A revelation

After Luke 2:25-25 and 2 Corinthians 5:20

He knew, within

the confines of

the place, the city,

because it had been

revealed, only to him,

a personal prophecy,

the time of the wait,

the long wait, that

he would not greet

death until he saw

the king, the one

promised, the one

foretold, the one

named messiah.

That time came,

unexpectedly, a thief

in the night, and

he knew the promise

was fulfilled. He knew

he could now die,

a believer before

believers.

Photograph by Stefan Kunze via Unsplash. Used with permission.

I went inside

After Psalm 73:17-28

I went inside the sanctuary,

embracing its darkness and cool,

its relief from the searing heat

outside, the failure I feel as

I watch others succeed, and 

here in this cool darkness

I begin to see, at first only

a single candle, it, but the light

grows, until I see where it all

ends, what the point is, that

my failure is not failure and

their success is not success.

There is a plan, there is a reward,

there is judgment, there is love,

and I see I was holding

the wrong end of the stick and

beating myself with it.

Their ways are not his ways,

my ways are not his ways,

but my ways will be.

Photograph by Pau Casals via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Poets and Poems: Tania Runyan and “What Will Soon Take Place”

Religious faith has inspired poets for likely as long as faith and poetry have existed. About a third of the Old Testament is written in poetic form. The Greek and Roman poets were inspired by their pantheon of gods. In Christian times, a considerable amount of poetry made its way into church liturgy and popular culture as well; the Christmas carol “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” is only one of many songs and poems that come from what are called the “O Antiphons,” songs of appeal sung at the vespers service in the last week of Advent. And faith continues to inspire contemporary poets like Scott Cairns, Luci Shaw, Wendell Berry, Dana Gioia, Mark Jarman, Julia Kasdorf, and many more.

Tania Runyan is another contemporary poet inspired by faith, but her most recent collection demonstrates just how unusual and surprising that source of inspiration can be.

The 54 poems of Runyan’s What Will Soon Take Place spring from an unexpected source – the Book of Revelation in the New Testament, or what some faith traditions call “The Apocalypse of St. John.”

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

Travis Thrasher’s “The Remaining”

Last September, a movie about the Rapture – the “taking up” of believing Christians prior to the end times described in the Biblical book of Revelation – was released in theaters. Reception of the movie was so-so, and it seems to have disappeared rather quickly. After all of the “Left Behind” books by Tim LeHaye and Jerry Jenkins (with Nicholas Cage in the movie), perhaps there’s nothing left to the imagination about the Rapture and its aftermath.

The movie script for “The Remaining” was “novelized,” and Travis Thrasher was the author who wrote the book, published under the same title. I normally don’t read novelizations, but I’ve read one of Thrasher’s before, “Home Run,” and he writes good stuff, even if he has to work from rather weak scripts.

The book is profoundly disturbing. Perhaps it’s meant to be. But my response to it has lingered for days after finishing it.

The story filters the Rapture through that most commonplace of events – a wedding. Six friends have come together for the wedding of two them in Wilmington, North Carolina. They’re all from the area; they’ve all gone to school together. A year before the wedding, one of them, Lauren, had a series of horrific visions and dreams about her friends dying. But the visions had faded, and this is a joyful event for the couple getting married, Dan and Skylar.

The entire book is set in roughly a 24-hour time period.

It’s during the wedding reception that the Rapture happens, except the believing Christians aren’t “taken up” bodily. They simply drop dead, and it is their souls that are taken up. Lauren is the only one of the six who dies on the spot.

Travis Thrasher

Chaos ensues. Explosions, plane crashes, trumpets sounding, fires, a ferocious hailstorm. Then comes the attacks by something – reptiles? Demons? It’s hard to see them clearly at night, but they’re attacking anything connected to faith, like church buildings, and anyone who is gaining faith as a result of the unfolding events. As events progress, the five remaining friends learn that this isn’t just happening in Wilmington but all around the world. Civilization as they’ve known it for all of their young lives had suddenly and horrifically come to an end.

Thrasher uses short chapters, and tight (and tense) writing to build the suspense and, yes, the horror. At times it’s difficult to keep reading, because it seems that all hope has been removed, and judgment is at hand. Telling the story through a wedding (taken from the movie script) somehow makes the narrative both terrible and compelling.

The effects of The Remaining still linger in the mind, though. And the heart. Thrasher has once again told a good, if horrible, story.

Top photograph: A scene from the movie by Affirm Pictures, a unit of Sony Pictures.

Seals on a scroll

Seals on a scroll are opened,

one by one, each

an individual act, or action,

but the scroll is not read,

the scroll’s words are not seen,

or understood, instead

the seals on a scroll are broken,

one by one, individually,

each break unfolding an event,

a movement, a plan, a shift

in reality, altering, step by step,

until the seals are done,

opened, finished.

What is left on the scroll is

what is left to be read.

What is left to be read?

The white stone

My name is written

on the white stone,

the name I do not know,

the name I have not been told,

but only that I will know

the white stone with the name,

the name sung by the angels,

the name on the white stone

rolled away from the cave.

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

I went to Smyrna

I went to Smyrna, my usual

sales trip, bringing with me

what I had to sell. I arrived

amid the cries, torches in the night,

soldiers dragging men, women

off, children taken, too, and some

too young left behind. What is

this, I asked my innkeeper, what is

this thing. Avoiding my eyes

he said, simply,

it’s faith. As he pushed the ledger

to me to make my mark,

his hand shook.

It’s faith, he said.

Only that.

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

Approaching Patmos

Each motion of the waves courses

age through arthritic limbs, now

bound within strips of leather.

The galley slaves moan, in unison,

maintaining a tempo with their oars.

The barren rock approaches, larger

than anticipated with only

catacomb-caves to offer shelter

from sun’s heat. It will end here,

alone but for God. A fear swells

within, not of isolation or even death,

but a fear of revelation.

This photo of Patmos is courtesy of TripAdvisor

Anticipation or Punctuation

Perhaps Isaiah anticipates
John on the isle of Patmos, or
perhaps John punctuates
Isaiah in the city of David, as
the temple fills with smoke,
the temple shakes with presence,
the presence terrifies unclean lips,
coals burning touched to lips,
searing, scouring, purifying,
sanctifying the preparation
necessary for the purpose.
For unto us is born,
to the seven churches born,
and his name shall be, is.

One hears a verse from Isaiah
quoted in a sermon;
it becomes a revelation.