a digital commonplace book
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
When you live in the same neighborhood for 30 years, and are moderately outgoing, you learn who’s pleasant to chat with and who you’d rather avoid. Racism is a huge turnoff, as are complaints like “the neighbor’s sprinkler is getting my grass wet.”
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Isolation and alienation have probably affected my outlook on life far more than I consciously understand. Consider the following from my youth:
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)
This poem was prompted by current events. There’s a debate raging right now on social media about whether or not an event at the Paris Olympics was a blasphemous depiction of the Last Supper. Apparently there were some similarities between the Paris event and Leonaro da Vinci’s painting “The Last Supper.” However, some of my sources who are most savvy concerning history and art are suggesting that the Paris tableau vivant (assuming that’s what it was–I haven’t bothered looking) was actually a depiction of Greek mythological motifs. In this post, that doesn’t matter. There’s something more important.
Having learned misdirection from my magician (and theologian) father, I thought I’d cast the question about blasphemy in a less religiously-charged da Vinci painting: “The Mona Lisa.” In this poem, I’m exploring the question, “What IF pagans misappropriate or misrepresent Christianity. Should Christians take offense? Should we wag our fingers and say ‘Don’t you DARE insult our Lord in this way!'”
GOT ALONG
My answer is in the last stanza of the poem. We who know what was happening at Jesus’ last supper with his disciples should not get bent out of shape if someone misrepresents that event. The truth is not in any danger. All of eternity will vindicate Jesus’ goodness, and our decision to follow Him.
After writing the poem, I was tempted to change “got along” to “moved along.” For two reasons, I am resisting that temptation. “Moved along” would suggest that the knowing adults in the story just leave the scene. But that’s not what I wish Christians would do when we encounter supposed threats to Christianity. In the current kerfuffle, we have the opportunity to engage non-believers in a positive way–to get along with them for everyone’s benefit. Study C.S. Lewis and consider how mythology is answered by Christ, how pointers to a feast WILL be fulfilled in time and eternity. That’s the first reason. Honestly, the second reason is simply that I have to trust my subconscious when it comes to writing poetry!
NOTE: SINCE I HAVE YOU HERE, HAVE YOU CHECKED OUT MY PAGE OF “BRAD’S FAVORITE POEMS“?
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
For now, I’ll just copy what I wrote on Facebook:
Susan tells me she’s glad I find comfort in writing. I think it’s called lament.
I don’t know about that last line. How can death be a disease? I tossed down this whole poem almost intuitively, not thinking deeply about my word choice. When that happens, I tend to trust my subconscious. There may be more there than meets the eye.
#changeordie #resistingchange #preferringdeath
(background image by Fernando Zhiminaicela on Pixabay)
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
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.
Michael Gerson
(background image by “12019” on Pixabay)
#ephesians19 #ephesusriot #artemis #idols #idolatry #comfort #privilege #whiteevangelicals #americanchristians #philippians2vv3-8 #seekyefirst
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Susan sometimes urges me to be patient with people who have not evolved in their thinking over the last few years. After all, I was in my late fifties before I even started examining and adjusting some major facets of my life….
But is that fair? Have the past few years really not shown us enough selfishness, inhospitality, and bigotry in ourselves and our neighbors that DEMANDS reformation?
(Background image: the trail above Norbuck Park. I took many a contemplative walk on this trail after being introduced to it by a man who wouldn’t change his ways.)
#bigotry #inhospitality #selfishness #racism #idolofcomfort #reformation #spiritualgrowth
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
My blood pressure was elevated this morning after the fitful sleep of a poet interpreting his world through metaphor. How fitting that I landed on a medical diagnosis.
THE IDEAL THAT IS SHORTCHANGED BY AUTOIMMUNE DISEASE:
So Christ himself gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.
Ephesians 4:11-13 NIV
#autoimmune #thechurch #unappreciative #sappers #badbereans #heresyhunters
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
This poem may sound playful, but it really is a lament.
I listen to the podcasts of an Evangelical pastor who is working through his former allegiance to Evangelical beliefs and practice. He, like many of us, is distressed by the behavior of Evangelicals–make that White Evangelicals–in the past few years. Since our behavior has been so horrible, we’re forced to question our beliefs. One of his recent podcasts examined a belief that I still hold somewhat dear. Somewhat. Frankly, I am conflicted. The image of a leaky bucket came to mind as I considered my loss of confidence in this cherished belief.
I’m not going to go into details about the particular belief. Nor am I going to argue with anyone about what I perceive as horrible behavior by White Evangelicals. I’ll leave arguing for people who are good at it. The Holy Spirit is probably more convincing than I am. Right?
(background image is a mashup of the pail, by omnigrapher2016, and the stream, by lalami78, both on Pixabay)
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
This morning, after I awoke, and long before I got out of bed, I began imagining a travel guide for people visiting my island. In this guide, I would introduce travelers to three groups of people they’re likely to encounter: God-deniers, God-fearers, and God-danglers.
You’ve probably never heard of God-danglers. These people may or may not utter the curse “God dangle it!” In fact, many of them would be far too proper for something so close to profanity. The term “God-dangler” originally* referred to people who wear a chain with some form of religious pendant. And—this is important—they wear it AS a talisman. In other words, they think of God as their magic charm.
But a pendant is close to the heart, and it’s important to understand that God isn’t really close to the heart of God-danglers. That’s when it occurred to me that God-danglers sometimes dangle swords at their sides. Swords, like talismans, are something people rely on to get their way.
So there you have the complete history of the term “God-danglers.” These are people who don’t technically DENY God. They also don’t really FEAR God. Rather, they see God as someone they’d better dangle along to insure they get their way while getting’s to be got.
_____________
*meaning five minutes into my flight of fancy
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
I read somewhere that mental health experts have noticed a pandemic of loneliness in 2023. What happens in society happens to us. We’re not exempt. I certainly feel a sharp loneliness at times. Where does this come from? Can I fix it in my own life?
As I look around for answers, I am determined to be more strategic about friendships. There is just so much energy and time. I must work on what’s valuable, and resist what merely sucks.
(background image adapted from a photo by Peter H on Pixabay)
loneliness #inhospitality #isolation #exhaustion #newyear #resolution #2023 #2024
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Some conversations serve as a warning: “Make sure you’re not on this path!”
This poem was inspired by a conversation I had with an elderly patron at the library where I work. Ever since that conversation, I have avoided him. Otherwise, I’d have to deflect his political jibes, misogyny, and racism. It would be terrible if other patrons thought I agree with him!
#quickwitted #bitingtongue #bitterness #losing #vanishingnow
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
I’m finally reading Anne Frank’s diary. I’m a slow reader, so Sadness will hang around the next few days. She’s not my most welcome guest, but surely as wise as they come.
Almost every time I walk with Anger, I realize that Sadness would conduct me to a better place.
Note: I should use the following image as a background, if and when I get a copy with enough resolution:
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
My younger son Joshua just moved to New York City. I am almost ecstatic for the growth he’s poised to experience. Recently, I have been taking measure of the fathering I did when my boys were young. My sinfulness—including cowardice and racism—affected them negatively. HOWEVER, I am convinced that God can restore, even where we deprive and waste.
There’s more than one side to the homeschooling issue, especially in our circumstances. But I must be honest about my mixed motives. One of the beautiful things Joshua did for me is to help me see my racism (as well as some other failings).
(background image is a photograph I took of kids in a one-room school in Peru, when I was there on a missions internship in 1986)
#homeschooling #overprotection #restoration
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
I love it when a poem gets shorter and shorter, ’til all that’s left is one sentence.
I have asked one thing from the Lord; it is what I desire: to dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, gazing on the beauty of the Lord and seeking him in his temple.
Psalms 27:4
(background image by Alp Cem on Pixabay)
#psalm27v4 #winsome #witness #seeingisbelieving #culturewars #insanity #poetography
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
You can never go home again, though sometimes I try. Google Street View is an amazing way to travel the streets of places where I lived long ago. Sometimes it just produces sadness. Recently, I did a virtual “drive” around the summit of the cerro La Paz, in Puebla. When I lived there as a little boy, I could walk the quarter mile to the summit of the hill and look across the valley to the volcanoes Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhuatl. Now it appears that wealthy people have built mansions that block the view from everyone but themselves.
#youcantgohome #cerrolapaz #puebla #popocatepetl #iztaccihuatl
ADDITION:
One of my older brothers read the above poem and sent me the following photo from our family photo album. It is of me at about age three, being held by our maid, Lupe. The sky over Popocatepetl is ablaze with the kind of sunsets we often saw over the volcanoes. When you read that we had a maid, don’t get the wrong idea. By United States standards, and by the standard of most of the people who lived on our hill in Puebla, we were very poor (but only in financial terms!).
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
It seems that we humans are not unified by anything. But is it possible that we are unified in rebellion against our Creator and Judge? I have been puzzling about this. The Babel story is something I’ll have to account for as I explore the idea that the biggest tribe of all is humanity. If you’re interested in where I got my imagery, read about “The Great Sedition Trial of 1944.”
I mean no disrespect to Notre-Dame. I chose the background photo for this little poem because when I think of flying buttresses, I can’t imagine any more prominent than those that support Notre-Dame’s vaulted ceiling.
As a side note, surely I’m not the first person to say that when I view a photo of Notre-Dame taken from the southeast (the view in the photo above), I see the flying buttresses as streams of tears flowing from the old lady’s eyes. Her eyes have seen a lot.
The Poem
This morning, I was reflecting on how much my thinking has been–and is being–recalibrated. Over the last few years, I’ve had to rethink much of what I formerly thought of as good and noble in politics, religion, national and state history. Almost daily, I learn more and more about flaws in what I once thought was practically flawless. There’s a lot of sadness in this realization. On the other hand, the very low view–verging on hatred–that I had for many opposing institutions and ideologies has practically disappeared. I can now see virtue in people I once despised. I can hear what they say with an open mind. They no longer threaten me. That’s because I no longer count on the institutions they oppose. My honor is not wrapped up in a political party, or nation, or state. More and more, I’m simply a follower of Jesus. More and more, my worth is wrapped up in his worth.
Something VERY Cool
Go to this link, hover over the pin for the Notre-Dame cathedral and watch a 360-degree fly-around of the beautiful building.
(background image adapted from photo by Jacques Gaimard on Pixabay)
LISTEN SELECTIVELY
If the voices we listen to are a constant barrage of criticism leveled at “the other side,” we shouldn’t be surprised to find ourselves falling into this sin.
God help me see this sin as clearly in myself as I see it in others!
(background image by “thefss” on Pixabay)
I have witnessed this scene often, but mainly from the aisles.
(background image by “Tama66” on Pixabay)
LET LAMENT BE
When we suffer loss, people often reach for metaphor, supposing it will comfort: windows being opened, gold refined of dross. But the view out a window is sometimes bleak, and gold in finished form not always something we would seek.
In plain terms, one of the themes I keep returning to in my poetry is a sense of loss, and how to deal with it. I think of Paul’s claim
12 I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. 13 I can do all this through him who gives me strength.
Philippians 4:12,13
Paul isn’t self-sufficient. Jesus’ provision of strength comes at least partly through fellow believers. The immediate context of Paul’s claim seems to be his thankfulness for financial support from the church at Philippi. But in the rest of the letter to the Philippians, Paul mentions other kinds of support. Notice the words and phrases in chapter 2: encouragement, compassion, comfort, looking to the interests of others, concern, having mercy, sparing from sorrow.
How do we participate in this mutual encouragement? What I’m suggesting in the poem above is that it starts with acknowledging difficulties. In order for any of us to support others in their grieving or loss, we need to first acknowledge grief or loss in ourselves, and let others do the same.
(background image by Karn Badjatia on Pixabay)
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….
(background image by Sophia Hilmar on Pixabay)
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!
It should come as no surprise that a poet thinks by analogy. This morning, I had some worrisome things in mind as I plodded through the end of Matthew. In the events surrounding the Crucifixion (as in countless other settings), Psalm 2 is played out:
Why do the nations rage and the peoples plot in vain? The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the Lord and against his Anointed, saying, ‘Let us burst their bonds apart and cast away their cords from us.’
Psalm 2:1-3 ESV
The analogy? I sat reading in the living room, facing the kitchen, and imagining how roaches would conspire at night (if we had them). They’d gather there on the kitchen floor and hiss their hateful plans. In the end, it isn’t about roaches, but about man. He’s meant to reflect a good, loving God, but often comes closer to reflecting despicable crawling creatures.
The Title
I originally meant to title this “Night Crawlers.” But then I looked that up. Worms? No, that’s not sufficiently despicable. So I looked up “roaches” and found the scientific name for the ones we encounter here in Texas: Periplaneta americana. Perfect. The divisiveness, the constant warring, the plotting…. There’s definitely an American species of this global phenomenon.
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.
I really don’t have a lot I can say about this poem yet. It is almost entirely a raw, unprocessed impression of my state of mind.
But I can say two things…. As some other recent poems reveal, I am doing a lot of thinking about what it means that we live in a fallen world, and how I participate in the fallenness.
When this “poem” (or “sentence,” if you prefer) popped into my head, I was reading The Reluctant Tommy. Quoting from Wikipedia, it’s a book “compiled by Duncan Barrett from the memoirs of Ronald Skirth, a member of the Royal Garrison Artillery during the First World War…. The book captured attention due to Skirth’s actions during the war to avoid enemy casualties.”
Connecting Blood
Although I haven’t figured out just what this sentence or poem expresses, I’m pretty sure that “connecting” refers to various relationships between various things. That’s how my mind works.
I wrote this out of intense frustration. Recently, I’ve seen a silencing or muting of pointers to God’s amazing goodness and grace. It’s not prudent for me to go into details, to trot out examples. But I could.
On Mountain Tops
It’s probably no accident that my imagery is reminiscent of the giving of the Law (Exodus 19-20), and Israel’s response. To be honest, I haven’t worked out what this poem has to do with that historical event, but I sense that they are related. [NB: for “beauty” in the Law, see this article].
Subjects of His Ugliness
That may be a little harsh. “His Ugliness” refers to Satan (conversely, “Beauty” refers to Jesus). Am I suggesting that some who claim to be followers of Jesus Christ are actually subjects of Satan? Not necessarily, although it is possible. Even genuine followers of Jesus do sometimes wander off the path. In Matthew’s account, shortly after Peter had acknowledged that Jesus is the Messiah (Matthew 16:16), Jesus had to rebuke him:
But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me. For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.”
Matthew 16:23
The Ambiguous Title
I’m not really enthusiastic about the title. Maybe I’ll come up with something better. For what it’s worth, “Denying” is ambiguous. It can refer to being intellectually opposed to a proposition, and it can refer to successfully thwarting something. With respect to Jesus’ present reign, both senses of denial are currently in operation to one extent or another. But His coming reign cannot be stopped; it will not be denied! Every knee will bow (Rom. 14:11).
[The background photo of Kirkjufell in Iceland is by Hans Braxmeier on Pixabay (I moved the fire)].
A few years ago, when I went full-time with my web business and suddenly had plenty of time on my hands, I began taking walks around White Rock Lake. Sometimes it was from a parking lot (a 9 miles hike) and sometimes from home (a 12 miles hike). That was the beginning of one of the best periods in my life. Here’s why….
Paying Attention
On those long hikes, one of the things I did was pay close attention to how I was responding to people I encountered along the way: “The site of that elderly lady elicited warm feelings. Why? When I saw that young man, I felt disgust. Why? Why am I so ready to love some people, but not others?” Even after years of paying attention to my responses, it’s often still a mystery. But at least I’m a little more attuned to my emotional state now than I was before.
So I Asked Myself….
Yesterday, I walked by the bench in the background photo. Thanks to the habit of paying attention to my emotional state, I knew there was something I feel every time I pass by a person sitting on that bench. Could I put that feeling in words? Here’s what I initially wrote:
Often, when I’m walking at White Rock Lake and find someone sitting on this bench, I wish to sit with them, to share their experience. People taking in the beauty of a place like this are close to God, whether they realize it or not. But usually I just smile and walk on by.
Is it So?
What I want to do (sit with them) is something I can report with more confidence than why I want to do so. In the prose explanation and subsequent poem, I connect my desire to a sense that God is somehow involved in the experience. That’s still just a theory of what’s going on in my head and heart. This theory may get support from a book I started into last night: “The Soul of Desire: Discovering the Neuroscience of Longing, Beauty, and Community,” by Curt Thompson.
Why Wistful?
It makes me sad that I either cannot or do not always act on my good impulses. To sit and talk with a stranger? There’s nothing wrong with that impulse. But something usually stops me. What?
RELATED POST: “The Man From Valladolid” (based on meeting a fellow just yards from this bench).
I keep encountering this notion that abrupt changes cannot possibly be God’s will. I’ve encountered it in others, but also in myself! Run your mind across the testimony of Scripture. Does the notion hold up? I don’t think so.
Abruptly
“Abruptly” has a negative connotation. It’s used when people are inconvenienced. One might say, “Because she changed her mind abruptly, all my careful plans were brought to nothing! I had to scramble!” One would never say, “My fondest wishes were fulfilled abruptly!” So, the speaker of the poem is complaining. His words should be read with a whiny voice. Notice the repetition of “our.” He feels entitled. Finally, he offers biblical allusions as self-serving platitudes.* He’s confused, and a sinner somewhere is surely to blame!
We Think Not
Based on his own thinking — or is it his lack of thinking!? — the speaker arrogantly decrees that nothing can be done abruptly. He speaks for all who consider themselves worthy judges of how life should unfold.
*How often I have heard 1 Corinthians 14:33 used as a proof text supporting mere personal preference!
I wrote this first thing this morning, after giving up on a restless night. About 2 or 3 am, I woke up, and could tell I wouldn’t be getting to sleep soon. So I used my monthly credit at Audible and downloaded “The End of The Affair” by Graham Greene. That title intrigued me ever since a theologian I respect recommended it to a fellow writer in response to the request, “…name one (and only one) novel that you recommend I should read?” The Audible version has the bonus of being read by Colin Firth.
So, by 7 am, I had listened to at least half of the novel. Admittedly, I dozed off during parts, but a check on synopsis sites tells me I didn’t miss much….
“Errant Love”
This is the only line I’ll expand on in this commentary. “Errant” usually means something like “erring or straying from the proper course or standards.” That definitely describes the illicit affair referred to in the book’s title. I won’t describe that here. In fact, I wouldn’t want to make a regular diet of this kind of material.
But “errant” has a more archaic meaning of something like being “out on an adventure.” When the thrill seeker wanders from home, he vacates his usual place… leaving it empty. Thus, the “empty place of errant love.”
The main character in the book — Maurice Bendrix — says very early on that “This is a record of hate far more than of love.” While I don’t know much about affairs (thank God!), I do know about hatred. I have felt it. I see it, almost daily, in the most unlikely places. It occurs to me that it only takes up residence where love has abandoned its rightful place, or where love is disordered.
The Background Image
The background image (adapted from a photo by Susann Mielke on Pixabay) was suggested by the setting of Greene’s novel: 1944 London, during the German blitz. The V-1 “robot” bombs buzz in from the South and make a mess of Bendrix’s apartment. In the process, they change everything, including Bendrix’s relationship with his love interest, Sarah.
This one is likely to lose me some “friends.” It is sarcastic and appeals to a sense of justice that not all share.
Whenever I see the complaint that removal of Confederate monuments will result in people not being able to learn history, I just about lose it. People who object to removal of Confederate monuments would NEVER object to the removal of statues to Saddam Hussein in Iraq. Those people would NEVER have said, “If our Marines take down statues to Saddam Hussein, how will the Iraqi people learn history?!” Why would they appeal to the “history” argument in the one case, but not in the other? Ask them. I suspect that if they’re honest they’d tell you that they’re proud of their Confederate history. In my opinion, they should be ashamed of it.
I used to defend the “States’ Rights” cause of the South.* Regardless of the extent to which States’ Rights was the real motivation for the South’s rebellion, it doesn’t fly with me anymore. RIGHTS. First of all, that’s not what followers of Christ should dedicate themselves to obtaining or retaining for themselves. See Philippians, chapter 2. In Augustine’s “Confessions” he asked, “How do I know that God is changing me, that I have made progress?” His answer: “I have learned to give up my rights.”
Securing rights for others? Well that’s surely more justified for the follower of Christ. But in the case of the Confederacy, the “rights” that the Rebels fought for was the “right” to enslave, to oppress. That’s certainly not the kind of right a follower of Christ should secure. No, that “right” is just wrong.
This poem was prompted by today’s headlines.
*”States’ Rights” is something I still hold to at a conceptual level in that I prefer decentralization of power. But when decentralized power uses its rights to cause harm (e.g., slavery), something higher kicks in. How would one define that higher principle?
BACKGROUND
Recently, I have been trying to imagine what it might look like to be in a church that welcomes people from all kinds of backgrounds. Would I be willing to give up my comfort for their sake? What if they’re REALLY different? What if their politics are different than mine, different than the politics of most others in the church? Would we be able to keep things in perspective, or would we chase them off because their politics make them feel like pariahs?
Which is more valuable: a soul, or my opinion?
I was once part of a church plant where my chief motivation was comfort: I wanted to be comfortable with the style of worship, and the kind of people I’d be worshipping with. Now, I recognize comfort as an idol. Doubtless, I retain — and am even now creating — other idols, things that are more important than God’s glory. May He have mercy on me.
SEE THE DARK IRONY?
I’m not smart enough to have intended the searing irony in the next-to-last line. “Like hell” was drawn lightly from recent events. But there is a reality darker than current darkness, infinitely more consequential than current comfort.
THE PHOTOGRAPH
The background photo is of St. John’s Episcopal Church, which I pass by on my walks from home to Flag Pole Hill. One evening, the clouds were threatening. I confess: “HDR Scape” in Snapseed accentuated the drama. Do I feel bad about editing a photo? Not in the least…. It’s part of artistic expression. I’m not a mimeograph!
WALK AWAY FROM TALK RADIO
When angry men are on a roll,
It’s usually best to take a stroll.
#lessonsimlearning #proverbs2224
Depressed tonight, I recognize a silent battle — THE silent battle — that rages in me and friends. We occupy ourselves with any conflict at hand rather than the conflict at heart. We are intended by God’s merciful will to be fully won over in the battle to be reconciled, to be transformed into children worthy of fellowship with our Elder brother, Jesus Christ.
Jesus is the Victor. He won over sin that enslaves, weakens, and demoralizes us. He knows how we began; He also knows how we’ll end. Getting us there is His kind purpose (the Victor’s end).
So, why am I depressed? Largely because I see a problem in truly dear friends, a problem that probably afflicts me as well. They are — perhaps I am as well — occupied with silly, worthless conflicts. They are living in echo chambers that reinforce their perception that what they occupy themselves with is important. I sometimes despair of getting through to them. I don’t want to argue with them. They sometimes “like” what I write, apparently not realizing that it is completely antithetical to the trivial pursuits, the phony wars that call them forth. Some undoubtedly see me in the same sad light.
I wrote on Facebook that we need to pray for one another. God alone is able to rescue us from meaningless, hollow lives. He alone can replace depression with love, hope, and commitment.
I wrote this partly in response to Mary’s wise and beautiful poem in Luke 1:46-55.
The subject of POWER has been much on my mind, in part because I have been reading Robert Greene’s entertaining but amoral “The 48 Laws of Power.”
I have been thinking about how God-fearers should relate to power. Of all God’s attributes that we can and should reflect, since He made us in His image, this seems to be one of the most dangerous.
[NOTE: I was very intentional with my punctuation, even in introducing ambiguity to the title]
A friend asked me if there should be a comma after time. Here’s what I told him:
The absence of a comma opens this up to at least three interpretations. I know this style’s not everyone’s cup of tea. Are you familiar with ee cummings’ “my father moved through dooms of love“? That poem brings me to tears whenever I read it.
The slight effort of getting past the absence of punctuation in cummings may add to its emotional impact. Speaking of tea…. Coffee is better than tea precisely for its body, that it slides down not so easily.
So, here are some pointers to meaning:
Lord, I would not be so petty.
I was sitting outside our Air BnB while on vacation in Silverthorne, Colorado. It was a crisp mountain morning. The birds were singing, occasionally geese flew over in formation, and this beautiful mountain filled my view (Red Peak?). But next door, there was a workman happily whistling as he worked outside. He distracted from “nature.” But I knew my being annoyed was wrong. I had to write this rebuke to myself.
I read that a writer comes alive by telling dead men’s tales. Here’s one such tale, though it’s not the *men* who died. This little poem was a lament. A dear friend had tried to persuade someone that his even-handedness in politics is NOT a retreat from righteousness. But the opponent was trapped in his or her allegiance to one end of the political spectrum.
December 20, 2021 Update: This problem has only grown worse over the last 17 months. I’m now reluctant to talk openly with people I once considered eminently reasonable. I fear being disappointed, and I fear opening the door to enmity where no enmity existed before. Now, more than ever, I live with this refrain: “Anything I say can and will be used against me.” I have a Christ-like friend who had to get off social media because there is someone out there — supposedly a Christian — literally building a case against him, misinterpreting anything he says, casting it in the worst possible light, and cataloging the supposed sins. Call that someone The Accuser.
The Internet browser fills my head with worrisome headlines. They did this! They are doing that! They, they, they. Soon, I forget to look for what He is doing.
