(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
“Where does it hurt? asks the doctor. “In this area,” says the patient, putting a hand on his neck. The doctor starts probing, trying to narrow down the exact location and source of the pain.
This poem is me saying the equivalent of “My neck hurts.” It could be my knee, or my foot, or my shoulder. But the pain is even more general than any of those vague locations. It’s a dull emotional pain that mutters a self-important, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”*
The poem hardly qualifies as a poem, but it prompted responses from wise friends. They read between the lines and reminded me that old age and its pain are not meaningless, and certainly not abandonment.
One incisive friend wrote
As our natural vigor declines, the “slog” provides opportunities to reveal God’s presence with a strength that cannot be easily written off as merely the fruit of happy circumstances. “My power is made perfect in weakness.”
My friend was the doctor saying “Maybe your neck hurts because you’ve been straining to keep an eye on this mirror. Put the mirror down and look up!”
I wrote back, “This may be too out-of-context to make sense, but you remind me of some lines toward the end of one of my favorite poems:
Look not thou down but up! To uses of a cup, The festal board, lamp’s flash and trumpet’s peal, The new wine’s foaming flow, The Master’s lips a-glow!
from “Rabbi Ben Ezra” by Robert Browning
In other words, the emotional component of this painful slog comes in part from forgetting that God takes pleasure in us… not in our pain, but in our loving, grateful, and Spirit-enabled response.
As I grow up, maybe I’ll come to really understand that.
Here’s another poem that expressed the same frustration I experience with aging:
_________
*I don’t mean any kind of blasphemy by what I wrote here. What I intended is actually self-deprecation. I’ll have to give this more thought….
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
(background image by WikiImages on Pixabay)
Commentary
Robert Frost wrote that, “A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.” I think he meant that literally. The connection between a strong emotional state and the urge and inspiration to write poetry is palpable. But it isn’t just negative emotions that set us poets off! Euphoria will also do it. Oh yeah… speaking of Frost: for inspiring, euphoria’s also great and will suffice.
Enough generalities! The other night, I was sipping some whiskey. One ounce in and working on a second, I suddenly recognized this euphoric urge to write poetry. It’s a feeling that “Suddenly the world looks different; suddenly I see with new eyes. I must capture these realizations, I must net these butterflies!”
Trust me: very little of my poetry is whiskey-induced. In fact, most of it starts in the early-morning fog soon after rising. Perhaps my brain would like to go back to bed where it’s free to spin dreams.
Anyway, there it was… that feeling of euphoria, and the confidence that I could see new connections, find new analogies, devise new metaphors…. But I sensed danger: this is how writers turn into alcoholics. So I jotted down two lines and gave my thought a possible title:
SR-71 Blackbird I really can’t afford this muse Who leaves my troubles all behind
TOWARDS HEAVEN BIDS ME GO How can I write that line about something as dangerous as whiskey? Well, I’m convinced that God gives us many glimpses of Heaven, including intoxicants. I do long for a time when I can see things anew, with eyes unclouded by the cataracts of trouble and worry. As I said once before to myself in the mirror,
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
I began this poem in February, and I recall a keen insight then about my lingering selfishness. Today, I add the final two lines and title with a prayer that God will indeed cause me to grow more like Jesus as described in Philippians 2.
Being others-oriented with regard to the physical needs of food and drink is pretty elementary. When I grow up, I may extend the principles I learn here to other, less obvious aspects of life. But food and drink are a place to start. Even Jesus fasted. Could we say that fasting was part of him learning obedience? Recall Hebrews 5:8, which reads, “Though he was a son, he learned obedience through what he suffered.”
Where are you full, and need to leave room to grow?
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
I know plenty of us experience this… at least the part about thinking of too many things at once. It may be less common to think long and deep about one thing.
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Commentary
A TIME FOR TELLING, A TIME FOR BEING TOLD
Back when I was eagerly adding clients to my website business, there were three memorable occasions when I turned down the new business after an initial interview. In each case, the would-be client was some older gentleman who spent two solid hours talking about himself and never asking me a single question.
I expect to be each of my clients’ “webmaster for the long haul.” So, years and years of disrespect is something I avoid when I have the choice.
That being said, I am thankful for some other memorable occasions, when the Lord enabled me to serve someone else by listening and asking key questions. I imagine counselors are richly blessed in this way….
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Commentary
In his letter to Jewish believers scattered throughout the Roman Empire, James has his readers imagine their response to a poor man walking into their church. Something I hadn’t noticed until this morning is that James has the poor man coming in ANDgoing out in shabby clothes.
First the coming in:
For if a man wearing a gold ring and fine clothing comes into your assembly, and a poor man in shabby clothing also comes in…
James 2:2
And then the going out:
If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, be warmed and filled,” without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that?
James 2:15-16
The verses between this coming and going talk about impartiality. If you’re like me, you interpret that as “Don’t treat the rich visitor better than the poor visitor.” But James goes beyond such passive impartiality. He wants to know what you’ve done for that poor man between the welcome and dismissal, between the coming and the going. Are you sending him off just as poorly provisioned as when he came in? Notice the last of James’ examples of proper, faith-fueled hospitality:
And in the same way was not also Rahab the prostitute justified by works when she received the messengers and sent them out by another way?
James 2:25
Some Things to Notice in This Poem
First, the title “Put On Mercy” has two meanings. The Apostle Paul urges believers
Therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, put on tender mercies, kindness, humility, meekness, longsuffering;
Colossians 3:12 (NKJV)
That’s the first meaning of “Put On Mercy”: be clothed in a virtuous manner of life.
But sometimes we fake it. Then our would-be virtue might just be put-on mercy: fake mercy.
In the last stanza, I cast doubt on whether or not the speaker is really putting on mercy. The speaker is assumed to have faith. Does he dress accordingly? Really? He’s warm and filled. Does merely wishing the same for the poor visitor amount to mercy?
Second, “shabby clothes” in this poem are an impersonal shell for the unloved, ignored visitor. The words don’t even acknowledge the person, but refer to him or her as “all that is–or, in poverty is not–within them.”
Third, “mercy me” is an odd phrase. We utter it to express alarm or agitation. But what if some non-standard English speaker thought that it constitutes an actual plea for mercy. Could we hear it that way? Would we respond with God’s mercy? Or would the mendicant leave without our response?
Finally, “all that is within” may serve as a faint bit of fake holy talk. It echoes a well-known Psalm:
Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name!
Psalm 103:1 (ESV)
[Does that commentary help you understand the poem better? I’d love to hear from you! (If you received this poem via email, click on the poem title. That will take you to the blog where there is a comment form. If you’re shy in your response, just respond to the email!)]
(background image based on a photo by Gianni Crestani on Pixabay)
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
Isolation and alienation have probably affected my outlook on life far more than I consciously understand. Consider the following from my youth:
My first ten years, I was a gringo living in Mexico; I connected with the handful of other Anglo missionary kids far more than with the surrounding culture
When we moved to a little East Texas town, I didn’t connect with that culture either; my different life experience, religious and academic orientations were off-putting to others and a barrier to fitting in
In the advanced English course in my first semester of college, there were only three of us guys in a classroom of young ladies; that may sound wonderful for the guys, but it continued my theme of not fitting in (to this day, I find few men who appreciate poetry; even fewer who write poetry)
In the decades since, I got along fairly comfortably in white evangelical culture… until my late 50s. Beginning in 2016, and then rapidly accelerating in 2020, I began to distance myself from that culture. Now, I once again feel the isolation and alienation of my youth.
Here’s how that came about…. At the very time I began to recognize selfishness and racism in my own heart, a large majority of white evangelicals began to embrace and trumpet these sins.* When terrible events of 2020 and 2021 afforded opportunities to inspect our hearts and to repent and reform, too many doubled down instead on their love of power and privilege. Their hard hearts led them to hate good men and to love evil men. (Here’s a poignant poem I wrote at that time: “Lord’s Day Vision.”)
Am I blameless in all this? NO! I played a small part in promoting the drive for power and privilege until I saw what I had been doing. Even now, I keep having to bury my former affections, to douse the flame of former loves.
Does this poem make more sense to you now if you read it again with that background? I’d love to know! Comment below (click the poem title if you’re seeing this on email; there’s a comment form on the blog).
A related poem, especially with regard to God’s mercy in reforming us is “To A Misguided Cedar.“
__________
*I say “began to embrace and trumpet….” A better word may be “revealed.”
(background image cropped and tinted from a photograph by Peter Balog on Pixabay)
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
I keep thinking about what I was trying to communicate in this poem. It may be this: we all have a different tolerance for assumptions. I have trouble with people who jump to conclusions with hardly any thought (the first stanza).
Others are better about checking their assumptions (the second stanza), but they still skate over many facts without considering them. Such people are efficient in their thinking (think of Daniel Kahneman’s “thinking fast”). Still, such people can get irritated when their assumptions are questioned. They don’t want to slow down to consider weaknesses in their thinking. I get along fine with such people… for the most part.
How about the third stanza? One cannot live without making millions of assumptions every day, so nobody REALLY lives fully in the third stanza. But some of us come closer than others. Just ask my wife. When something goes missing in the house, I am methodical in my search; I look in places where she doesn’t bother looking. She’s being efficient; I’m being thorough. I once found something valuable that was missing (keys, if I remember correctly) IN THE TRASH BIN IN THE ALLEY. Yeah, remember that? Boom! I’ll always have the keys in the trash can story to excuse my slow thinking!
(background image cropped and tinted from original by Albrecht Fietz on Pixabay)
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
CONFESSION This last week has been unnecessarily tough for evangelical Christians. Some were deeply offended by the world.* Others were dismayed** that the first group took offense. I’m solidly in the latter camp. But I’m NOT PROUD of an unloving, disdainful edge in my own response. I must answer for my own response, not for others’.
(background image by Alberto Adán on Pixabay)
*For future reference, this was about the opening ceremony of the 2024 Olympics in Paris.
**There are good reasons for the dismay, but that’s not my point here.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
With our limitations of time, intelligence, and memory, each of us must choose carefully from the smorgasbord of information that is laid out for us daily.
I originally titled this poem “Why This Smattering?” It is a thinking out loud about my tendency to dabble idly in what’s likely too many areas of knowledge. Why do I do this? I could easily offer virtuous-sounding self-justification. But is there an unhealthy side to this?
(background image by LensPulse on Pixabay)
NOTE: While I have you here, let me invite you to check out some significant improvements on my website:
1) I created a page of my FAVORITE POEMS 2) I tagged most of the poems with themes so that you can find poems in that way
(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
[This strange little poem is a flight of fancy. Any connection with a Greek goddess, a Norwegian singer, or a school in Cusco, Peru is accidental.]
Tonight, I was thinking about a photo I edited this morning. I had shot a Peace Lily flower and then boosted the saturation. Was it too much saturation? Am I overly enamored with jewel tones? Then I thought about places on earth where jewel tones are extravagantly displayed. I’ve seen them in the clothes of Quechua in the Peruvian Andes; I’ve seen pictures of the Aurora Borealis. How is one like the other? I began writing about the harsh settings, and the comfort brought to those settings by brilliant displays of color….
By the way, here’s the photo that launched me on this flight of fancy. As I was walking by one of the Peace Lilies at the library where I work, I thought I’d stoop down and look at one of the flowers from a lower vantage point. The heavy timber framework of the library’s high ceiling provided an interesting background. So I snapped a photo, and then did a little editing.
(poem’s background image by Yolanda Coervers 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 may appear to be a depressing poem. Let me explain why it isn’t really….
A dear friend treated me to supper last night. This morning, I woke up and immediately wrote down what I had said to him, except that I put it in verse. Here goes:
TO UNKNOWN SIDE OF MOON I GO Over the last several years, slowly at first, but gathering speed as time passes, I have been changing. At least I have been examining my life more carefully, and laying myself open to change.
RACISM First, I became aware of my own racism. In 2016, I was being considered for a job that would have involved ministering in the Hispanic world. But even though I am a missionary kid born in Mexico, I had by my mid-fifties developed significant antagonism toward the growing population of Hispanics in the US. We can all thank God that job didn’t pan out. Imagine the hypocrisy!
Just after that, I went full-time with my web design business. In all the spare time I had, I began taking long daily walks. On those walks, I listened to many books, including all of the Bible (several times through). I’d walk around White Rock Lake, listening, and pondering. I also began observing how I responded to each person that I encountered on the trail. Why was my heart immediately warm toward this person, but cold and distrustful toward that person? I noticed–once again–that racism was definitely involved.
SELFISHNESS Acknowledging and inspecting my antagonism toward Hispanics revealed a deep vein of selfishness in me. At one point, I had to admit, “I don’t like this influx of Hispanics in the US because it’s a drag on the economy.” In other words, I was thinking with my wallet–how a group of people affect my wealth–not with Jesus’ welcoming, hospitable love. (By the way, I wasn’t thinking very well in any case). It seemed obvious to me that I had to either follow Jesus or give up that way of thinking.
As the years passed, I began to see how that vein of selfishness was influencing my politics, my view of history, even my theology. It’s hard to be an honest interpreter of Scripture when you are motivated to find God giving you every advantage while denying it to others!
A SENSE OF SUPERIORITY This brings me to something I was finally able to articulate to myself last night just as I walked across the parking lot to meet my friend in the restaurant. One of my biggest struggles in life is the temptation and tendency to think of myself as superior to many others in many ways: smarter, wiser, healthier, more discerning, more talented. Not, of course, superior to everyone around me… I’m arrogant, not stupid!
A LONG SLOW COURSE OF MEDICATION When I recognized my selfishness and racism, I began reading extensively about the history of white supremacy in the US. There’s simply no way that I escaped inheriting some of the rottenness in that pervasive ideology! Talking with my friend at supper, I listed some of the authors I have read. As you read this list, you may be tempted to jump down my throat. But hear me out. The authors included Robin DiAngelo (White Fragility), Abram X Kendi (Stamped From the Beginning), Bryan Loritts (Insider Outsider), Jemar Tisby (How to Fight Racism), Luke Bobo (Race, Economics, and Apologetics), and Ta Nehisi Coates (We Were Eight Years in Power). With the exception of DiAngelo, these authors are all black men and skilled writers. Even if I question their analysis or solutions, I deeply appreciate their ability to articulate their perspective. Some of them are my brothers, and all are my friends in that regard. Reading these authors, and imbibing many related documentaries and podcasts has been like taking a long slow course of medication. I’m getting better, largely by understanding how bad off I am.
BACK TO THE POEM The dark side of the moon is a hostile, unfamiliar environment. If the moon we see every night is smiling on us approvingly, the dark side of the moon is indifferent at best, scowling murderously at worst. In its metaphorical eyes, we are not great. In its metaphorical eyes, any notion that I am superior to anything or anyone is laughable.
HAVE I SAID ENOUGH? If you go back and read the poem now, does it start to make sense? Can you see that it is hopeful, and not depressing? Let me know by commenting below!
[Note to my future self: I wrote this a day or two after watching an episode of The Crown, in which Prince Philip has a private interview with the Apollo 11 astronauts. Philip was experiencing a crisis at that point in his life, and he hoped that the astronauts would have some serious, helpful observations about life and faith. Alas, they were at that point just men of action, not contemplation.]
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
For some time now, greed and selfishness have held morbid interest for me. So, so much of life looks different once you recognize these sins in yourself. So, my eyes are wide open this evening as I read a chapter on “Greed vs. Generosity” in Brant Pitre’s helpful “Introduction to the Spiritual Life.”
The poem’s last line is a double-entendre. I have made enemies with double-entendres. But in my poetry I mean them for good.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
I’ve often hit the story of Cain and Abel and thought, “I’m not thinking deeply enough about this!” So here’s a prayer. I hope it isn’t merely “fruit of the ground.”
POSSIBLE HOGWASH About that “fruit of the ground….” I doubt this, and I honestly haven’t done any study of the matter, but what if “fruit of the ground” refers to windfall? Have you ever walked by a peach tree or an apple tree and been tempted to pick up a fruit that has fallen to the ground and then chomp into it? No? Me either. That fruit probably isn’t worth much. In any case, SOMETHING about Cain’s offering fell short of “doing what is right.”
As we read the account, notice something astounding: Cain murders his brother even after God has tried to reason with him.
In the course of time Cain brought some of the fruits of the soil as an offering to the Lord. And Abel also brought an offering—fat portions from some of the firstborn of his flock. The Lord looked with favor on Abel and his offering, but on Cain and his offering he did not look with favor. So Cain was very angry, and his face was downcast.
Then the Lord said to Cain, “Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.”
Now Cain said to his brother Abel, “Let’s go out to the field.” While they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him.
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Commentary
OOF. I took a long walk with a wise friend yesterday. I tried out my interpretations of the world on him. Some of them he found wanting. For his intelligent honesty and other reasons he remains a VERY GOOD FRIEND.
On the other hand…. It is sometimes essential for me to strip away the excuses and alternate explanations for what strikes me as evil. I’m a poet, after all, not an apologist or diplomat.
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Commentary
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
One of the things I have been gnawing on lately is an observation that Christians sometimes refuse to acknowledge that we are sinners. When some intrepid preacher points out one of our common everyday sins,* some of us go out of our way to marginalize that preacher. It’s ridiculous. My theory is that we wish to hang on to certain sins.
I know some will read this poem and immediately think “Unwholesome!” a la Ephesians 4:29. We need to work on our understanding of that verse. It must surely have to do with the speaker’s (or writer’s) INTENT, be it to build up, correct, benefit… or be it merely to shock, and give the speaker/writer some undeserved attention.
My intent in writing this is for the reader to recognize himself or herself in their unspoken(?) complaint, and then to REFLECT: “Do I ever do what this poem speaks of?”
*Like racism. This is something we all struggle with. But I have seen and heard people claim that’s all in the past. Bologna!
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
THIS IS ACTUALLY A SERIOUS POEM
Let’s see if I can explain it as well as I did to my wife….
I’m aware of a tendency to arrange the facts as I perceive them in a self-serving way. This is dangerous when it comes to Bible interpretation. It leads to distortions. For example, consider how a white, slave-holding Christian(?) man in the antebellum South interpreted Scripture. Naturally, he interpreted Scripture in a way that justified his evil ways. We are constantly in danger of doing the same thing, not about slavery, but in other ways where we elevate ourselves at others’ expense.
So, whenever my Bible interpretation has me smelling like a rose—or sitting pretty in an easy chair—I ask if I may be arranging the boxes to my own advantage. That’s the theory; God make it fully so!
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
The idea behind this poem still needs a lot of work. In the meantime, maybe it will make sense to you and even resonate….
When I was young, I sometimes dreamed of being a mountaineering guide. And I had definite ideas about how kind and understanding a guide should be to the slowest and weakest of his clients.
Just now, I had a vision (not literal, but almost so) of myself as that slowest and weakest one on the trail. Is there comfort in my perception of the Good Guide?
The trail is real, and physical, and hard. But there is a reality just out of sight, a realm of rest and realization. It parallels the trail, but is permanent, and more real than the trail. The Good Guide will transfer me to that realm at the perfect time. Not too soon, and not too late.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
SERMON TO SELF
This morning, I was writing a preachy little piece about how many of us think of judges only in terms of punishment, and not in terms of protection. I was exploring what this may say about us.
Then I turned from cleverness to the mirror. If I don’t grieve for the oppressed, what does that make me?
You save the humble but bring low those whose eyes are haughty.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
Of all the questions I ask about my reading, the least important is “How quickly am I getting through this book?” That habit is left over from years of perfectionism, and of having to read what others assigned to me, instead of what I chose to read.
I’m a slow reader. There, I said it. But I’m happy to report that God uses the little I’m able to read to change me.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
THE ICKINESS OF OTHERS’ SIN I keep wondering what prompts moral outrage in society. Some of us fixate on outward forms of morality and conformance. We’re especially heavy on others whose sin holds no attraction to us. Is it deflection? “Don’t look at the greed and hatred in my heart. Look over there; notice that icky sinner. Concentrate on THAT sin!”
Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.
Matthew 23:27-28 (NIV)
ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS I must credit my mother for pointing me to the virtue of thin-skinned, “imperfect” oranges. You couldn’t fool Billie Jean Hepp.
ALSO I was talking with a friend about this issue of moral outrage, and a different explanation emerged. It goes like this: People don’t really care about changing mores as much as they pretend to themselves and others. What they DO care about is being loyal to “our side” and the assortment of values espoused by “our side.” If the “other side” starts saying that (let’s come up with something silly) “all good men wear beards,” then you can count on it that “our side” will all agree that beards are evil, and must be banned. This agreement to rage about something as beautiful and sensible as beards doesn’t make sense, and “our side” doesn’t ACTUALLY care about the issue. It’s just that we’re in an all-out war to preserve the privilege secured for us by “our side.” Every hill becomes a hill to die on. Tribalism is juvenile.
“Thinking out loud….” I continue exploring my theory that selfishness is a common underlying motive that ultimately explains most of the weird behavior explored above. It sure has explained a lot in my own life!
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
ON THE PATH This early morning poetography is too personal, too idiosyncratic to be GOOD. But, like the dream from which I just awoke, it is TRUE.
The elements don’t go together for anyone outside my head. But for me, they all belong. I know when and where I took the background photo: December 22, 2019, west shore of White Rock Lake. I know what I was thinking then: I was beginning to recognize my judgmentalism, how unreliable I am in whether people are attractive or repulsive to me.
I’m still learning my place on the trail. What I think of—or feel toward—people I encounter on our respective paths is not what’s ultimately important.
THUS, THE TITLE: Wherever we go, See ourselves as sent: Not for our pleasure, but His.
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Commentary
Two things prompt this reflection.
First, I am thinking and praying about participating in an organization that promotes spiritual development through outdoor adventures. So I ask myself what part outdoor adventure has played in my own development? Did hiking and climbing mountains alone and with friends lay the groundwork for spiritual growth? If so, how?
Second, I was preparing some photos to help me tell the story of “The Road of No Return.” This was a mountain climbing trip with my great friend Darol. When I was 52, he and I revisited a mountain area where we had climbed 17 years earlier. In the intervening years, wisdom had traded places with strength. To put it another way, strength had migrated from my feet to my head! I have a vivid memory of seeing our car in the valley below, and of the seemingly interminable trek down the mountain road to reach that car. How could it hurt so much to reach something we could see with our own eyes?
Note: I’m not suggesting that the reflection in the image is one of profound understanding. It’s simply a recognition that places and experiences affect how we think about the world. They form a map in our brains… sometimes, a topo map.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
It’s frustrating to not be understood or appreciated. We probably all experience that at times. Imagine what it’s like to be God, to tell the best story, paint the best picture, or write the best poem ever—all for an audience who don’t get it. Yet.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
In a sidebar of “Rejoicing in Christ,” Michael Reeves writes about the English Reformer John Bradford. He says, “Most Christians take mealtime as a chance to thank God and remember him as their provider, but Bradford saw every part of the day as a gospel reminder.”
That seems like a fitting response to God’s ubiquitous poetry.
About the Background Image Two blocks over from where I live, there is a house with a tall, elegant sycamore. That’s the kind of tree that surrounded our house in East Texas. I thought they were fairly common, until I began looking for one to photograph for another poem. That’s when I discovered how rare they are, at least in Dallas.
This afternoon, as the sun set at its new, ridiculously early bedtime, I was out for a walk, and noticed how beautiful the light was. As I walked, I was supposedly listening to King David’s Psalms. But my mind was also occupied with how I myself should respond to beauty around me.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
KEEP THE LIGHT ON
[NOTE: Luke 8:4-18 has far more to it than I deal with in the following commentary. Also, one of my Facebook friends mentioned that she had dealt with the same passage, and largely come to the same conclusion as I did. You should read Laurie Mather’s well-written blog post.]
I didn’t always pay close attention in Sunday school. But if memory serves right, the “light under a bushel” motif was always taught either as a prod to keep witnessing, or as an encouragement to recognize and use our gifts and talents. It was all about what we can and should do with the good things we possess. They taught us a catchy little tune that probably did more damage than good.
Despite our Sunday school teachers’ excellent intentions, I currently doubt that they got Jesus’ meaning right, or that they understood how Luke uses the motif. Here’s what changed my thinking….
Recently, as I struggled through the Greek1 in Luke 8, a word kept popping up: ακούω. Hear! Listen! Luke points out that while telling the parable of the soils (that immediately precedes the “light under a bushel” illustration), Jesus interjected a word of urgency:
“As he said these things, he called out, ‘He who has ears to hear, let him hear.’”
Luke 8:8 ESV
Notice that “he called out.” That must have caught his listeners’ attention. It should catch ours as well. Let us hear.
Listening And Receptivity In Jesus’ explanation of the parable of the soils, some form of “listen” or “hear” is recurring. The characters in the parable hear the word with varying levels of receptivity.2 We’ve already seen that Jesus emphasized the need for his listeners to hear what he was saying.
After telling about the parable of the soils (Luke 8:4-15), Luke relates something Jesus said about lights, containers, beds, and lampstands (Luke 8:16-17). Given the way I had typically understood this “light under a bushel” motif, its use in these two verses struck me as a non-sequitur. That’s always a good sign that I’m missing the point. So I kept reading….
The form of the following verse suggests that the soils parable and the light under a bushel illustration were not disparate thoughts, but were supposed to be one cohesive section. Luke brings us to a logical conclusion of the section with verse 18 (notice my bolding):
“Take care thenhow you hear, for to the one who has, more will be given, and from the one who has not, even what he thinks that he has will be taken away.”
Luke 8:18 ESV
In the concluding verse, we’re back to the matter of hearing, and a stern warning to those who aren’t listening well.
In “light” of this, how does the “light under a bushel” motif fit in Jesus’ flow of thought? Is he suddenly, inexplicably talking about witnessing or using our hidden talents?
My tentative conclusion is that Jesus has not interrupted himself. When he talks about lights and how they are either minimized or maximized, he’s still talking about receptivity. Our hearts, like various soils, can receive or reject God’s life-changing word. We need to LISTEN well. Similarly, when the light of God’s word is illuminating our hearts, we need to LOOK well. We need to receive—respond to—what we’re being shown.
Am I ready for God to shed light on my heart? Am I receptive to his correction? Am I prepared to remove the rocks and weeds that he reveals so that better things can grow?
Maybe that’s the flow of thought in Luke 8. I could be wrong. I’ll keep the light on.
ABOUT THE POEM The Luke 8 account has two settings: outside and inside. Outside, there’s the soils by the path; inside, there’s the room that’s being illumined. That’s one of two reasons why I used “without, within” in my poem. It’s also the case that some of our sin is externally obvious (rocks, weeds), and some is less obvious (like shallow soil).
Since I always doubt myself…. Here’s a question for future consideration: is the soils parable really about sinful responses?
1 I rarely ever admit to having any facility with Greek. Two reasons: 1) despite having studied Greek three years in seminary, I don’t consider myself anything above a “beginner” and 2) even if I were fluent, I wouldn’t mention it because my real goal is to encourage others to study the Bible in whatever their mother tongue might be. I don’t want anyone getting the impression that Greek is necessary. Frankly, the only reason it helps me at this point is that it slows my brain down enough to notice things. I could probably turn the text upside down and read it in a mirror and get the same benefit!
2 The fact that “believe” and “be saved” are used in Jesus’ explanation of the soils parable may seem to limit its meaning or application to evangelism. I suspect that’s too narrow, that the parable applies at any point in the run up to producing good fruit. [This begs for exploration: the relationship of being fruitful and salvation, or of not being fruitful and needing salvation. Helpfully, the cursing of the fruitless fig tree may challenge, deepen, and expand our understanding]
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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)
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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?]
(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
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
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.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary)
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!
Despite the silly sound effects in my recording of this poem (and on the video version), it’s a serious poem. I promise you, it is!
I get very frustrated with narrow-mindedness, and with people who don’t develop intellectually over their lifetimes. Hopefully it’s obvious that the speaker in this poem has spent his (or her) entire lifetime defending a narrow, and tired point of view.
Looming Open Door This is the sad conclusion of the poem. Opportunity has existed at every point since the speaker’s feet touched the floor to go out and explore. Instead, he considers the world “out there” a threat.
In explaining this poem to one of my sons, I put it this way…. I’m an Elder, and so there are people that I will someday have to answer for. I’m not sure how that will be. I picture the Lord asking what I did to help these people survive their spiritual battles. I may answer, “Well, I tried, but You know… they didn’t want help.” And then the questions I dread: “Did YOU want my help? Did you ASK for my help?”
Silent battles rage around me. People I love, people for whom I must answer to God, are taking fire. The one most effective way for me to protect them is prayer. Instead, I find passive, unhelpful ways to fill my time.
As I wrote in one lament, “I scroll, I stroll, I scrawl.” I do anything but engage in the intense duty of intercession. My son could identify with that mindless, unthreatening hamster wheel of social media and other time-wasters. Can you identify?
Silent battles rage around me. But I choose to be distracted by other things, even news of noisy battles raging elsewhere: foreign wars.
“Here is your duty, man.” I can almost hear the Spirit say. “Here, not there.” But the news distracts; it almost drowns out the Spirit’s intense, insistent, discomforting voice.
