Rough Fabric

When the quiet waters lapped the shore
and the strong nets were in their hands
He called them.
He called them—
rough fabric, as they were,
weathered within and out
unfit for much use (as some would think).

They left it all behind—the trappings
of their lives,
their sustenance and their families’ too.
The half-mended nets,
the boats still on the lake,
for He Who spoke as no other
had spoken to them.

Fishers of men…
how could they understand that, then?
or the road that would bend
to Calvary, and beyond
into all the world
to crosses of their own…?

When the sun shone on Galilee
and they labored by the sea
He called them,
and their hearts leapt,
hands shook,
feet eagerly stumbled
in haste to follow

Jesus Joseph’s son.
He, young, unafraid,
spoke the Words of God,
but they little knew then
He was their Consolation,
their Redeemer,
their promised Messiah,
and His fire would consume them—

rough fabric, as they were,
unfit for any use but something hard—
to be beaten, to be stretched,
to be wrung, or cut in two,
and in the end,
(though not by human hands)
to be all burned up.

Complaint about writing rhyming Christian poetry

I need to vent.

I keep trying to write rhyming poetry, because it's much harder than non-rhyming, and builds good discipline, I think. Only there's a problem. If you are writing Christian poetry, the words you tend to use the most often just don't rhyme with much of anything.

For instance, take "Christ." Christ doesn't rhyme with anything but "heist" and "poltergeist". Try to write a poem using that, now!!

"Faith" doesn't rhyme with anything but "eighth" and "wraith" (which I did once use, which I guess means I don't get to do it again).

"Love" is famous for having only a few rhymes, two of which are "shove," and "glove." "Dove" and "above" are slightly more promising, but really overused already.

And then there's "hope..." Dope, mope, lope, pope, slope, nope, cope ... a larger selection, it's true, but not exactly the sorts of words one really wants to use in a poem about the Lord Jesus Christ. And "Jesus" doesn't rhyme with anything at all!

This is why I have such a large collection of two-thirds written sonnets. I start out strong, and then get to the last third and just can't make a rhyme to save my life. I have a bookmark for a website that provides you with a list of all rhymes for any given word, so I'll use that and find that the word I want doesn't rhyme with anything. I'll think and think to come up with something else that will also express the idea, look it up, and guess what? It doesn't rhyme with anything either!

Here's an example of a would-be sonnet that died an untimely death due to lack of plausible rhymes (and my inability to wrap an idea up in the lines permitted):

Afflicted, reviled, cursed, the scum
of the earth; destitute, stoned, sawed and slain,
the Saints march in. All Heaven, look—they come!
The Lord’s Redeemed come in a tattered train,
and trailing glory. Here not many strong
not many wise, not many rich when they
were called to leave their homes and start this long,
long journey of splendor and pain. Oh say,
you hosts, are these the ones their Father knows?
They’re clothed in sheepskins, goatskins, barefooted,
bloodied and beaten, orphans and widows:
they bear the wounds of Christ.

Here's another, about the book of Joshua:

From out the desert they came in, sun worn
and hardened, with their children and their sheep,
their tents and their God. Men from childhood sworn
to this: to fight to win, to claim and keep
this land that God had got for them. They learned
their parents' lesson well. Before their flood
of men great cities fell; they bled and burned
before the Righteous One to whom their blood
was due. What panic was in Canaan then--
when God hurled rocks upon their heads, and stopped
the sun above.

There's more, believe me. (sigh) Maybe I'm not cut out to be a sonnet writer, but there's just something about it I can't resist--it's like a verbal puzzle (and anyone who knows me knows I like puzzles).

That's all now.

Abraham's Altar

I would like to give you part of a longer poem that I started working on some time ago. I made progress quickly at first, but have stalled now, unsatisfied but not knowing how to get from where I am to where I want to be. There's a lot to be said about this particular story, and I want to cover it all, but without running on forever.

Here's what I have written so far (the readable parts), with a warning that much of this may end up deleted:

*The first line of each verse completes the last one from the verse before. I indent them, but blogger won't let me do it here.*

On Abraham’s altar he laid
the weight of years, and tears that stayed
in his wife’s yearning heart while yet
she knew he loved her, and set
his mind to accept the servant
as his heir.

There the fervent
hope of God’s promise, their prayer,
and the sands of the lands that their
journey had traversed lay prostrate
in the body of a boy. Late
he had waited, watched the stars, seen
in them all his children between
then and eternity. They too
waited for their death. So he drew
his dagger to slay the laughter
of their old age, nor could, after,
Isaac say he wavered.

This man
by God’s call had gone in the span
of frail life from pagan Ur
to here—and though he was unsure
so often, though he doubted God,
and gave up his wife from fear, prod
the Divinity by taking
the slave girl, and made an aching
wound that history’s not yet healed—
His justification was revealed
at this hour, at Abraham’s grim
test, before the angel stayed him,
when all his heart’s desire lay still
and bound before him, and his will
strained against his heart.

Abraham
believed. Nor did he need the ram
to understand that just one birth
was enough—that this child of mirth
would live, and death alone could not
kill the promise of He who brought
him here; he begged not mercies such
as he begged for Sodom’s children.
Could Sarah’s womb be more barren
that it already was?

And so,
in faith, he bound his son, and no
sooner did he take up the blade,
then God in graciousness stayed
him.

Joseph

I am the man
who took the woman’s shame
upon myself, defied
those who murmured whispers
counting months
and sheltered her with my name.

I am the man
who trod hard roads
beside her, held her, swaying
bowing on the donkey
with the Life-Spring
of the universe
kicking in her swollen womb.

Long the hours
we journeyed on,
panted in the small shade
whispered to the waiting Majesty
prayed Him stay His coming
a little while yet.

Rough and awkward
unprepared,
I am the man
who was midwife
at the birth of the Eternal One,
and held Divinity
squalling, bloody in my hands
while the Prophets’ voices
thundered in my ears

and high above the stable roof
a new born star
burst into incandescent life.

Matthew in verse, pt 3

Now when they had departed there, behold
An angel of the Lord appeared in dream
To Joseph, said, “Arise and take the Child
And mother by night, flee to Egypt. There
Remain until I tell you; Herod soon
Is going to search for Him to destroy
Him.” He arose and took the Child by night,
Departed for Egypt and there remained
Until the death of Herod, that what had
Been spoken by the Lord through prophets might
Be yet fulfilled, that “Out of Egypt did
I call my Son.” When Herod saw that by
the Magi he was tricked, he then became
Enraged, and sent and slew the male children
Who were in Bethlehem and all of its
Environs, two years old and younger, that
According to the time which he had heard
From Magi. Then that which was spoken through
The prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled,
“A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and
Great Mourning, Rachel weeping, weeping for
Her children; and refusing comfort, for
They were no more.” When Herod died, behold,
An angel of the Lord appeared in dream
to Joseph while in Egypt, said, “Arise
and take the Child and mother and go to
The land of Israel; those who sought His life
are dead.” And so he rose and took the Child
And mother, and came then into the land
Of Israel. But when he heard Archelaus
Was reigning ov’r Judea in place of
His father Herod, he was frightened to
Go there. And being warned in a dream by God,
Departed for the regions Galilee,
And came, resided in the city called
There Nazareth, that what was spoken through
The prophets be fulfilled, “He shall be called
a Nazarene.”

Matthew in verse, pt 2

Now after Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem,
Judea, in the days of Herod King,
Behold, the Magi from the east arrived,
In Jerusalem to ask, “Where is He
Who’s born the King of Jews? We saw His star,
And came to worship Him.” When Herod heard,
The king was troubled, and all Jerusalem.
And gathering together the chief priests
And scribes of all the people, he began
Inquiring where Christ was to be born.
They said to him, “In Bethlehem, Judah,
For so it has been written by prophets:
“And you, oh Bethlehem, in Judah’s land,
Among the leaders of Judah are by
No means the least, for out of you shall come
A ruler who will shepherd my Israel,
My people.” Then Herod secretly called
The Magi, ascertained from them the time
The star appeared, and sent to Bethlehem,
And said, “Go make a careful search, the Child
Go find, and when you found Him report back
To me, that I may come and worship Him.”
And having heard the king, they went their way;
And, lo, the star, which they had seen when east,
Went on before, until it came and stood
O’er where the Child was. And on coming to
The house they saw the Child, and Mary, now
His mother. They fell down and worshipped Him;
And, opening their treasures, gave to Him
Their gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh.
And, warned by God in dream not to return
To Herod, departed another way
for home.

A Friday fragment (posted on Saturday)

Out of Egypt I called my Son...

A vast train
--A man and a woman
stretching across the desert
--traveling alone
with cattle and herds
--with a small child
carrying the treasures of Egypt.
--carrying the Treasure of eternity.


Out of Egypt…

Sand, exotic wonders: a hard land, but beautiful too, with one wet ribbon of green
carrying life to all.

A hot sun to dry mud bricks; great idols rising to their Pharaoh’s self-worship; whips, swords,
and the slave-driver’s call.

A rich land, of leeks and garlic, cucumbers, pots of red animal flesh simmering
under stars of night fall.


Out of Egypt I called My Son.

Israel fled to Egypt, once, and, sheltered in lush delta land,
waited while famine’s bitter hand
passed over.

ISRAEL fled to Egypt, too, sheltered by the arm of the LORD,
and waited while the mad king’s sword
passed over.

Matthew in verse, pt 1

The Advent season coming again...

The birth of Jesus Christ as follows was.
His mother, Mary, had been betrothed then,
To Joseph, but now before they had come
Together she was found to be with child
The Holy Spirit by, and Joseph, as
A righteous man, did not want to disgrace
Her publicly, and so desired to put
Away her secretly. But when he had
Considered this, an angel of the Lord
Appeared to him in dream, and saying, “Son
Of David, do not fear to Mary take
As wife, for that which is conceived in her
Is of the Holy Spirit. She will bear
A Son, and you will call His name Jesus,
For it is He who’ll save His people from
Their sins.” Now all took place that what was said
By God through prophet be fulfilled, as such:
“Behold, the Virgin shall with child be, and
Shall bear a Son, and they shall call His Name
Immanuel;” that which means, God with Us.
And Joseph arose from sleep, and did as he
Had been commanded by the angel then,
And he took her as wife, though virgin still
Until was born a Son. He called His name
Jesus.

Naaman's Rebirth (prose version)

2 Kings 5

Shadows, quiet ripples, murky water: as murky as the end for which he came here.

It was wet, cool on his diseased skin, but surely unmiraculous. Was it for this that he had traveled all this way? Oh Abanah and Pharpar! The golden rivers he had played in as a child!—surely they had more power than the unpretentious waters of this foreign land. So, too, the mighty golden gods, and their priests’ incantations, than that insolent prophet of Israel’s unseen deity.

“Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and you will be healed.”

How did he get here, anyway? How had that word first come to him, carried from his wife’s little servant girl, “the prophet who is in Samaria?” How had she come there, for that matter? Why?

From Israel to his household. From his household to Israel.

He should never have listened to her. He had been foolish, he saw that now, but what was there to do but to follow through with it?

Water. Wet. Running in his eyes and down his hair and beard. Once … twice …. This was ridiculous, really. This was far too easy. Where was the striving, the ceremony, the great words spoken and deeds performed? He knew was battle was, and he knew victory. Did Elisha not think that he could accomplish something greater than this? He did not come to beg charity. What was this God anyway, to heal in this manner?

Three times . . . there were his men, his chariots and horses and soldiers, waiting on the bank, watching silently. Four…. Where was the honor that was due his high position and estate, when he waited at the prophet’s door? Five…. Why did he come here? Why did he listen? What was it that compelled him, from his comfortable home all the way here? Here, to this river, this humiliation, reluctant obedience to the prophet’s command—relayed by a servant, no less—he had come for cleansing. Could this God make him clean? This water wouldn’t clean him, but would the God who ordered him there? Six …. only once more to go. What would happen, when he went under that last time? Would he be changed? Would anything be changed? His gods, lacking in power, had done nothing for him, given him no relief when he brought his offerings, gave them his gold. Now would the God of Israel to whom he had given nothing show power? What did Elisha know that no other priest or prophet had?....

Seven. The seventh time he bent and immersed himself in Jordon’s stream. The seventh time he emerged…

New. New skin like a baby’s, whole and rosy and smooth and fresh; like the soft skin of his children when he held them in his arms, and whispered in their ears. And the surging of his heart as he touched that precious, new, life-giving skin was equaled by the wonder in his mind for now he knew. He knew, for the first time truly, that there was a God. Not an idol, but a God. Not ceremonies or incantations but power, real divine, power, and it had touched Him. He had touched him, and he knew he would never be the same.

“Indeed, now I know that there is no God in all the earth, except in Israel.”

Genesis 40

Just musings...

How quickly dreams are forgotten—
even prophetic ones.
The shadow of death had passed,
and the cupbearer went his way, forgetting
the Hebrew in his dungeon.
How long and lonely Joseph must have felt,
serving his sentence for righteousness.
“Was it for this that you brought me here, O God?”
Perhaps he thought, perhaps not.
But the boy became a man no longer arrogant,
And when at last God’s hour came
He (the Lord that is) lifted his head,
Saved the land, and even those
who threw him in the pit
became recipients of His mercy.
Divine, forgiving God, to bless their bloody hands…
but not until
the lesson was learned, of course.
“Poetic justice” doesn’t really do it justice.

Naaman's Rebirth

He emerged
like a baby
as if from the water of birth

new skin
heart
the old decaying carcass
left
in the river.

“Now I know that there is no God on earth but in Israel.”

He went back
to serve
his king

worshipped with
his slave girl
his face toward
Jerusalem.

and Magi from the East

I thought it might be helpful to explain that both this poem and the previous one are part of a set in my mind. They were all written quite independantly, months apart, but they are similar in both style and and theme. They deal with election, and the forshadowing of the ingathering of the Gentiles. In both case, God went seemingly out of His way to bring in Gentiles from other lands, all the way to Israel to become a part of His plan.


They came
such a long way—
for a star.
It was none of their concern,
the birth of another nation’s king,
but the same Spirit who
moved over the waters
compelled them,
and they made the journey,
brought gifts to an unknown child.
No one in the homeland
saw the star
studied Scripture
went seeking a Bethlehem son with gold.
That’s why the frightened old man who
huddled in Jerusalem
was not prepared for the news—
“Where is He who’s born the King of the Jews?”
He himself was
no child of prophecy.
He thought he could kill
the Savior’s birthright, but
the King got His gifts,
as if tribute from
nations not yet beneath His heel.

No one knows
what the Magi returned to
when they returned by another way,
but it’s certain now that they came
because He had been promised to them, too.

1999

The Moabitess' Legacy

Brought far from her own land,
one of the rejected race,
the widow she followed
the last sob of her own grief’s kind to
foreign eyes past
idols she worshipped in her youth.
There, fields of barley brought her with their leavings,
while a mother, aged, sat home
and waited for her dark-skinned daughter
to bring the farmer’s love-gift in her arms.

Who knew what child
waited in an unborn womb
to be issue of her unresisted call
to the lowland where the invisible God
hid Himself on a threshing floor at night?—
Or saw the golden throne,
wooden cup,
shepherd’s harp
prophesying songs about another Bethlehem son?
When she made the journey home to her
burial ground
she never realized
she was already pregnant with salvation,
or that once more
alien people
would bow knee to the unseen God.

"Salmon begot boaz by Rahab, Boax begot Obed by Ruth, Obed begot Jesse, and Jesse begot David the king..." Matt 1:5-6

1999