They are the trees
the oaks
the furs
the pines
the willows
We are the grass
the bushes
the flowers
the weeds
the vines
He is the sun
the truth
the light
the Father
the Almighty
They
lead us to the sun
give us ways to climb
They
choke out all the light
stunt our growth so short
They are the waystone
the passage
the highway
the shortcut
the trail
We are the walkers
the travelers
the runners
the followers
the hikers
He is the destination
the purpose
the end
the beginning.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Friday, May 11, 2012
Made New
I've grown past the point of asking;
"Oh my God, how can this be,
That a sinner in the present,
You let live eternally?
A sorry man,
As me?"
I lift t'thee my woes of sorrow
For having been blind of you.
In place of falsity and death
You lay life, unblemished; true.
A narrow road
of few.
You took our tragic tree of death,
As the sword will beat to plow,
In it you craft the the tree of life.
Injustice; yet mercy. How?
Our devices
made bow.
"Oh my God, how can this be,
That a sinner in the present,
You let live eternally?
A sorry man,
As me?"
I lift t'thee my woes of sorrow
For having been blind of you.
In place of falsity and death
You lay life, unblemished; true.
A narrow road
of few.
You took our tragic tree of death,
As the sword will beat to plow,
In it you craft the the tree of life.
Injustice; yet mercy. How?
Our devices
made bow.
Friday, May 4, 2012
"Isaiah 61" by Emily Smith
Ashes.
We all
Fall
Down.
Ashes are all I’ve got,
Nothing else to offer.
Beauty.
Beyond my grasp
Beyond my comprehension
Beyond
Me.
I break beauty
I make beauty mine
And by possessing it,
Kill it.
You are beauty
Whole.
Real.
And you look on my ashes,
The ruins of beauty,
All that is left,
And weep.
I break things. It’s what I do.
Ash consumes everything else,
Making everything into nothing.
I kneel in the dust,
Mourning, mourning.
Morning.
You’re here, bearing beauty
And love.
I am terrified
Terrified of my capabilities
My preference is to sit in
Brokenness,
Where there is nothing else left
To break.
But you wrap yourself around
Me.
I grasp hold of my ashes
Or are they holding onto me?
I long for beauty,
But I can’t have both
Beauty and ashes.
And then, you’ve taken them
My ashes are gone
And in their place, beauty
My mourning fades
Replaced by
Resounding
Reveling
Praise.
Morning.
We all
Fall
Down.
Ashes are all I’ve got,
Nothing else to offer.
Beauty.
Beyond my grasp
Beyond my comprehension
Beyond
Me.
I break beauty
I make beauty mine
And by possessing it,
Kill it.
You are beauty
Whole.
Real.
And you look on my ashes,
The ruins of beauty,
All that is left,
And weep.
I break things. It’s what I do.
Ash consumes everything else,
Making everything into nothing.
I kneel in the dust,
Mourning, mourning.
Morning.
You’re here, bearing beauty
And love.
I am terrified
Terrified of my capabilities
My preference is to sit in
Brokenness,
Where there is nothing else left
To break.
But you wrap yourself around
Me.
I grasp hold of my ashes
Or are they holding onto me?
I long for beauty,
But I can’t have both
Beauty and ashes.
And then, you’ve taken them
My ashes are gone
And in their place, beauty
My mourning fades
Replaced by
Resounding
Reveling
Praise.
Morning.
Friday, April 27, 2012
"Powers of Good" by Dietrich Bonhoeffer
from Gestapo prison..
With every power for good to stay and guide me,
comforted and inspired beyond all fear,
I'll live these days with you in thought beside me,
and pass, with you, into the coming year.
The old year still torments our hearts, unhastening;
the long days of our sorrow still endure;
Father, grant to the souls thou hast been chastening
that thou hast promised, the healing and the cure.
Should it be ours to drain the cup of grieving
even to the dregs of pain, at thy command,
we will not falter, thankfully receiving
all that is given by thy loving hand.
But should it be thy will once more to release us,
to life's enjoyment and it's good sunshine,
that which we've learned from sorrow shall increase us,
and all our life be dedicate as thine.
Today, let candles shed their radiant greeting;
lo, on our darkness are they not thy light
leading us, haply, to our longed-for meeting?
Thou canst illumine even our darkest night.
When now the silence deepens for our hearkening,
grant we may hear the children's voices raise
from all the unseen world around us darkening
their universal paean, in thy praise.
While all the powers of good aid and attend us,
boldly we'll face the future, come what may.
At even and at morn God will befriend us,
and oh, most surely on each newborn day!
..........................................................................................................
With every power for good to stay and guide me,
comforted and inspired beyond all fear,
I'll live these days with you in thought beside me,
and pass, with you, into the coming year.
The old year still torments our hearts, unhastening;
the long days of our sorrow still endure;
Father, grant to the souls thou hast been chastening
that thou hast promised, the healing and the cure.
Should it be ours to drain the cup of grieving
even to the dregs of pain, at thy command,
we will not falter, thankfully receiving
all that is given by thy loving hand.
But should it be thy will once more to release us,
to life's enjoyment and it's good sunshine,
that which we've learned from sorrow shall increase us,
and all our life be dedicate as thine.
Today, let candles shed their radiant greeting;
lo, on our darkness are they not thy light
leading us, haply, to our longed-for meeting?
Thou canst illumine even our darkest night.
When now the silence deepens for our hearkening,
grant we may hear the children's voices raise
from all the unseen world around us darkening
their universal paean, in thy praise.
While all the powers of good aid and attend us,
boldly we'll face the future, come what may.
At even and at morn God will befriend us,
and oh, most surely on each newborn day!
..........................................................................................................
Friday, April 20, 2012
"Wer Bin Ich?" ("Who Am I?") by Dietrich Bonhoeffer
from Tegel prison..
Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell's confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
A though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equally, smilingly, proudly,
Like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were
compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectation of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?
Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am Thine!
.........................................................................................................
Today is Hitler's birthday.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer was executed in a concentration camp two weeks before the Allies marched in; three weeks before Hitler's suicide.
Bonhoeffer fought against injustice,
following his convictions,
at the call of his Lord.
Our Lord.
.........................................................................................................
Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell's confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
A though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equally, smilingly, proudly,
Like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were
compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectation of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?
Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am Thine!
.........................................................................................................
Today is Hitler's birthday.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer was executed in a concentration camp two weeks before the Allies marched in; three weeks before Hitler's suicide.
Bonhoeffer fought against injustice,
following his convictions,
at the call of his Lord.
Our Lord.
.........................................................................................................
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
