(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
For several weeks now, I have been camping out in the last several chapters of Acts and 1 Peter (before breakfast and on my lunch walk, respectively). Meanwhile, I am suffering some trials. This poem/prayer is a response to what I’m reading and thinking and living.
Here’s an exchange I had about this poem with someone I deeply respect:
Debbie Johnson: There is so much chaos, so much pain littering a landscape made for beauty & wonder.
Me: Well-put! And yet the suffering that results is—inscrutable to me—a major part of restoring that landscape.
Debbie Johnson: Yes! And as CS Lewis would add, recognizing the unsoothable ache is a reminder we were made for something beyond even our best here.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
I’m camping out in the last third of Acts. Here, the threat posed to unconverted Jews by Paul’s missionary project comes to a head. He has returned to Jerusalem, and he is recognized as one who has been promoting God’s Kingdom to Gentiles. At one point (in Acts 22), he is addressing a crowd that wants to kill him. They are listening quietly right up until he says, “Then the Lord said to me, ‘Go; I will send you far away to the Gentiles.’” (v. 21)
Luke writes, “The crowd listened to Paul until he said this. Then they raised their voices and shouted, ‘Rid the earth of him! He’s not fit to live!’” (v. 22)
We must ask ourselves why the listeners were so enraged by Paul’s mission. Were they afraid of some great loss? (***And what about us, in the battles WE wage?***)
I’m reminded of that strange little passage in John chapter 12 where some of his disciples inform Jesus that there are Greeks wishing to meet him. John writes, “Jesus replied, ‘The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.’” (vv. 23, 24)
There’s a lot to unpack in that seeming non-sequitur. In short (when did a poet ever unpack anything?!), God’s glory is revealed when his self-sacrificial love for the world confronts man’s selfish tribalism.
Be on the lookout for where you oppose God’s loving purpose. The little glimmer you’re protecting WILL be put to shame by God’s glory.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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)
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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
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”)
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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
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
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?
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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
First of all, forgive the big word at the end. “Ignominiously” means something like “with no honor,” or–more to the point–“without a great name.”
This poem is based on connections I am exploring between the story of Peter’s release from prison at the hands of Herod Agrippa I (Acts 12) and Israel’s release from slavery in Egypt (Exodus).
Luke points out that the events of Acts 12 occurred around the time of the Passover Festival.* In fact, it looks like Peter’s release from prison happened on the culminating night of Passover. That may not mean much to us, but it would have meant a lot to Peter’s contemporaries.
Maybe it should mean more to us….
(background image by Somchai Sumnow on Pixabay)
*OOPS. When I wrote this, I was assuming that Passover came at the end of the Feast of Unleavened Bread. I had it backwards. The saving grace for me is that the whole week was also called Passover. Here’s a helpful web page on the subject: https://www.lehigh.edu/~gdb0/simcha/firstf00.htm
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
In this poem, I imagine how Cornelius (Acts 10) may one day tie together the promises to Abraham (Genesis 17-21) with how he himself came to be part of Abraham’s promised lineage.
THE FEAST: Here’s one of the passages that was in my mind when I was reading Acts 10:
I say to you that many will come from the east and the west, and will take their places at the feast with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 8:11 (NIV)
“Soar” in the last line has two meanings: take flight and increase.
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Commentary
WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH DORCAS?
In my crawl through Acts, I just made it through chapter 9. Here we encounter the story of a generous disciple named Tabitha. Her name is Dorcas (meaning deer or gazelle) in Greek. She dies, and her fellow disciples send for Peter, who successfully petitions the Lord to raise her back to life.
I suspect part of Luke’s point in telling this story is to highlight God’s pleasure in disciples’ generosity. Earlier in Acts, we saw the Ananias and Sapphira story, where greed resulted in death. In their case, there was no resuscitation. Peter played a part in that story as well.
By the way, my doggerel notwithstanding, I see evidence that Dorcas’ generosity was not limited to fellow believers, to those in the Lord’s “fellowship.”
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
In my crawl through Acts, I’m to chapter 9. Paul had gone to Damascus to capture believers, but new plans were revealed by a blinding light. In a great reversal, he left Damascus* in the darkness of night, lowered out the city wall in a basket to avoid being captured. This was the dawn of his exciting and unexpected new life mission.
My observation of parallels with the conquest of Jericho probably doesn’t mean much. But it’s there to consider. We should always be asking, “Where have I seen this before?” God’s kingdom (realm and rule) has a long history.
SERENDIPITY (BASKET-FLAX-LINEN) I’m thinking about what kind of basket would be large enough to hold Paul when he was lowered from the wall…. I’m guessing such a basket would generally carry something light. What could that be? Grain? Flax? Naturally, the Joshua 2 account of the spies hidden under flax stalks(?) comes to mind. So I looked up flax, and found this fascinating article (is it good scholarship?): https://blog.fabrics-store.com/2022/12/25/biblical-accounts-of-linen-and-flax-seed/
(background image adapted from one by “M W” on Pixabay)
*I hate to break it to myself, but in the Luke 9 account Luke may have left out Paul’s time in the wilderness. Apparently, Paul entered Damascus blind from his conversion encounter with Jesus. He started preaching, but also went out into the wilderness for a period of three(?) years, and then returned to Damascus. It was after the return to Damascus that this escape happened. That’s what happens when you read a passage AS IT IS WRITTEN, and don’t try to bring in information from other passages (Galatians, in this case). The upside is great, but occasionally I have to backtrack. Oh well…
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
In my crawl through Acts, I have just about made it through chapter 8. Once again, Luke is telling a story that contrasts GENEROSITY (God’s generosity, reflected in selfless servants) with GREED (here it is Simon the Magician’s apparent desire to exploit God’s generosity).
Question: is it possible Simon was a true believer? Was he saved in Luke’s account? Does Luke actually want us to struggle with this question? He leaves off with Simon declining to do the one thing Peter requires of him: personally repent and pray for God’s forgiveness.
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Commentary
Halfway through my second year in college, I went through a period of questioning my faith. Actually, I was questioning “my inherited faith,” since Christianity was what I grew up with. The questioning was a healthy process. I came out of it with a recognition that I could not–and need not–prove anything about God definitively.
One book that I read at that time was In two minds: The dilemma of doubt & how to resolve it by Oz Guinness. Since it has been over forty years since I read the book, I can’t swear to this, but I seem to recall Guinness suggesting that doubt often arises from ingratitude. Over the years, that seems to have been borne out in my own life: stop thanking God for all He supplies, and soon I’m struggling with doubt.
With that background, you’ll understand why, when I recently tried to throw out all my presuppositions about Romans and come to my own fresh understanding, there’s one presupposition I wasn’t willing to throw out just yet: that the kind of faith Paul is talking about could be characterized as “grateful reliance.” That’s really what this poem is about. When I posted the poem on Facebook, here’s what I wrote:
My flight through the Bible has my little plane struggling for elevation to clear the mountain range called Romans.
This little poem is me thinking “out loud” about how Abraham’s exemplary(?)* saving faith may have differed from the faith of his descendants.
*Caution: the QUALITY of Abraham’s faith may not be Paul’s point. I look at it because many of those whose condemnation Paul mentions surely had their own measure of faith. Was it different? Is that important? I don’t know yet.
(the background image combines a night sky photo by Chemnitz/Deutschland on Pixabay; a desert scene by Greg Montani, also on Pixabay; and Genesis 15:5 in Hebrew)
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Commentary
Well, this is embarrassing! This is probably a lousy poem. I wrote it as flow of consciousness while studying Romans. And now, I don’t recall what I was thinking. Wow. That’s lame.
I do recognize a perennial lament of mine: that there’s always someone out there interpreting our efforts in the worst possible light.
Here, for what it’s worth, is what I wrote when I first posted the poem:
Sometime it would be nice to ask of Jesus, “Are we really friends? When you look straight through me, do you see anything of yourself?”
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Commentary
GOD’S LOVE AND KINDNESS IS BEFORE AND ABOVE ALL
I have a deepening impression that our obedience and disobedience to God are the result of whether or not we believe that God is reliably loving and kind.
Most recently, this impression was strengthened as I contemplated Stephen’s sermon in Acts 7. As I see it, he’s recounting a history of Israel rejecting God’s promises and provisions.
I also think of the Sabbath. God tells Israel that they can take it easy on the seventh day, and seventh year and in the jubilee year. He will provide! Keeping the sabbath was first and foremost a matter of believing God’s amazing promise and provision. But almost immediately, Israel turned the delightful provision into a duty.*
Just now, I looked back at Genesis chapter 1. God’s first action toward man is to bless and give.
GOD IS GOOD, but large swaths of Christianity concentrate more on dos and don’ts than on God’s goodness.
*[I must confess that I understand how that could happen when the first thing out of the gate was a disobedient Israelite getting killed for picking up sticks on the Sabbath…. I’m trusting God will enable me to understand this some day]
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Commentary
[This title is a combination of Greek erēmō (ἐρήμῳ, meaning wilderness, desert) and “hermeneutics” (the art and science of interpretation, especially of the Bible).]
These days I’m doing a lot of puzzling about the relationship of words and events in the lives of Moses, John the Baptist, and Jesus. Consider how the following words figure in the announcement of Moses’ and Jesus’ ministries: wilderness, voice, fire, sandal. Add in the fact that Jews were looking for a fulfillment of Moses’ promise that “The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among you, from your brothers—it is to him you shall listen” (Deut. 18:15). They were bound to be looking for similarities between Moses and Jesus.
My 21st century brain wants to nail down logical, definite relationships between the men and their stories. But is that even appropriate? Is it possible that 1st century Jews were content with an unanalyzed, but harmonious gumbo of coincidence?
Please understand that the previous paragraph is not a denigration of biblical characters and writers. It’s simply that I want to really understand how they thought.
Bible students are taught “don’t make parables walk on all fours.” In other words, don’t assume that every aspect of a parable represents something in reality. But we’re tempted to ignore the advice. We get to the parable about the Rich Man and Lazarus, and we want to use that parable to map out Heaven, Hell, and eternal destiny. We need to be careful.
So, my last paragraph is a respectful pondering of the possibility that commonplace wisdom about interpreting parables may extend to interpreting other biblical forms.
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Commentary
PONDERING THE UNFATHOMABLE King David’s blessed man meditated “day and night” (Psalm 1) and Mary “treasured all these things in her heart” (Luke 2). These two passages provide my model of humble, intellectually honest pondering.
I assume that we please God more by pondering his words and ways than by pontificating on them. As a man of limited intellect and porous memory, I take shelter and comfort in this assumption.
The background image for this poem is a “map” of the Mariana Trench produced by the Nasa Earth Observatory.
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Stephen, full of faith, The Spirit, grace, and power, Served the Lord one glorious hour.
When Freedmen apprehended him, He spoke to them of Moses, Sent by God to set his people free.
He recounted how the Jewish slaves Rebuffed their would-be liberator, But let him lead them out, eventually.
Short-lived, this being led…. They got it in their head A cow could rescue them instead.
It’s no surprise, this people unwise Would not heed Moses when he said, “Watch for another like me to rise.”
Angry, the list’ners let rocks fly. Like risen Jesus, Stephen would die, A loud “Forgive them!” his final cry.
— Brad Hepp, 8/17/2023
Commentary
In my crawl through Acts, I just arrived in chapter seven, and pitched my tent there. This poem is an early reflection on what I’m seeing as I look around my new camping spot.
(background image is a photograph of Rembrandt’s “The Stoning of Saint Stephen.” That is one of Rembrandt’s earliest paintings.)
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Commentary
DO I RESPOND WITH APPROPRIATE FEAR? Ananias and Sapphira both died as a result of lying to God and to the Apostles about their donation. The result, among other believers, was appropriate FEAR. Perhaps they were asking themselves, “How does my own lifetime of self-justification prepare me to respond honestly to all-seeing God?”
Then Peter said, “Ananias, how is it that Satan has so filled your heart that you have lied to the Holy Spirit and have kept for yourself some of the money you received for the land?
Acts 5:3 (NIV)
Peter said to her, “How could you conspire to test the Spirit of the Lord? Listen! The feet of the men who buried your husband are at the door, and they will carry you out also.”
Acts 5:9 (NIV)
Great fear seized the whole church and all who heard about these events.
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Commentary
This little throw-away poem was my attempt to capture some of what’s being communicated by Stephen in Acts 7, especially the somewhat cryptic “uncircumcised hearts and ears” in his summary indictment:
You stubborn people, with uncircumcised hearts and ears! You are always resisting the Holy Spirit, like your ancestors did!
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Commentary
A MEMO REGARDING PIETY PARTIES In my crawl through Acts, I finally forced myself to move past chapters three and four. There we see that Jesus came to bless all people. How? By turning them from their iniquity. What does that look like in this context? The Apostles and common believers are enabled to quit the iniquity of selfishness and practice generosity instead. Even when they don’t have much in the way of material goods to give, they can be generous in other ways. For example, Peter and John interrupt prayer time to heal a lame beggar. It’s a big deal.
Then we get to Acts, chapter five. There we encounter a couple—Ananias and Sapphira—who came to the piety party, but didn’t get the memo: generosity isn’t for impressing man, but for imitating God; don’t do a bad imitation.
Hospitality and generosity were huge issues in Israel. They’re probably still important to God… don’t you think? A deep recognition of my own selfishness has begun revolutionizing how I THINK over the last few years. By Jesus’ blessing that may even reach to how I BEHAVE.
RELATED ISSUE: IDOLATRY Is it just me? Or is this common In our idolatry: We worship what we think Will get us the most.
Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. Colossians 3:5 NIV
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
This has come to be one of my favorite poems. Maybe that’s just because of the beautiful expression of the fellow in the background image. If you haven’t read Acts 3 in a while, do yourself a favor, and let your imagination play with the story we’re told there.
ACT ONE OF A TWO-ACT PLAY IN ACTS CHAPTER THREE I’ve begun my crawl through Acts. In this morning’s passage, Luke mentions the look a lame man gives Peter and John, the look they give him in return, and the more attentive look they require of him. Is this and what follows a device to draw our attention to something Peter will tell the crowd? Who arranged this little two act play? Does the second act build on the first act? I suspect it does. We’ll have to take a closer look.
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Commentary
I serve two churches on Sunday mornings: a Bible church and an Anglican church. They both celebrate the Lord’s Supper each week. They do it differently. But in both cases, I think we must acknowledge—borrowing George MacDonald’s words—”the end of the Maker’s dream is not this.”
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Commentary
I remember like it was yesterday (it was) when I realized that Nicodemus joined Joseph of Arimathea in removing Jesus’ body from the cross, preparing it for burial, and interring him. This historical event is referred to as “The Deposition,” and it has been the subject of significant paintings and sculptures.
Being simple-minded, I read “deposition,” and think of a legal case. This poem plays with that confusion.
GOSPEL ALLUSIONS
They replied, “Are you [i.e., Nicodemus] from Galilee too? Search and see that no prophet arises from Galilee.”
John 7:52 ESV
Nicodemus also, who earlier had come to Jesus by night, came bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds in weight.
John 19:39 ESV
CARAVAGGIO See Caravaggio’s painting Deposition, and what is written about it at this site. [TIP: when you get there, click the expand icon to see the whole image]
A PERSONAL RESPONSE I can’t read the last stanza without tearing up. WE know what would happen within 72 hours. But Nicodemus didn’t. And neither do some of our friends.
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Commentary
I don’t know why I didn’t publish this back in April of last year. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up and remember why (maybe somebody will point out how knuckle-headed I am). Jesus’ radical identification with man, especially in suffering, changes everything. I love our Older Brother.
By the way, the preacher I refer to in this poem is one from long, long ago.
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Commentary
[WARNING: this is me “thinking out loud.” I haven’t come to conclusions; I simply invite friends to keep pondering God’s word with me]
I just read a long sermon in which the preacher waxed eloquent about what it meant for the curtain in the temple to be torn from top to bottom at the moment of Jesus’ death. The preacher made absolutely no direct reference to scripture that might—or might not—support his interpretation. All my life, I have heard only one interpretation of the significance of the rending of the temple curtain… until yesterday. Now, I’m reading Fleming Rutledge’s excellent “The Crucifixion.” She represents a slightly different tradition of Christianity than the one in which I was raised. Her different perspective gives me much to ponder. It prompts me to observe the Gospels, and Hebrews more closely, and to tune out the echo of a lifetime of sermons.
I suspect this is the main thing I need to fully embrace: it is not my feet that carry me into the holy of holies. It is my forerunner Jesus, my relationship with him. The author of Hebrews put it this way (note the present status of the curtain):
We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek.
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Commentary
My progress through John gets slower and slower. I’m to chapter twelve. I may be too hard on the crowd in this poem, but I still wonder how Jesus was feeling as he entered Jerusalem in “triumph,” all the while knowing what awaited him, and what awaited the people he loved….
The next day the large crowd that had come to the feast heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him, crying out, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, even the King of Israel!” And Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it, just as it is written, “Fear not, daughter of Zion; behold, your king is coming, sitting on a donkey’s colt!” His disciples did not understand these things at first, but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that these things had been written about him and had been done to him.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So, when he heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.
John 11:5-6 ESV
This morning, my crawl through John got me to chapter eleven. If it has been a while since you read that chapter, I urge you to read it now. You’ll realize that Jesus was about 20 miles (a good day’s walk) from Lazarus, and his sisters. That raises the question: why did Jesus stay where he was after being told that Lazarus was sick? John’s word choice is curious. He writes, “So he stayed two days longer.” You or I might have written “But he stayed two days longer.”
What I’m beginning to explore in this poem is the relationship between Jesus’ love for Lazarus and his staying away when he was summoned by Lazarus’ sisters. The question is an old one: “How does a loving God let his creation suffer?”
You’ll see that most of my poem is pure speculation, call it sanctified imagination. What was Lazarus experiencing as he neared death? What was actually happening?
I think I know where part two will land: On the shore of glory and love (then we’ll understand)
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
[Jesus] said to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). So he went and washed and came back seeing.
John 9:7 ESV
This morning, in my crawl through John, I got to chapter nine, and one of my favorite passages: Jesus’ healing of the man born blind. It seems obvious to me that John was capturing Jesus’ playfulness with words, and maybe even playing along. One of the clues is that in telling us about the pool of Siloam, John inserts, “Translated, that means ‘Sent’.”
There’s a lot more going on in the passage than I understand. That prompts me to write a poem, to poke at the story and see what emerges.
Let me encourage you to read John 9. It’s really fantastic. Pay attention to words like “work, works, sent, display, light, and blind.” If you’re like me, you’ll be reading some of it and thinking, “This part looks like something John and his fellow believers put in song.” Maybe you’ll be inspired to write your own song!
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above
Commentary
These days, whenever there’s a mass shooting, one of the more poignant things afterwards is hearing what the shooter’s parents or siblings have to say. Imagine being Judas Iscariot’s father. John gives us his name. It was Simon Iscariot. Why do we know that name? Did Simon end up following Jesus? I hope so!
Here’s the passage that prompted my flight of imagination (the poem), with a little of its context:
Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.” Jesus answered them, “Did I not choose you, the twelve? And yet one of you is a devil.” He spoke of Judas the son of Simon Iscariot, for he, one of the twelve, was going to betray him.
John 6:68-71 ESV
A friend of mine wrote this:
In Mark 3, when Jesus chooses the 12, it casually mentions that Judas would betray him. I always thought that was just a throw-in, some foreboding music to alert us about coming plot twists. But then it hit me: What if Jesus chose Judas BECAUSE he was going to betray Him? And what if he put Judas in charge of the money bag in order to keep him around, since he planned to use him as an important part of orchestrating His own death?
Bruce Beaty
“We’re on the same page,” I said, “Jesus was orchestrating events, not just responding to them. It’s amazing.”
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
There’s an odd little passage in John’s account of Jesus walking on the water the night after he had fed the five thousand:
But he said to them, “It is I; don’t be afraid.” Then they were willing to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat reached the shore where they were heading.
John 6:20-21 NIV
They were willing!? That’s the translation in the NASB and NIV. I immediately ask myself, “Why would they not be willing?” The Greek verb is θελο (thelo), and some translations render that in this passage as “wanted” (NET), or “were glad” (ESV). Those translations may be correct. But I have to wonder if John could be subtly suggesting something that was at issue in the disciples’ response to their teacher: their willingness to accept the unfolding of events on his terms.
THIS IS A STRETCH, I know, but follow me for how I get to my devotional response in the poem….
After feeding the five thousand, Jesus had “wandered” off to avoid a power-hungry crowd. The disciples took off rowing across the lake without Jesus. I think that’s odd. Were they ticked off at him? Now, they were struggling on choppy waters. Is it possible that they were having second thoughts about their teacher? Is it possible that they were just barely “willing” to take him on board given their doubts about his plans?
Maybe I notice that possibility because I myself question Jesus’ plans in my life.
Thus the poem.
Another Thought John is deep. But I doubt he’s introducing any depth that wasn’t there already in Jesus. That’s part of what prompted this poem. Jesus wasn’t merely responding to circumstances in the disciples’ lives. He was orchestrating events, using his full “vocabulary” of metaphors to drive home truth. It was no accident that the sea was thrashing on that night.
(background adapted from an image by Roberto Barresi on Pixabay)
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this vignette and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
I hope you don’t consider this vignette–and others like it–an exposition of a biblical passage. It’s my emotional and imaginative response to the story of Jesus healing a lame man who had languished by the Pool of Bethesda (John 5). It makes me almost as happy to think of a reader saying “No, you got this wrong” as it would for the reader to say, “Oh yeah, that’s it. You nailed it!” I mainly want my reader to enter the scene with me, look around, and take it in, even if that means that my observations and interpretations prove to be mistaken.
A Personal Reflection You may notice that the background I chose for this vignette is a homeless camp somewhere. In growing up to be like Jesus, I often struggle with kindness and compassion. These qualities are tested by seeing beggars and homeless people. So, in considering whether or not I am growing in these qualities, I let my thoughts wander back across my life to earlier encounters. Here’s what I jotted down:
SUFFERING IS LARGELY HID FROM OUR EYES I grew up in a city where the disabled had to get out in public, so they could beg. Although a six-year-old Bradley didn’t feel the compassion that I feel now, I can still recall some of the more heart-wrenching scenes, like the legless man who got around by propping himself up on a skateboard. As with most powerful memories, I also remember the place. He hung out near the city’s one big, modern grocery store. I suppose it’s because the store’s clientele were “rich” folk like my missionary parents. And a few of those rich folk—there, like here—had compassion.
(background image by José Manuel de Laá on Pixabay)
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
This kind of poem should probably be written by an experienced counselor, or pastor… someone who really knows the condition of hearts. As a poet, I sometimes just throw words against the wall to see if they stick. It’s like verbal spaghetti. How did Photine perceive herself? Why had she gone from man to man? I have an intuition that men and women long for beauty, especially beauty that is tied to the goodness of a person, ultimately THE Person: God.
I am working my way very slowly through the Gospel of John, and typically spend a few days translating and contemplating each chapter. I wrote the above poem the morning that I started into chapter 4. It was an attempt to imagine what the Samaritan woman might have been thinking as she trekked to the well for water. As I think about her situation in the days after I wrote the poem, I begin to second-guess myself. And that’s okay. It’s helpful to use one’s imagination, not for coming to conclusions, but for generating more questions.
A Grammatical Riddle Should the last two lines be “competitors FOR peace of mind,” or “competitors WITH peace of mind”? Even thinking through a question like this one raises other questions: 1) would Photine have said that she already had peace of mind? 2) were there false claimants to her peace of mind? 3) was peace of mind really one of Photine’s felt needs in any case? I don’t think any of us knows the answers. But maybe some day we will.
(background image adapted from a photograph by Fr. Lawrence, OP. He comments, “This painting of Christ and the Samaritan Woman is in the museum at the Dominican priory of Santa Sabina in Rome.”)
