Poetry

O Righteous Father, your Earth cries in pain
For upon her roaring seas and in her cities,
Sinking into the desert sand and deep in the forest,
The blood of the slain calls for justice,
For the Holy One of Israel,
Who promised long ago to come with flaming fire,
Who guaranteed justice would flow down like waters
Who humbled the Kings of Babylon, brought down the Pharoahs of Egpyt,
Silenced the songs of Tyre and shut the mouths of the proud.
Let your will be done and make war on all sin,
Through the furious wrath You guarantee
And through the merciful sanctification of Your people
By the power of Your Holy Spirit.

The Earth grows weary of her travail,
Of the violences we commit,
Of the gifts we profane,
Of our blasphemies,
Of our lusts,
Of our lies,
Of our idols.
Free your Creation from her bondage
And all those who put their trust in You.
To them, grant them the grace of holiness
So that they may walk in Your ways
And live by Your truth.

Lord God, I have not put my hope in anyone but You,
Be mindful of my lowliness.

No score and three years ago
I came to the Bible Belt
Where churches are custom as Scions
And as holy, Catholic and apostolic
As Gander in Turkey Creek.
Smiling faces, all from Atlanta, line the bookshelves,
All wearing ties
With seven simple stupid steps
To finding God’s will for your life.
I never knew it was lost;
The red letters must have missed something.
After all, Jesus was only a man.
Too many are chained not just to sin
But to an altar call at age eight,
A cultural Christianity,
A simple prayer lost in the decades of addiction,
Freed from righteousness.

At this crossroads, some would want a new foundation,
A new sensation to ring in the tribes, tongues and nations.
I want the old one,
The one crying in the wilderness,
The one of glorious, green, groaning, growing gardens of Creation,
The one of parted seas,
The one of Calvary’s tree,
The one of Golgotha’s altar bloodier than the blot red altars of Leviticus’ priests,
The river from His hands, His head, His feet
Like Moses’ plagued Nile flowing anew,
As Watts once wrote, “Did e’er such love and sorrow meet?”
God gets no glory out of your best life now
But out of this:
To take the curse and blot out my shame,
Holy God in perfect love became
Perfect man to bear my blame.
The wrath of God towards sin in one man,
While still sinner, Christ died for us.

The stone the Bible Belt builders have rejected
Has become the cornerstone.
Lay that, and you’ll find one holy, Catholic apostolic Church.

Where do you go
When the megachurches close
And you’re late for mosque
Or still have desire?
Does suffering merit a crutch?
I know Nasir and Shawn and the guy with a teddy bear fetish
Get along just fine loving the world and everything in it,
Though they lean on record sales and worldliness’ marketability.
Is there one alive who leans on nothing,
Whom you can lean on?
If there’s one, we’d hang him high
Out of jealousy
Because he knew freedom.

I would love to get this illustrated book one day. John Piper’s poetry based on the Old Testament book Job will challenge our heart response. This is a beautiful glimpse of God’s grace on those suffering.

www.jobthebook.com

Am I just wrapped up in the words
Or do I sincerely know?
Have I believed what they have heard¹
Are my sins washed as white as snow?²

There’s something uplifting in the tune,
A kid could lose himself to the beat.
Another shall be “saved” real soon
Despite his future in eternal heat.

Let it not be that I depart from thee,
Or lose sight of the radiance³
For hands held high don’t make me see.
I could be taken by an ambulance

To a bed of terrors, horrors, frights
Chained to suffering and turn my face.
Your face, your love brings me light⁴
And takes the sinner’s disgrace by grace.⁵

1. Isaiah 53:1 [↩]
2. Psalm 51:7, Isaiah 1:18 [↩]
3. Hebrews 1:3 [↩]
4. Revelation 1:16, John 4:4-5 [↩]
5. 1 John 2:2, Hebrews 2:17 [↩]

When I think of the world and how close her death is,
The passions of men arbitrarily assigned,
Her moans and groans disturb me
Because the responsibility for them is mine.
Oh, how I deny the blood my hands have shed,
Though on me she’s bled, its deep red
Staining my robes and flooding the thoughts of my head.
She’s dead.
And who here in her graveyard will judge me?
Who here living to die another day will cuff me?
For they too have seen that dagger before them,
The handle before their hands.
Far more ignominious than the ”A” of Hester Prynne,
On that dagger’s an “s” for sin.
We win,
At least for a time.
But there’s retribution for the crime
And hope only remains because a greater one has died.

I want an infinite tablet to write my love and loyalty upon.
For when I hear Your voice I have not
the space to write the words:
of gratitude, of remorse, of joy.
Worldly wisdom begs me to leave,
but while the mountains bow and the tides cease
Your words outlast them, outrun them
like Secretariat on another Derby run.
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The Earth and all we know will pass,
The time will come when there’s no glass:
A mount drawn up among the stars
Where God’s own Son will be all ours.
Oh how I long and dream for Him
Who freed me from the jail of sin,
Who leads me to green pastures and
Who hold me up with His right hand.
A rain, soft rain, is His great love,
Sending assurance from above,
Watering a poor man’s heart,
A garden swords can’t cut apart.

I know not if my faith’s the best–
But Christ did it, and love’s no test.
Who could be so good? He hath saved
This corpse content in its own grave.

Sand, you fly through these, mine eyes
Filling my dirty holes with sediment galore.
I ask that you give me even more
So my cup of words may spill no cries.

I cried curses, all poisonous gas,
Wanting rewards in gold of all kinds:
Coins, bags, and strands ever so fine
But fading flesh always will pass.

Blind me, grain, and dry my lips.
May I see no hips or drink liquor’s drips.

Inspired by 1 Corinthians 9:24-27.

Oh, how souls should be troubled when
They can smell the sulfur of Satan’s den.
Licked by flames, they’re but meat to feed
The evil one, deceiving all and increasing greed.
A prison for souls, Hell’s surfaces is eternal
But my jubilant soul’s been saved from this portal,
Living water in me to douse the sinning flame.
The victory has been won through the man of sorrows’ Name.
   Running now, I love the way the runner loves his prize.
   While his crown’s dead, the Gospel’s mine, I’ve Christ in mine eyes.