed them and spoke to them of the kingdom of God and cured those who had need of healing. Now the day began to wear away, and the twelve came and said to him, “Send the crowd away to go into the surrounding villages and countryside to find lodging and get provisions, for we are here in a desolate place.” But he said to them, “You give them something to eat.” They said, “We have no more than five loaves and two fish—unless we are to go and buy food for all these people.”
Luke 9:10-13
People seem to generally think of Sabbath merely as a time of rest. Sometimes, they think of it as a time to get rested up for coming labor. I like to think of it as a celebration of God’s miraculous provision, a time when you relax and receive God’s bounty.
The Sabbath seems to be an inexhaustible subject. One thing I puzzle about is whether and how the Sabbath is supposed to inform everything that comes before. How does knowing that God will provide color the time before His provision?
AS FOR THIS FRIDAY
I’m glad that life’s challenges are not — and will not be — wasted on me. The Teacher brings those lessons lovingly.
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Commentary
Don’t be fooled by the playful image. The key word in this poem is “pretend.” There are many times when I realize that I’m not fully conscious of meaning in my own poems. That seemed like a sorry excuse for sloppy writing when I was younger. Now, I increasingly recognize that I don’t grasp so much as I am grasped.
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Commentary
In my crawl through Luke, I got to chapter eleven today. Jesus’ disciples seem a little concerned that they might miss out on God’s blessing if they don’t have the right technique. They say to Jesus, “Lord, teach us to pray, like John taught his disciples.” We sometimes concentrate on the components of “the prayer” that Jesus taught them, but the bigger point (as seen in the illustrations Jesus follows up with) seems to be, “God is good; just do it!”
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Commentary (A Facebook Exchange)
ME: (referring to the photograph above) No matter how many times I walk under these bois d’arc trees on my shortcut to the lake, it feels like I’m entering a special place, or embarking on an adventure. What are the magical places and moments in your life?
JOSH VAJDA: When I was a teen, we had 10 acres of forest and brush behind the house, with paths winding through. My favorite part of the walk was in the back corner on just the right winter’s day. After a hairpin turn in the brush, you walked along the side of a patch of older trees, which soon sharply turned right, inviting you inside, and winding so you could not see too far ahead. With a fresh blanket of heavy, wet snow, it was truly magical. The frosted pine and birch towered above, while the brush heavy laden hugged the path. The sun lit the chamber like a cathedral, and the snow smothered every sound except the crunch beneath your boots and the swish of your winter coat. Sometimes I would just stand in the center and soak it in as long as I could.
ME: Josh, you have written elsewhere about the importance of imagination. In the space set apart, the cathedral, we begin to imagine how everything could be different. As you describe that magical place from your youth, I want to map it out in my head. If I were sitting with you, I’d ask you to sketch the scene. I want to locate that cathedral and enter it myself. Those of us who have read Lewis think immediately of a wardrobe in an old professor’s house. But we should probably find our own wardrobes. Then, what is it we encounter in the set-apart space? To define it seems only to diminish it.
JOSH VAJDA: As usual, you are correct. I couldn’t help feeling it had a certain Narnian magic to it.
ME: This one’s for Josh Vajda (an echo of your elevated prose):
[Note: Josh Vajda kindly gave me permission to include our Facebook exchange in this post. Josh is an excellent thinker and writer. Check out his blog. For instance, this study of “The Sin of Sodom.”]
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Commentary
[NOTE: this could also be called “End of the Internet.” Anyone who has ever sought comfort in doom-scrolling may know what I mean]
I struggled for an hour to express this feeling and realization. I almost captured it in another poem, but that poem was too much of an abstraction. The simple truth is that I try to fill too much of my life with useless knowledge, and too little with useful service. It’s one hazard of being a poet, but I’ll not pretend that’s an adequate excuse.
So I hated life, because what is done under the sun was grievous to me, for all is vanity and a striving after wind.
Ecclesiastes 2:17 ESV
[NB: I almost always try to stuff more than one meaning into my poem titles. “End” in this title is intended to suggest two questions: where does knowledge get you, and what’s it for?]
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Commentary
FROM SASSY BOY TO CAKE DECORATOR
In my crawl through Luke, I’m to chapter fifteen. There are several celebrations in this section—and some people who don’t care to celebrate.
This morning, I’m reminded of family devotions at the Hepp house in Puebla. Before heading off to the seminary to teach, Dad would lead us in considering a portion of the Bible. We took turns reading. Then Dad would often say, “Now tell us what you just read in your own words.” If it was my turn, I’d just as often sass, “Why should I do that, given that it’s already in the best possible words?!”
Now, I’m grown up. I’m forever trying to put things in my own words, often in the form of poetry. Much of what I hear, read, or experience gets compressed and squeezed through the piping cone of my poetic mind. I’m like a cake decorator in training, looking for celebrations, looking for something to squeeze decoratively into my own words.
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Commentary
I woke up thinking, “It’s Saturday again. Already. Time is fleeting.” Then, I thought about other things that are sometimes fleeting, but should not be. Love and friendship make the passage of time tolerable. Their loss make its pain more intense.
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Commentary
Rest is not negligence, but it sometimes requires neglect.
This poem was inspired in part by looking at my cherished moss garden. Right now, it’s a mess. In fact, nothing worked right this year in the gardens I look out upon from my office window. I had to replace most of the moss in the garden because something killed it last year. Then, I didn’t keep up with weeding it. You see the results in the background photo. I failed to plant the annual vines that grow up on the trellis that covers the moss garden and is supposed to shade my office windows. The wildflowers that I planted this year didn’t bloom as they have in past years. It was a different brand. So, nothing worked. Soon the year will be done, and I’ll try again.
This is not my idea of how a fallow year should look. But maybe it is how a fallow year does look!
Is my garden a reflection of my heart? I hope not. In fact, I know that I have been paying closer attention than ever to what grows in my heart. I’ve been pulling weeds, amending soil, watering. The effects aren’t obvious yet, but maybe by next year, the gardens outside and the garden inside will both reflect the hidden growth of a fallow year.
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Commentary
Seriousness, kindness, and criticism. These are currents I negotiate in my daily swim. Always swim with a buddy.
Here’s how I explained this poem to an old friend: “Who you’re becoming matters for all eternity, so I will spend time and effort on our friendship now.” That’s the perspective I want to fully embrace.
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Commentary
Here’s the occasion for this poem…. I woke up in the middle of my night to a son coming home from a miserable shift bedeviled by a horrible manager. In my sadness for him, and my anger at the manager, I could not get back to sleep. So why “Listen Longer”? Deep down I know the Good Teacher never stops teaching.
When I wrote this, I was working through Luke 12. The returning master in Jesus’ parable wants to serve his servants, and is angered when his servants respond with selfishness, looking out for themselves and not each other. I begin to understand the master’s anger.
Also, the song that had been playing in my head is “Why It Matters” by Sara Groves: https://youtu.be/D32dlKv2x38
Here are the lyrics of that song:
Sit with me and tell me once again Of the story that’s been told us Of the power that will hold us Of the beauty, of the beauty Why it matters
Speak to me until I understand Why our thinking and creating Why our efforts of narrating About the beauty, of the beauty And why it matters
Like the statue in the park Of this war torn town And it’s protest of the darkness And the chaos all around With its beauty, how it matters How it matters
Show me the love that never fails The compassion and attention Midst confusion and dissension Like small ramparts for the soul How it matters
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Commentary
I wrote this poem in response to what I was seeing in Luke chapter twelve.
Luke wants us to pay attention to several things. Some of them I haven’t figured out (e.g., Luke’s repeated mention of the growing crowds). Some of them, I THINK I’m starting to figure out, like how Jesus valued the anticipated gift of the Holy Spirit. How much do I value—and rely on—that gift? What outcomes do I seek to ensure by other means? What storehouses am I foolishly building?
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Commentary
I understand that guitarists are sometimes told to “Shut up and play guitar!” This happens when they dare to express something that strings alone can’t convey. There’s a beauty so dazzling or darkness so diminishing that they must use words to SAY.
I recently posted a so-so snapshot* that was liked and shared more than just about anything else I have ever posted. The contrast between this and more heartfelt efforts was puzzling but predictable…. Every time I write a poem that I especially like, I can be sure there will be hardly any response. It’s as though I’m being told to “shut up and play.” But I won’t.
(background photo by Dionne Hartnett on Pixabay)
*Here’s the photo. It is not one of my better shots. Maybe what I wrote (below), or the hashtags caught people’s attention, resulting in it being shared 9 times.
What I wrote: This vista has lost a little of its charm since the trail was recently “upgraded,” but it’s still a highlight of every walk around White Rock Lake. If you’re walking around counter-clockwise, you haven’t seen the lake since you left Sunset Bay (a mile back). You have gained elevation after the Stone Tables. Then you round this curve, and start to see the lake ahead and below. For me, it’s like a first glimpse of the Rockies on a roadtrip from Texas to Colorado. You’re getting to the best part!
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Commentary
I wrote this for someone who worries that eternity would get old. Exploring isn’t the only source of lasting joy. Getting to know is good. So is having come to know.
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Commentary
I sometimes envy composers and conductors. But even they must long for a fuller, more perfect expression of what it means to be made in God’s image.
I don’t usually bother with rhyme patterns. For this one, I pushed myself a little, and it probably shows in the last two lines. “Which sadness serve” can be read in two ways: 1) music can convey sadness (“serve it up” as it were), and 2) music can serve to comfort sadness with its soothing salve.
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Commentary
The poem above really was occasioned by my frustration that I cannot brag on my wife Susan on social media. She won’t have it. I’d get banned. Oh well, I believe a day is coming when Someone better than me will sing her praise. Good luck banning Him!
Recently, my slow reading through the New Testament has me in the last few days of Jesus’ earthly ministry. Specifically, I’m in Luke 22, where I’m observing how Jesus prepared for — and carried out — what we now call the Last Supper. One of the elements that Luke describes is Jesus’ sharing a cup of wine with his friends the Apostles and saying to them
Take this, and divide it among yourselves. For I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.
Luke 22:17b-18
We see what took place at what we call the Last Supper. What will the Next Supper be like? There are hints. It seems that wine will be involved. If there’s wine, I like to imagine there may be some toasting. And in my flight of fancy, I can picture Jesus toasting us. That may sound shocking. Let me tell you why I go there….
God Brings Us To Glory
Here’s one of my favorite passages in the Bible:
In bringing many sons and daughters to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the pioneer of their salvation perfect through what he suffered. Both the one who makes people holy and those who are made holy are of the same family. So Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters.
Hebrews 2:10-11 NIV
Far from being ashamed to call them brothers and sisters, Jesus gave his very life to accomplish God’s goal of bringing believers to glory. Is glory a state or place where God alone shines, a state or place where humans who have been brought there merely witness God’s glory, but do not partake in it?
It may seem cheeky, maybe even blasphemous to contemplate Jesus sharing glory, praising mere mortals. But give it some thought, and I think you’ll come up with plenty of passages that point to this amazing reality. Let my hashtags bring a few to mind….
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Commentary
In my crawl through Luke, I have spent several days in chapter 22. It may just be my imagination, but it seems like Luke WANTS us to slow down here, like he has put a video in slow motion.
Verse 7 caught my attention, as though it were a title page in Luke’s video: “Then came the day of unleavened bread, on which the passover had to be sacrificed.” Since I have been watching for thoughts shared by Dr. Luke and his companion the Apostle Paul, I asked myself, “Is Luke consciously comparing Jesus to the sacrificial lamb of Passover?” I knew Paul does that.
I looked up the occurrences of “sacrifice” (θυω, thuo), that Luke used in verse 6. That led me to a passage in 1 Corinthians 5 where Paul is urging his readers to guard their moral purity:
Cleanse out the old leaven that you may be a new lump, as you really are unleavened. For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed. Let us therefore celebrate the festival, not with the old leaven, the leaven of malice and evil, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth.
1 Corinthians 5:7-8 ESV
Two things jumped out at me in the 1 Corinthians passage:
1) Luke’s friend Paul certainly thought of Jesus as the sacrificed Passover Lamb (I know that’s not news to most of my readers), and
2) There is a sense in which we are still celebrating the festival of Passover that Jesus and His disciples celebrated just before His death (“let us therefore celebrate”). That’s what prompted my poem.
So, I slow down in Luke 22. The story is still happening, monthly, weekly, daily. As long as it takes.
NOTE: I’m aware that the second-to-last line mixes pronoun case: “Him” and “they” can’t both be right here. So, do I fix it? For now I’ll let it go. Maybe there’s something to be gained by considering which case was correct!
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Commentary
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Matthew 5:5 NIV
It’s unsettling to look back on a lifetime of false confidence in man. I suspect most of us grow up thinking, “I’m one of the good guys. All that I possess was fairly earned, righteously taken.” But the more I learn about history, the more that fantasy is dispelled.
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Commentary
LET LAMENT BE
When we suffer loss, people often reach for metaphor, supposing it will comfort: windows being opened, gold refined of dross. But the view out a window is sometimes bleak, and gold in finished form not always something we would seek.
In plain terms, one of the themes I keep returning to in my poetry is a sense of loss, and how to deal with it. I think of Paul’s claim
12 I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. 13 I can do all this through him who gives me strength.
Philippians 4:12,13
Paul isn’t self-sufficient. Jesus’ provision of strength comes at least partly through fellow believers. The immediate context of Paul’s claim seems to be his thankfulness for financial support from the church at Philippi. But in the rest of the letter to the Philippians, Paul mentions other kinds of support. Notice the words and phrases in chapter 2: encouragement, compassion, comfort, looking to the interests of others, concern, having mercy, sparing from sorrow.
How do we participate in this mutual encouragement? What I’m suggesting in the poem above is that it starts with acknowledging difficulties. In order for any of us to support others in their grieving or loss, we need to first acknowledge grief or loss in ourselves, and let others do the same.
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Commentary
I am woefully behind in posting poetry to this blog. I wanted to go ahead and post this one while the emotion underlying it is still fresh.
My morning routine these days includes reading through the New Testament in Greek. It’s a slow process because I’m frankly not very good at it. But that has its benefits. Mainly, I’m slowed down by the process, and my mind has more time to mull over what’s being said. Luke has occasioned a lot of mulling. His Greek has struck me as more refined and elevated than what I encountered in Matthew and Mark. Even when I can’t pin down the reasons for his careful word choice, I can see that he’s doing SOMETHING interesting, generally to develop a theme.
When I write about my routine, I refer to it as “my crawl through Luke.” It’s slow, and it often feels like I’m a baby in my understanding. At least I won’t run out of things to explore in this lifetime!
My crawl through Luke brings me to the end of chapter 18 and the beginning of chapter 19. Luke is doing SOMETHING with this juxtaposition of two stories. One happens outside Jericho, and the other happens inside Jericho. Both involve men who cannot see. I have tried to imagine what it might have been like for those two men to become friends. In this poem, Zacchaeus is talking with the unnamed blind beggar….
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Commentary
Most dreams can be tossed. This one, I thought I’d better save. What does it mean?
The longer I write poetry, the more it seems to be a revealing of the subconscious. I had no control over the dream. But I did have control over how I described it. That the ghostly figure was “removed,” and that I experienced this as “loss” probably points to a sense of loss that haunts me these days.
What have I lost? What am I losing? Plenty. If it weren’t for the promise of eternal life, and a restoration of good things, maybe even the gold would have disappeared. But the gold remained.
(background adapted from image by Andrew Martin on Pixabay)
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Commentary
Slowly, slowly it dawns on me what artists, musicians, and dancers have been doing all along. Some of them speak a language I never learned. But I start to catch their drift.
I’ll try to expand on that…. King David wrote that
The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Psalm 19:1 (NIV)
When we witness something beautiful or magnificent, it points us to God. I’m not enough of a philosopher or theologian to defend that statement. It’s just something I sense or intuit, and increasingly so. Somehow, I am becoming more appreciative of beauty. It’s subtle: I watch someone dancing, or view a painting, and something deep inside me responds with joy. Even though I myself don’t speak the language of dance or of painting, I begin to recognize its words.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary)(background photo adapted from one by “ilamag” on Pixabay)
Commentary
When I try to shock myself and others out of our complacency, I usually discover that we’re well insulated.
I get the impression that the Gospel author Luke wanted to shock his readers. In story after story, he illustrates Jesus’ absolute demands on his disciples… and the disciples’ absolute compliance. The central passage may be this one:
So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.
Luke 14:33
In Luke’s account of how the disciples followed Jesus, we see that renouncing of everything. For instance, when Jesus calls Simon, James and John away from their career as fishermen, here’s how they respond
And when they had brought their boats to land, they left everything and followed him.
Luke 5:11
“Everything” — that’s more than I have renounced. And that makes me uncomfortable. What also makes me uncomfortable is how quickly my mind tries to supply excuses. You know, stuff like decorum, not being a burden on others, being “wise.”
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary)Background picture by Andy Sa on Pixabay
Commentary
Having attended a funeral yesterday, listening to Barber’s “Adagio For Strings,” and reading a sweet post about a charming lady… That’s where I was when these two words struck a melancholy chord. Some things demand eternity. Actually, many things demand eternity, especially men, women, boys and girls made in the image of God.
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Commentary
I’m slowly working my way through Walter Kaiser Jr’s “The Messiah in the Old Testament.” It’s one of the books my father was thinking through at age 86, shortly before he died. The margins are graced with Dad’s notes. Naturally, I’m reminded often of him and his devotion to the Messiah. Some fine day….
This poem reflects on something at once puzzling and confirming about the Bible: God doesn’t operate as we would. If we were arranging things for the eventual coming of the Messiah, we’d probably make sure his ancestors were admirable characters. Read Genesis, and observe what kind of character Judah was. Jesus’ ancestor was a run-of-the-mill sinner. On the other hand, Judah’s younger brother Joseph was a remarkable, admirable character. He’s the hero through much of Genesis. Again, if I had been writing the story, I’d have made the promised Messiah come through Joseph’s line, not Judah’s.
God doesn’t operate that way. Through the story he created, He says, “I promise to bring this thing about, and lest anyone should get the idea that man is clever, and earns what I give him, I’ll bring it about through normal, undeserving sinners.”
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Commentary
This is a dark thought. It compares our occupations with those of the rats that occasionally make noises in my attic. They don’t do anything useful for me, the homeowner. Rather, I always fear that they’re doing damage.
But the poem is also based in part on the hope of an awakening. More and more, I see people asking, “Why this infernal, fruitless gnawing? Is there not something better to do with life?”
Obviously, part of the problem this poem reflects on is a lack of community. Isolated from others, we are hard-pressed to find our purpose.
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Commentary
Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I listen to Anne Curzan’s The Secret Life of Words: English Words and Their Origins. This observation about capitalization is inspired by one of Curzan’s entertaining lectures. In talking about capitalization rules, she confesses that she has never figured out a good reason why “I” is the only pronoun that we routinely capitalize.
Linguists “keep it real” when it comes to language.
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Commentary
I treasure friends who can remember what they read and study. They serve well. But how about the rest of us? What’s the silver lining on a forgetful mind? This poem only poses the question, not an answer.
Teaching and Forgetfulness You’d think that by my age, I’d have come to terms with my limitations. But I haven’t, at least not fully. There are three things I ask God for on a regular basis: growth in 1) kindness, 2) discipline, and 3) ability to teach. How can I teach in any traditional sense, when I forget–or have trouble accessing–most of what I learn?! And If I DO remember, I discount my understanding so severely, that it’s practically useless. Nothing has convinced me that sure access to confidently-held facts is anything but a diminishing proposition. In other words, the more I learn, the more I recognize my ignorance!
Salvation and Forgetfulness I often think about what people mean by “salvation.” One element that stands out for me is being rescued from a descent into uselessness, meaninglessness. In the poem above, I allude to my hope that I will ultimately be rescued from this descent, that my Rescuer will restore meaning, explain the utility of current limitations, and set me on an eternally satisfying course. Then, salvation will be complete.
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Commentary
I suspect there is hardly anything more revealing about the condition of our souls than how we deliver criticism… and how we receive it.
I pray regularly for my own growth in kindness, the sort of kindness that lets others know they’re loved, not judged. To the degree that I love others as I love myself, I should be praying this for them as well!
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary)background image by Hans Braxmeier on Pixabay
Commentary
I lament that so many people (am I one of them?) are in constant “FIGHT!” mode. God bless those who demonstrate a better way: charitable peacemakers who understand that some things matter for eternity, and some things don’t.
The last line is unintentionally ambiguous. What I meant to ask was “Do you wish to beat people in arguments or to rescue them from peril?” When you say “Gotcha,” is it as a self-centered enemy, or as a God-honoring neighbor?
If it’s not obvious already, this is a re-framing of Jesus’ Good Samaritan parable.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary)
Commentary
It should come as no surprise that a poet thinks by analogy. This morning, I had some worrisome things in mind as I plodded through the end of Matthew. In the events surrounding the Crucifixion (as in countless other settings), Psalm 2 is played out:
Why do the nations rage and the peoples plot in vain? The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the Lord and against his Anointed, saying, ‘Let us burst their bonds apart and cast away their cords from us.’
Psalm 2:1-3 ESV
The analogy? I sat reading in the living room, facing the kitchen, and imagining how roaches would conspire at night (if we had them). They’d gather there on the kitchen floor and hiss their hateful plans. In the end, it isn’t about roaches, but about man. He’s meant to reflect a good, loving God, but often comes closer to reflecting despicable crawling creatures.
The Title I originally meant to title this “Night Crawlers.” But then I looked that up. Worms? No, that’s not sufficiently despicable. So I looked up “roaches” and found the scientific name for the ones we encounter here in Texas: Periplaneta americana. Perfect. The divisiveness, the constant warring, the plotting…. There’s definitely an American species of this global phenomenon.
(a recording of this poem and commentary)background photo by “eliza28diamonds” on Pixabay
Commentary
You Go, Brain! This poem is part of an ongoing experiment. Starting with a mundane thought, such as “I wonder if the fields near Van are ever covered with crimson clover like they were back in the 1970s,” I start writing a poem, as quickly and as fluidly as I can. The line breaks are intuitive. I trust myself with rhythm and rhyme. Trust is the thing. I want my brain to be at ease when it’s performing, to not be afraid of being judged. If the brain inserts some seemingly inappropriate nerdiness about nitrogen fixation, don’t stop it. Let the brain ramble. It may have more to say than I realize.
Does it Mean Anything? I’m generally old-school about authors and their intent. I expect what I write to convey a proposition. But the longer I write poetry, the more I realize that there are subconscious truths that emerge in our writing. In this poem, my unbridled brain conflated a plant–crimson clover–with a color of paint, and a farming practice–sowing cover crops–with painting. This suggests something to explore: Do we humans recognize the creation and expression of beauty as fundamental in our other activities? Do we know, deep down, that we are all artists in one way or another?
I sat on this poem wondering how I’d explain the weak understanding that it reveals. Then a friend messaged me out of the blue to thank me for being open and vulnerable. So here you go!
Understood, But Just Barely Having been a Christian from my youth, having studied theology, etc., etc., I “know” many things about Christianity. But it seems that the longer I live, the more I realize that I barely understand some of its concepts.
I talked about this with a friend, who teaches theology at the seminary level…. I confessed to him that every time I hit Hebrews 5, I flinch. This passage immediately follows the discussion of Melchizedek:
11We have much to say about this, but it is hard to make it clear to you because you no longer try to understand. 12In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again. You need milk, not solid food! 13Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. 14But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil.
Hebrews 5:11-14
“Elementary” Truths My friend, the theologian, pointed out that there’s infinite depth to the most simple concepts of Christianity. Admitting that I don’t understand something fully, is actually laughable. Who does?
I’m not going to say this is an easy poem. I wrote it, but am still trying to understand it! This may be a clue: I suspect that what my sister likes about the beach is what I like about the alpine trail: a vista — a perspective — that heightens or broadens our hope for godliness.
Here’s another way of expressing the longing:
Won’t it be fine When refining’s done, When what we love And what He loves At last are one!
–Brad Hepp, 3/6/2022
Reality This may be a simplistic view of religious hermits…. They live out the wish expressed in this poem. Removed from the irritations and challenges of society, they may think that they are being holy. But they are just living a fantasy. It is in dealing with irritations and challenges that God refines us and in our response that we are privileged to bring Him glory.
Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth’s smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!
For thence,—a paradox Which comforts while it mocks,— Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not sink i’ the scale.
from Robert Browning’s “Rabbi Ben Ezra.” The first stanza was my Dad’s favorite; the second is my favorite
We both calmed down, and I took a photo to prove it. But not before I wrote a poem* about the vicissitudes of duty. You see, I grew up with the following proverb:
A righteous man cares for the life of his beast. But the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.
Proverbs 12:10
For the Grammar Nerds Should it be “Old Cat and I,” or “Old Cat and Me“?
I or Me Some say the pronoun should be I, Some say me. From what I know of how I act, I hold with those who favor I. But if I could choose otherwise, I think we know enough of cats To say that their effect Is quite extreme On mortals such as me.
with apologies to Robert Frost
* That poem, “Duty in Retrospect,” was pretty raw, and I haven’t decided if it’s safe to publish. My response to bothersome cats brings up other bothersome issues.
