(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
The Setting of This Poem What was going on in Nicodemus’ mind the morning before he met Jesus at night? I think it’s useful to imagine that, and then to test the picture against John’s account. I don’t mean for this poem to suggest a radical interpretation of Nicodemus’ conversation with Jesus, or even to suggest that my imagination is borne out by what John wrote. As I think about John 3:1-21, I’m noticing a contrast of source and destiny, here and there, old and new. I’m letting those and other concepts play in my imagination as I try to picture Nicodemus’ heart.
A friend who is familiar with church history told me recently that oral tradition suggests Nicodemus was eventually born again. I sure hope so.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
I finished my crawl through Luke, and have begun my crawl through John. So far, the Greek seems easier, but John is every bit as much an allusionist as Luke.
John’s account of how Jesus called Nathanael to be one of his followers seems to be FULL of allusions. I doubt we can be definitive about what was going on in Jesus’ exchange with Nathanael. It does seem clear to me, though, that Jesus is alluding to Jacob/Israel in what he says to Nathanael. What was the condition of Nathanael’s heart? Why was he dismissive of goodness? How was he like Jacob, and how was the prospect of his own “Jacob’s ladder” a meaningful promise?
In this poem, I apply what I hope is sanctified imagination to the story. I realize that some of it is ambiguous. Let me clarify what I had in mind…. Nathanael seemed surprised that Jesus had seen him under the fig tree. I’m guessing he thought his being under the fig tree was completely private. But there’s more. Jesus welcomed Nathanael as “a true Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” Why “deceit?” And why, “a true Israelite?” Because of what Jesus says later about Nathanael seeing “heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man,” I’m guessing that Jesus was comparing Nathanael to Jacob, who is often called “Jacob the Deceiver,” but was also called Israel. Here’s the premise of the poem: Nathanael had been under a fig tree reflecting on how he, like Jacob was a deceiver. He wondered — and doubted — how God could be merciful with him. Jesus knew all that, and showed him otherwise.
Another Possibility About Nathanael Nathanael has always fascinated me. When Jesus said of Nathanael, “Look, a true Israelite in whom there is no deceit,” was he being facetious? That’s the possibility I am currently exploring. I used to think that Jesus probably meant something like, “that Nathanael speaks his mind!” Such a guileless man appeals to me. Regardless, truthfulness was probably an important issue to Nathanael. I speculate that duplicity–whether his own, or what he experienced from others–was oppressive to him. In this poem, I also speculate that he doubted the availability of mercy. But the God who sees and knows each of us intimately sought him out. That’s amazing grace!
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME In this poem, I’m doing two things that are generally discouraged. First, I’m playing with the Greek idioms that Luke used in his telling of the Resurrection. “At early dawn” in Luke 24:1 is literally “at deep dawn” (ορθρου βαθεωσ, orthou batheos). “In dazzling clothing” in 24:4 is literally “in clothing flashing like lightning” (εν εσθητι αστραπτουση, en estheti astraptouse). I pushed lightning to its root: aster = star. OF COURSE, THIS IS GENERALLY FOOLISHNESS. Translating idioms is not a matter of dissecting phrases down to their literal components. Imagine how “knock your socks off” would be translated into another language if the translator were translating word-for-word!
The second thing I’m doing — more successfully in my head than in the poem — is relating New Testament events to Old Testament events. Where, in the Old Testament, was a stone removed for a woman by a man? One place is Jacob’s initial meeting with his bride-to-be Rachel (Genesis 29:1-10). Does that story have anything to do with the Resurrection account? PROBABLY NOT. However, probably not isn’t the same as definitely not.
I say “don’t try this at home.” Don’t make too much of literal meanings of words, or of slight coincidence. But DO THIS: read the Bible with heightened vigilance and imagination. When you encounter stories with wells, or stones, or swords, or angels, or fire remember: the Author was there; often, if not always, He was a character in the story. And He has a long memory.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
As I try to get caught up with posting poems here on my blog, I’m encountering some poems written so long ago that I don’t recall what I was thinking! I do remember that this poem was an emotional response to Luke 7. One of the questions that’s often on my mind when I read the Gospels is “What did Jesus and his listeners think that salvation means?” Of course we can read the accounts with the benefit of systematic theology, but I’m uneasy about that process. A theological grid can obscure as much as it reveals.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
On my walk yesterday, listening through Exodus, I heard this fascinating snippet:
And they saw the God of Israel. There was under his feet as it were a pavement of sapphire stone, like the very heaven for clearness. And he did not lay his hand on the chief men of the people of Israel; they beheld God, and ate and drank.
Exodus 24:10-11
When I encounter passages like this one, I want to explore, to stop and study. Not necessarily to study in an academic way… more to gaze intently until my senses have taken in the scene, so that like Mary I may ponder in my heart. But there are voices—do I only imagine them?—who murmur “Move along, and stay behind the railing.”
The Poem’s Structure I woke up this morning and initially wrote the last five lines. As often happens with me, something subconscious was giving the poem physical structure by creating a pattern of line lengths. When I see that happening, I try to follow through. The poem was taking the form of a mountain, but it needed a summit. So I inserted the first seven lines.
Docents I have toured many a museum, and been thankful to many a docent for guiding me there. I mean no disrespect by picturing them in this poem as dripping clouds who live only to put out sparks of curiosity. What am I actually picturing? Dull, strangling systematic theology, at least as practiced by some.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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.
(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 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!”
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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?
(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 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!
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary)
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….
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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)
(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)
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.”
I wrote this poem in anticipation of talking with a fellow poet. One topic I wanted to discuss with him is the vulnerability of baring your breast through revealing words. Is it insanity or inspiration?
We didn’t get to the “inspiration” part, but the “insanity” part was almost funny…. My fellow poet read me one of several poems he has written while struggling with depression. He said that people have phoned him after reading such a poem to say, “I read your poem. Are you okay?” He answers, “Thanks. I’m doing better because I wrote that poem.”
I don’t enjoy listening to people complain. I’ve noticed that other people don’t enjoy listening to me complain. Sometimes, my public complaint is answered by a public rebuke, often with an underlying, “If you were as spiritual as I am, you wouldn’t have such thoughts.”
I don’t know a good workaround. One of my jobs as a poet is to express what’s hard to express. That can include negative thoughts, and problems whose solution hasn’t appeared.
When I was ten, we moved to the States from a country where practicing religion was always costly. Mostly, the cost was self-imposed, as many thought they could earn God’s favor. For a few, the cost was appropriate, and unavoidable, as they could not be comfortable with surrounding culture. IN CONTRAST, what I saw here in the States was that practicing religion seemed to cost nothing. That concerned me then, and it concerns me still.
Someone may respond, “I’m not comfortable with surrounding culture! So, wouldn’t you agree that I am paying a price to be a Christian!” My answer: maybe, maybe not. The thing about culture is that it is never merely “surrounding.” Rather, it works its way into much — if not all — of what we think and do. We’re part of it. It’s part of us.
Simply being upset at others’ immorality is not enough. Jesus’ prescription is not “Get mad at the world.” His prescription is, “You! You. If necessary, cut off your own arm. Gouge out your own eye. Renounce everything that YOU have.”
So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.
This light-hearted poem is a prequel to the more serious “The King’s Toast.” By the way, my initial commentary on that poem was pretty muddled. If you already read that commentary, do me the favor of reading the improved version.
It’s probably obvious that in this poem I’m exploring the idea that an awareness of God’s presence would help us regulate our behavior. Have a problem with foul language? What if Jesus were right there beside you in a physical, visible form? Would you curse then?
Thinking of Abraham, Moses, and others* who thankfully illumine even now.
(background image from Pixabay)
*Poem was my immediate response to a Facebook post by Sten-Erik Armitage, where he wrote
In my pride, I don’t need God. I know better, and I can do it on my own. In my despair, I don’t want God. He doesn’t care, and he couldn’t help me anyway. In cultivating thanksgiving, I recognize my total dependence upon him and grow in humility and peace.
This strange poem is the nightmare I had last night. I *think* it wove two strands: contemplating Acts vis-a-vis evangelical triumphalism (really!), and reflecting on the vulnerability young people have to passions (I’m a father, who once was young).
Surely I’m not alone in catching a whiff of arrogance in the way I sometimes think of those who went before. This came to mind just now as I read Hebrews. God is merciful, not least in revealing the many reasons our elder Brother had to suffer in our place.
I didn’t get much sleep last night, pondering thoughts that wouldn’t pass muster in Angelology 101: Imagine for a moment the possibility that angels don’t possess our (humans’) imagination…. How odd we might seem to them. We philosophize, rhapsodize, and consistently compromise, imagining all along that thinking counts as doing, believing as obeying.
I wrote this after talking briefly with a friend who was struggling. It seemed to me that the friend needed nothing so much as a brother to share his burden — a brother who is willing to suffer alongside, to let the smoke blow in his own face. No lectures. No correction. Silent compassion can speak louder than words. At least that’s what I’m told.
Why “Job’s One Good Friend”? The biblical character Job had friends who sat with him for a while in silence. They had come together “to show him sympathy and comfort him.” But then they opened their mouths, and it wasn’t helpful. It seems that the one who came closest to being a true friend kept his mouth closed the longest.
And why a campfire? If you’ve ever sat around a campfire in the mountains, you know that as the wind direction shifts, the smoke sometimes blows in your face. Some guys feel that they are the target, no matter where they sit! I picture Job and his friends sitting around such a campfire, perhaps one that burned down to embers and then to ashes. “And he took a piece of broken pottery with which to scrape himself while he sat in the ashes.”
