Romans 1:11-12

For I long to see you, that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to strengthen you--- that is, that we may be mutually encouraged by each other's faith, both yours and mine.

Romans 1:11-12

How often do we truly seek to edify another? How often do we enter in to an interaction with the explicit intent of building up someone else? Unless I am misguided, I would venture to guess rarely. More often, our interactions are at best transactional: we need to communicate information X or receive information Y, or manipulative at worst. Even when our encounters are entered into with the best of intentions they often are sterile and lifeless. Contrast this with Paul's intent to impart some gift to the Roman church. He writes with the same intentionality witnessed in the life of Christ, who though teaching, preaching, and healing, did so with a purposeful intent for the individual or group. We know that spiritual gifts are given for the benefit of the body; of all believers, yet rarely do we intentionally seek our opportunities to edify our brothers. To do so requires both attention to the details and affairs of another's life as well as the selflessness (or should I say Christ-likeness) to relegate one's time and desires to build up another. We have been given the tools to strengthen and embolden our sisters if we would only put on the attitude of Christ, who gave himself for our benefit and salvation.

Romans 1:8-10a

First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for all of you, because your faith is proclaimed in all the world. For God is my witness , whom I serve with my spirit in the gospel of his Son, that without ceasing I mention you always in my prayers

Romans 1:8-10a

Our everyday understanding of the Christian life is far too insular, far too individual. By rightly concerning ourselves with the interior state of our own hearts and souls we too often fashion islands of faith. Our fears become too personal, our prayers mere recitations of our desires. Paul's concern for the Roman believers should remind us that our thoughts should be for our brothers and sisters in Christ. We need to be cognizant of their concerns, their needs, their good. Beyond that, we should also be in prayer not primarily for ourselves but for the needs of our co-laborers. This prioritization of prayer not only puts their requests squarely before the Lord but also relegates our own needs to their proper place. George A. Buttrick affirms this ordering of our prayer life by advising personal petition last after intercession, "The fourth order in our prayer may be petition. It comes last, not because it is most important, but because it needs the safeguard of earlier prayer." Lord let us order our prayers and lives rightly.

Romans 1:3-4

Concerning his son, who was descended from David according to the flesh, and was declared to be the Son of God in power according to the Spirit of holiness by his resurrection from the dead.

Romans 1:3-4 

It really does all come down to the resurrection. If Jesus isn't resurrected then none of this matters. If he was, everything does. The only hope of purpose comes from the resurrection; the only hope for peace; the only hope of power; the only hope of meaning; the only hope of forgiveness; the only hope of consolation. All of it rests upon what happened in that tomb. As wise and as revolutionary as Jesus' teaching was, it would have all been empty had the tomb remained occupied. There is no 'Judeo-Christian' ethic without the resurrection. There is no hope for the world without it. It is the crux of human history, the turning point of eternity.

Spark

The first blush of crimson

buffeting the evening sky

awakens slumbering passions;

misplaced fervor;

it catches the light, refracted,

revealing the splendor of the Presence,

the power of the Divine Word.

In awe, the day retires into shadow

but lingering

is the voracious appetite for more,

the insatiable thirst for the glory of the Lord,

such that we would lament our folly;

our fleeting tempers so easily inflamed,

so easily appeased

and turn again to wonder,

to seek, wherever it might be heard

that sonorous voice

inspiring, in equal measure, terror and peace;

conviction and joy.

'Return!' the prophet cries,

like soundings in the deep,

'Seek Him while He may yet be found.

Repent, even in this sly half-light,

of our apathy; your routine and circumstance

that have blinded devotion.

Be not so easily satisfied.

Step down and be washed clean.

Let your toes feel the embrace of moist soil;

the cool press of the river on your thighs.

Immerse, in water and Spirit,

lest dusk fall fully and sleep again

deafen the ears of faith.'

We stand at the eve's pinnacle

burdened with decision

as light slips the vale.

We watch the last throes of the day recede.

We burn, consumed

by the glory and the Word;

and will suffer no rest

though all the earth should slumber.

Praise the God of Wind and Rain

Praise the God of wind and rain

Praise the God of starlit night

Praise the God who brings again

the dawning flush, the morning's light.

For if He who paints with vivid brush

And carves the canyons wide

Draws compassion with His touch

Through these expressive skies,

What joy, such common grace would bring

Though our souls may oft depart

Our voice, beside the dove does sing

Oh, praise the God of heavenly art.

All Our Philosophies

All our philosophies,

our silken veils,

are but placards---

excuses for appetite.

What man would know the truth

if it did not justify his means?

Discipline dies in the darkened

corners; that shadowed

plain of night

wherein no eye probes---

no damned justice hold sway.

Who can plead with affection?

Who can debate desire?

The heart has been tried 

and found wanting. 

From it rushes the fount

of pleasure, flowing free.

No. It is not shackles

that will hold us firm,

no cord of assurance or

conviction will bind.

There is no reformation

when the prescription necessitates abdication.

The Serpents Rush to the Valley

The serpents rush to the valley

to flee the wrath; the yawning grave.

'Who told ye hypocrites to flee?

What token give you to be free?

Allow not yourselves to tarry.

Step now ye down beneath the waves.'

Spark

The first blush of crimson

buffeting the evening sky

awakens slumbering passions;

misplaced fervor;

it catches the light, refracted,

revealing the splendor of the Presence,

the power of the Divine Word.

In awe, the day retires into shadow

but lingering

is the voracious appetite for more,

the insatiable thirst for the glory of the Lord,

such that we would lament our folly;

our fleeting tempers so easily inflamed,

so easily appeased

and turn again to wonder,

to seek, wherever it might be heard

that sonorous voice

inspiring, in equal measure, terror and peace;

conviction and joy.

'Return!' the prophet cries,

like soundings in the deep,

'Seek Him while He may yet be found.

Repent, even in this sly half-light,

of our apathy; your routine and circumstance

that have blinded devotion.

Be not so easily satisfied.

Step down and be washed clean.

Let your toes feel the embrace of moist soil;

the cool press of the river on your thighs.

Immerse, in water and Spirit,

lest dusk fall fully and sleep again

deafen the ears of faith.'

We stand at the eve's pinnacle

burdened with decision

as light slips the vale.

We watch the last throes of the day recede.

We burn, consumed

by the glory and the Word;

and will suffer no rest

though all the earth should slumber.

Eastertide #3

We awoke

as if from a long slumber

to the serenade

of birds long departed

--- no grander praise.

We saw the dawn

bathing the grassy hillocks

in cool splendor

and sat in disbelief

at the sight.

For at once,

the shadow was gone,

the dull oppression;

the despairing had been but a

wish of cloud.

The darkness of that ninth hour

broke in the gloaming

of a new day

--- the Lord's Day.

In All

In all

uncertainty and

scarcity;

trepidation and want,

in the mire and the marrow

the dawn shines brighter

over desolate plains;

the shattered hillocks,

dusted now

with the frailest

shoots of spring.

In all despair,

in barest need

there is solace

in furrowed brow

resting on ancient creed.

All Our Lights

All our lights glimmer, blaze

like gaudy baubles beneath

the vernal sky. So proud we

are for our treasures built high

to dwarf the stars. Here, they are

but subjects to Orion,

seated above, who hovers,

regaled in his full glory

amid the milky expanse.

In Sebewaing, the darkness

is canvas of creation

the masterstroke of divine

pen; the heavens ring with the

heraldry and majesty

of their Creator and our

banality is made full

manifest, a mere idle

distraction, fractions in 

scope and scale. Unseen wedding

of surf and shore mocks our royal

hubris; the grandeur of

galaxies illustrates our

insolence. No stirring moon to 

intrude, spitefully upon

our sundering. We meet and

are met, in the echoing

stillness and silence, exposed,

unadorned, and found wanting.

Woes

"Woe to you who are rich, 

for you are receiving your comfort in full now."

We who count our abundance as blessing

and find ourselves fettered to our amusements.

How few, in the half-light of provision

can see past the gleam

of the next, the better, the best

into the hollow of our pride.

How few can fathom

the freedom in scarcity;

the feasting in one's daily bread.

"Woe to you who are well-fed now,

for you shall be hungry."

Woe indeed to the satisfied.

Woe to those whose bellies groan

with the burden of banqueting;

filled to the brim with sumptuous chaff.

Oh, that we would gather

with needful hands

the manna  whose humility sustains

in the desert wastes. 

"Woe to you who laugh now,

for you shall mourn and weep."

Woe to lives that banish sorrow;

we who insulate our walls from pain:

our eyes know no flowing tears;

our hearts no rending.

For no joy can speak from isolation.

Light has no meaning but for shadow.

Tear away our placard smiles

and baptize our souls in tears.

May we find our wisdom in sorrow;

our consolation in the breaking;

that joy would fall swiftly,

echoing from the wastes

and weeping.

"Woe to you when all men speak well of you."

Oh, the likeness of sinful man,

his countenance shining 

in the midst of shame,

exalted easily

though mercurially found.

Staring at the kingdoms of the world,

pledging his allegiance

for the price of fame.

Forbid,

that his feet should strike stone

when lifted

on the hands of family and friends and followers.

Forbid,

that justice is found

and frowned upon

lest his heart demand decision.

Forbid, 

that truth

should not meet with adulation;

that honesty

should mingle with pain.

Oh, the heart of the modern man.

"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, who kills the prophets and stones

those who are sent to her! How I often wanted to gather your 

children together, the way a hen gathers her chicks under

her wings, and you were unwilling."

March 2019

O Lord,

when the tempestuous winds bring waves of violence but no vision of spring;

when the appeal of amusements fade,

then show your face.

When the taste of food grows bitter;

when the throb of apathy cloaks itself in day after day of shadow,

then show your face.

When the work of the hands brings exhaustion but no joy;

when our dust-caked bodies collapse only in sleep,

then show your face.

When the light of your people dims to a flicker;

when the desperate vapidity of the lost drowns out the songs of the saints,

then show your face.

When the shade of night lingers still over the land;

when dawn seems yet a distant hope,

then show your face.

untitled

The lightness of the morning,

unencumbered;

the sun alighting

the unforeseen snow

buffeting the house;

the reeds bending, slightly

beneath their glorious burdens,

the weeping canes

of the blackberries

is something, is all, is peace.

It is great to see beauty in great things.

It is greater to see beauty in lesser things;

to see majesty stretched

upon the leaf, the stone,

the silhouetted tree;

to see the scroll of the infinite

sketched upon the simple

and sublime;

Divine artistry on humble display.

I have fought

with the soul of a mathematician

to qualify and quantify,

to craft and create.

Now, with permission,

I may observe

the robin in flight,

the wisp of cloud,

with the mind of the poet

cataloging the rising sun,

the steam rising

from the mug of tea,

the strands of my daughter's hair

with thankfulness

and purpose,

content not in utility

but in beauty 

and communion.

The untarnished

drifts

sparkle as gems 

under a clear sky,

painting the world

impossibly white

-- an inescapable purity,

an echo.

Then it is gone,

a moment unsustainable,

incalculable

but bound forever

in its beauty

in its memory

that I may rise

with thankfulness.

New Economy (1804)

Penny for a pound

that tied the sheaves.

Penny for a pound

of the people's pride.

Penny for a pound,

men bound to serve.

Penny for a pound

thirty thousand strong

each month to pay such price,

no more to smile

before the gaping maw of a new economy.

imaginary man

along edges of twilight, those

ethereal barriers

the air is

alive with ghostly metallic

rattles like old machines;

wheels and axles.

the shadows waver,

in the air

lingers the sickly-sweet

scent of overripe fruit.

a wildness

each morning
while the pale thickness of night
lays still upon the land
the voices of discord
rise and fall, the shrill
sounding of depths unplumbed
and unwelcome.
transient anxieties bloom and spread,
the hallmark epidemics
of an information age.

but perhaps in a passing
glance or a waking dream we fly
and there unfolds a tapestry of wildness,
a wide bucolic expanse
of echoing freedom,
vast and encompassing;
verdant meadows ringed
by shadowed peaks and heavens
wherein soar all manner
of cloud and wing.
into such we flee
    nascent longings
finding here
consummation
beneath celestial sphere
where God and man meet
twixt sage and sky.
to this we are bound
with fetters agreeable;
glorious chains
pining for our summation
beneath the afternoon sun.

Schedule

receiving one's work schedule
brings validation to the hands
but ache to the heart.
it is creative endeavor
riddled with thistle and thorn.
provision's boon
and Adam's curse;
a galling mixture
of plenty and want.

The Procession

We traveled in close procession,

our heavy footsteps plodding through the moss and bracken,

over rotten logs til the stream welled before us

running swift and clear.

We lay our rods down on the soft grass, 

lowering ourselves into the cool water up to our thighs.

The current swirled in tiny eddies around our legs.

We said nothing but retrieved our rods and silently

selected our directions.

I turned downstream with deliberate intent

feeling the waters pressing in upon each footfall.

Before rounding the bend to a deep, shadowy run I looked back

and saw him adeptly flip out his line;

saw the fine spray reflecting in the morning's sun

like a thousand raindrops as the line curved back

then flicked effortlessly forward.

I watched only for a moment 

as he stripped the line fluidly

with hands born from a thousand such mornings

and a thousand such streams.

He took a measured step forward,

behind a toppled cedar still green with spring's growth,

and I saw him no more.

Yet lapping still against the soft undercut banks

were the reverberations

of his movements unseen 

through those rich, tannic waters.

The Blood, The Cross, The Spirit Leads

Come, come by the way of the blood.

Come to the throne of God,

by it alone are we welcomed,

by it alone redeemed.

By naught else are our souls reckoned.

By naught else are we received.

No act of will may gain purchase

no deed save surrender.

Reconciliation bought by

the precious blood of Christ.

May we rest in our position

as elect children of God.

The old man gathers round to mourn

the death of all he knew

for in the shadow of the cross

is our bright freedom found.

No effort born of strongest will

could right the barest part

for the fertile seed of sin

resides yet in our heart.

The cross has done what might could not;

has finished Adam's curse

for on it the old self has died

a new one finds its birth.

Though now in Christ we often try

to change ourselves for God

yet fruitless our efforts shall be

if we fail to yield to thee.

Lest we dwell in miserable state

of futility yet

us in humility repent

and surrender daily.

Let us admit our complete weakness

and let the Spirit lead

sublimating ourselves to this

only hope of vict'ry.

The blood, the cross, the Spirit leads

now and eternally,

in Christ alone our hope is found

from this earth to the next.

The Hex

The hex is an ignoble insect,

burdened as it were with an ill-proportioned body,

fragile, venous wings with a grotesquely elongated thorax.

Born of muck and marl,

succored on filth and deterius.

They rise only as an adults

into an orgy of genetic propagation

before falling, as spent spinners

back to their watery origin in droves

to float away in great caravans of lifelessness, 

or to be crushed underfoot,

or smashed along roadsides.

Be not too swift though to condemn this humble creature

for which of us, as consummate as we may be

inspires such devotion as they 

among the slick-sided trout who gulp greedily for an emerging morsel?

Or who at their most self-indulgent can claim admiration more zealous

than that of the dragonfly or kingbird

who wait even unto the fading light

to pay their respects?

Who, but they, inspires the indefatigable pilgrimage of fly-fishers

with rod and reel in hand

to await their penultimate flight

late on a June eve?

Is not the rosy glow of the waning sun

an audience to their perseverance and homely charm?

Is not the rising moon theirs, by rights?

And which of us can with certainty

hope for a grander memorial than they,

filled not with perfunctory recitations and pleasantries

but rather the unfeigned celebration

of their divinely appointed purpose?

In the dreary bosom of winter

when the embers of the hearth grow cold

and the Herculean flight a mere instinctive glimmer, 

may we pull the covers closer still,

listen close for the ubiquitous gurgle of distant water,

and sing our praise 

for the bounty yet to come.