How shall we then work

After Genesis 1:27 - 2:15 

Created perfectly, to be done

perfectly, work joined

the rest of creation with

the fall, cursed life the rest

of creation was cursed. It

became what we know as 

work – hard, difficult,

exhausting, often deceptive,

confusing, harsh, humiliating –

all the things that happened

when man fell.

 

To redeem work, as to redeem

life, a sacrifice was needed,

required, mandated. And

the sacrifice was made,

redeeming us and pointing

to the way work is to be done.

Still fallen, as we are still

fallen, the light illuminates

the path for our work. 

We are to work as the redeemer’s

servants.

 

Photograph by Jesse Orrico via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

In Case I Die Unexpectedly – poem by Rachel Welcher at Mere Orthodoxy.

 

The Future of New Calvinism – Tim Challies.

 

Fear – Bill Grandi at Living in the Shadow.

It began with work

After Genesis 1:27 – 2:15 

From that first movement

of the beginning, it was

work. Creation was

work, a weaving

of created things. Into

man life was breathed,

a garden planted, land

fertilized to produce and

sustain life. Everywhere

you look in creation,

you find work, infused

into life from the start.

And it was good.

 

With the fall, work fell

as well. What began as

a blessing became

a curse. The day will

come when work, too,

will be restored. That day

is at hand.

 

Photograph by Maxime Agnellia vis Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Friday Readings

 

The Lord Will Come and Not Be Slow – poem by John Milton at Kingdom Poets (D.S. Martin).

 

The Theology of Work and the Stay-at-Home Mom: Embracing the Value of Our Calling – Shiphrah Lakka at IndiAanya.

 

Cuddy, a sonnet for St. Cuthbert – Malcolm Guite.

 

Speak Life – poem by Jesse Baker at Rabbit Room Poetry.

Not our own

After Genesis 1:26-27 and Psalm 8 

We are not our own,

separate from all else,

our own reality. We are

made in an image

of the Creator, the one who

envisioned us, made us, 

designed us, planned us,

guided us, even in a world

broken. We are made 

in an image to rule by and

for, not instead of or in

the place of, trending into

tyranny without the hand

that fashioned us. We are

made in glory, we are

crowned with honor, we are

created to belong to him. 

A thing of beauty, we are

a joy forever. And we are

twice his: he made us;

he redeemed us.

 

Photograph by Ken Cheung via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Friday Readings

 

A Prayer for My 15-Year-Old, Who is Set Apart – Jacob Stratman at Kingdom Poets (D.S. Martin).

 

Evensong – poem by Jeffrey Essmann at Society of Classical Poets.

 

Who Wrote the Gospels? – Timothy Paul Jones at Southern Seminary.

The image

After Genesis 1:26-27 and Psalm 8 

The image is not the reality,

the substance, but a picture,

a sketch, a drawing,

a representation of the real,

the substantive. The image

is tied to the reality it

represents, even thought it

may be separate and apart,

independent except that

without the reality it

represents, it becomes

meaningless, lost, trying

to recreate by itself what

it is derived from, what

it pictures, what it represents,

as in the image of God.

 

Photograph by Markus Spiske via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

“Because I Could Not Stop for Death,” poem by Emily Dickinson – Sally Thomas at Poems Ancient and Modern.

 

‘Of the Civil Magistrate’: How the Presbyterians Shifted on Church-State Relations – Kevin DeYoung at The Gospel Coalition.

 

My $7 Reading Summer – Mark Collins at Story Warren.

Only one son

After Hebrews 1:5-2:4 

He never called

an angel a son;

he never told

an angel to call

him a father.

Instead, he directed

their attention,

their worship,

to the firstborn,

the firstborn who

transforms angels

into winds, who

makes his ministers

into flames of fire.

He created the earth

and the heavens;

when they perish,

he remains.

 

Photograph by Ante Hamersmit via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

Spots of Time: Wordsworth, The Prelude, and the Power of Memory – Sally Thomas at Poems Ancient and Modern.

 

Sir Martin Gilbert and the Inklings – Bradley Birzer at The Imaginative Conservative. 

 

The Beauty of ‘Gospel Awkward’ – Trevin Wax at The Gospel Coalition.

So it begins

After John 1:1-5 

It begins with a word,

it begins with the word,

“word” implying speech

and thought, language

and understanding. And

more: this word is

in relationship,

relationship with God,

this word is God,

and all creation flows

through it.

This word is life,

this word is light,

the word shines

in the darkness,

a light to see,

a light to believe,

a light to defend 

against the darkness

it illumines.

 

Photograph by Jp Valery via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Presence

After Romans 1:18-32

The presence is there;

it’s always been, designed

into the lines of creation,

creation in all its majesty,

its beauty, its power,

its structure, its consistency,

and fitting together. It is 

not hidden; it exists 

in plain sight, no special

glasses needed, no attendant

required to pull back

the veil, no spitlight necessary.

The consequence, the result,

is no one can claim

it wasn’t there,

it was hidden, or

they just missed it.

No excuses, not

this time, not

now.

Photograph by Ravi Pinnisetti via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Made in fear

After Psalm 139:13-16

Made in fear, and wonder,

a work full of wonder molded

in intricate design, woven

in the depths of the earth,

an unformed substance before

the spirit hovered, with each day

already formed, already written,

planned and designed with purpose

and intent, created in the image,

a physical essence, a soul, a heart,

a mind crafted in the image, to be

a bearer of the image.

Photograph by Alex Hockett via Unsplash. Used with permission.

And you know

After Psalm 139:1-13

I sit down, and you know.

I rise up, and you know.

I think, and you know.

I speak, and you know.

I weep, and you know.

I ascend, and you know.

I descend, and you know.

I take wing, and you know.

I disappear, and you know.

I fall into darkness, and you know.

I am created as fusion of cells, and you know.

Even before I exist and an impulse, you know.

Photograph by Teddy Kelley via Unsplash. Used with permission.

I watch the rain

After Isaiah 55

I watch the rain

steady drops without pattern

a simple profusion of atomized water

refracted by light as it falls

from white vapors, billows

the drops fall on hill

and mountain, field and

valley, so profuse that

some run off, ricocheting

into streams and rivers

flowing like words

words from the heavens

atomized into droplets of light

cast upon the mountains

and hills, freshening the fields

and valleys, a sustenance

of creation.

Photograph by Eutah Mizushima via Unsplash. Used with permission.

In the beginning was

In the beginning
was the word
was the light

not only was
but is

set against,
shining into,
illuminating
the darkness

the interior of darkness
the darkness of the heart

darkness remained,
neither understanding
nor overcoming
the light

and the witness
the prophet
comes to testify
the precursor
comes before
testifies what is
and what comes after

Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Sit on a rock

Sit on a rock

and stare

across the water

and the road

to the bluff,

limestone

and rock soaring

to the sky

blue and hard.

Consider the effort

required

to carve and layer
these mounds of rock.

Wonder if God’s hands

got dusty.

Poets and Poems: Luci Shaw and “Scape”

As I get older, I’m noticing something about myself.

Things I didn’t have much time for when I was younger seem to be more important.

Things like art exhibitions. Poetry. Watching bees and hummingbirds in the garden (I spent several minutes sitting at our kitchen window on Saturday, watching a hummingbird flit from flower to flower in the garden).

Part of the reason may be I simply have more time. Children are grown and on their own. Work has become less about career and more about accomplishment. Retirement is looming.

I’m paying more attention. And I’m paying more attention to the creative acts, and acts of creation, around me.

I’m not alone in this. I hear friends saying similar things.

So I come to a volume of poetry like Scape: Poems by Luci Shaw, and what’s she talking about in every poem is familiar, recognizable, and somehow moving.

To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.

Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.