He sings over you

After Zephaniah 3:14-20 

Forget the humiliation,

forget the shame.

The Lord is singing

over you.

 

He takes away

the judgments

against you.

He wipes away

the enemies

arrayed against

you. He gathers

the weak, the outcast,

the oppressed

in his arms,

transforming shame

into praise.

 

He gathers us in,

he exalts over us,

he sings our renown,

he sings our praise.

 

Photograph by Steven Erixon via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Friday Readings

 

“At the Cemetery,” poem by Robert Cording – D.S. Martin at Kingdom Poets.

 

Honey: A healing gift from the Creator – Creation.com. 

 

When Your Boss Expects You to Lie – John Piper at Desiring God.

 

“Fight the Good Fight,” hymn by John Samuel Bewley Monsell – Anthony Esolen at Word & Song.

 

A Given – poem by Seth Lewis.

If you suffer

After I Peter 4:12-19 

If you suffer

for his name’s sake,

be unashamed,

be alert, be awake.

 

If suffering comes,

then glorify God;

trust your creator,

continue to do good.

 

Your behavior is spared

from judgment to come;

the godless will perish,

all, not only some.

 

Hold fast to your Lord,

stay strong in the word;

your suffering is short,

your cries have been heard.

 

Photograph by Abishek via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

Do ye the little things – David Warren at Essays in Idleness.

Glorious, Obvious Difference: The Complementary Souls of Men and Women – David Mathis at Desiring God.

Following No Other Way – Nathan Beacom at Comment Magazine.

Own Your Faith – Jacob Crouch.

Stones and Fonts – Barb Drummond at Curious Histories.

Managing expectations

After I Peter 4:12-19 

On the horizon

and in your face,

the trials will come,

so bear with grace.

 

The fires will test,

the trials will harm;

no need to fight,

no need to arm.

 

Reviled for his name,

suffering for belief,

the fire brings joy,

set aside your grief.

 

The judge is coming,

judgment draws near;

you’re godly, not godless,

with nothing to fear.

 

Photograph by Jan Tinneberg via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Friday Readings

Photo with Bald Heads – poem by Marjorie Maddox at Kingdom Poets (D.S. Martin). 

Why I Complain – Samuel D. James at Digital Liturgies.

The Indispensable Inefficiency of Prayer – Seth Lewis.

A Sonnet for George Herbert – Malcolm Guite.

10 Things (about grief) That Are Different Than What I Expected – Kirsten at Faithful Paradox.

Spires of City Churches – Spitalfields Life.

Joseph and the Grace of Forgiveness

The entire spring issue of Cultivating Oaks is devoted to the theme of grace. Published are stories by Lancia Smith, Malcolm Guite, Annie Nardone, Junius Johnson, Adam Nettesheim, Amy Malskeit, Steven Garber, Corey Latta, Tom Darin Liskey, Nicole Howe, Amelia Freidline, Lara D’Entremont, and several others. 

For me, reading a very familiar Bible story – the account of Joseph in the Book of Genesis – led me in an unexpected direction of grace. You can read the story, “Joseph and the Grace of Forgiveness,” at Cultivating Oaks Press. 

 

Photograph by Michael Olsen via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Grace and peace

After Galatians 1:1-5 

His authority set

and stated, he

pronounces grace

and peace to those

reading and listening.

It’s something he 

usually does,

this pronouncement,

but this time he

includes a reminder

of the source of grace

and peace, what was 

done to provide

grace and peace, and

thanksgiving for both

the act and the result.

 

Photograph by Kirill Pershin via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Live men running

After Ephesians 2:1-10

It comes as a spark,

a change from without,

a touch from the fingertips

of God, a gift, creating

life from death, life

from grace, life from

community of the saved,

plucked from death

to sit in heavenly places.

Don’t miss the central point:

Grace.

That’s what life is about:

Grace.

That is what inspired

the fingertips to move:

Grace.

Nothing that we do,

nothing that we could do,

could rival this gift:

Grace,

the power of live men running.

Photograph by Braden Collum via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Predestined

After Romans 8:26-30

Before the call,

a purpose.

Before the call,

foreknowledge,

coupled with

a predetermination,

a predestination

of being shaped

and being molded

to the image.

Start there, and

hear the call,

need the call,

and it swirls

and moves

through agency

undeserved,

the agency of grace,

moving to acquittal,

moving to glory.

Photograph by Kristopher Roller via Unsplash. Used with permission.

No mountaintop

After Exodus 6:1-8

We’re looking at this

in the wrong way.

He’s not on the mountaintop;

we don’t find our way

to the top

by different paths.

It’s not about finding him

there, traveling

our different trails.

He came down from

the mountaintop,

and found us.

He didn’t wait as we

traveled our roads,

looking for him.

He came down,

found us, 

lived with us, 

touched us.

Photograph by Joshua Earle via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The mathematics of faith

After Romans 4:1-12

It’s about subtraction

and addition. Faith,

that is. The formula:

sin is subtracted, evil

is taken away, wiped clean.

Guilt is washed away.

Righteousness is added,

a transfer of assets 

to our bank account,

counted as payment

in full, sufficient by itself,

sufficient in itself.

The mathematics of faith

turns mathematics on its head.

It’s a gift, underserved,

unmerited, unearned but

freely offered and

freely given.

Photograph by Annie Spratt via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Faithful Abe

After Romans 4:1-12

It’s almost a question of math,

this counting business. Simple

addition on a tally sheet as

you keep track of each work,

each good thing you do (no

one keep a tally of their bad

works). So you add them up

and you get exactly nothing,

because they don’t count,

works don’t count. Ask Abe.

Abe had more than sufficient

works to his credit, works he 

could boast about. Yet it

wasn’t what he did that made 

the final addition, the summary

on the scoresheet. Only one thing

added up, only one thing counted.

He believed.

Photograph by Antoine Dautry via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Can't boast

After Romans 3:21-31

Can’t boast,

can’t take credit,

can’t crow and preen,

can’t show or perform,

can’t demonstrate,

can’t prove anything

on our own. It’s all

gone now, but we didn’t

do it. Someone else did.

All we can do

is claim it, by faith,

claim that white robe,

by faith.

That’s it.

That’s all.

Photograph by Alex Holyoake via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Sounds in the well

After Romans 8:26-28

A well of darkness,

cold, the only company

a shaking, shivering.

The voice rises through

the stones, winds echoing

off each other before

vanishing in the darkness

above.

The walls tremble, not

in anticipation but 

in the sounds reverberating,

an intercession unexpected

and undeserved, a groaning

so deep that it pounds

the ears, the hearing

realizing the meaning,

realizing that the intercession

is a gift, a provision of grace,

a provision planned and saved.

Photograph by Maria Krasnova via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Drop-kicking dropsy

After Luke 14:1-11

He is the point, or the example:

the man with dropsy, standing

there as they sit for a meal,

a man proven unclean,

it must be some sin

for otherwise he’d be well,

and he stands there

in his suffering until

the question is asked:

it is right, it is lawful,

is it legal to heal this man,

to heal him on this day,

this sacred day. No one

answers because to answer

is to shatter a belief,

a system, a culture.

In the silence he heals

the man, who’s sent away

but the silence remains,

a silence profound,

a silence burning.

Photograph by Rob Curran via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Not the law

After Psalm 1

Not the law as we consider it

not the compilation of statutes

   and strictures

not the assembly of precedents

not the determinations of the man

who judges

not the law as they understand and chafe

   against the word

but instead

the law as the big story

the law as overflowing mercy

the law as grace

the entire story

not only the part we find comfort in

the full story, all of it

the law as invitation

the invitation to eternity

Photograph by Sebastian Pichler viaUnsplash. Used with permission.

Gumball machine

After Psalm 73:1-17

It’s always worked before.

Drop in my coin, a nickel

or a quarter, turn the crank,

and out pops the gumball.

But this time I turn the crank

and nothing comes out; 

I turn again and the crank

jams. I rage against the machine

that promises and doesn’t deliver,

I dropped my coin into the slot;

I did my part, I did what I was

supposed to do and nothing

happened, no gum ball came out. 

I shake the machine in anger

and cry out why? And the voice

says, I am not a gumball machine.

Photograph by Joshua Coleman via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Mouth

After Psalm 107:47

The moaning, groaning cries

pour from the carnivorous mouth,

a siren song that compels and

draws, a song that turns

a listener to stone, hard, inflexible,

impermeable, a burning surface,

flames erupting like serpents,

encircling my feet, wrapping

around my body, invading

my mind until all I hear 

is the pounding, the moans,

until I see it and know it.

I cry out, and gladness

overwhelms. I hear the music.

Photograph by Lucas Clarysse via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Prison

After Psalm 107:10-14

The prison is cold, and damp,

a generator of a chill that

freezes and dries the soul,

the scurrying sounds 

in dark corners reminding me

of my cellmates, sharpening

the knowledge of my offense

that has led to affliction and

irons, irons I joyfully clamped

on my own legs, afflictions

I welcomed in ignorance and 

stupidity, believing them 

to be freedom. spurning

the good and embracing slavery,

not seeing as the cage 

with no door, no key, until

I cried out and the light

flooded my cell.

Photograph by Denny Muller via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Desert cry

After Psalm 107:4-7

Wandering. Arid. Dry.

Parched. Seering. Desert. Heat

overpowering. No protection

from sun or wind or hear,

no refuge to find, no oasis.

Sand, and rocks, and 

Unrelenting heat. Body

fails, soul fails, collapsing

in the sand, tasting 

the hot grains, what little

moisture is left evaporating

until I become a piece

of parchment, edges seared 

by flame, and I cry out,

without hope, a sound

anguished in extreme.

The cry is heard, the listening

lifts and carries me

to the refuge.

Photograph by Ian Dooley via Unsplash. Used with permission.

At the gates of death

After Psalm 107

Wait a minute, we’re all supposed to be

good, right, I mean, it’s not like

we’re Hitler, right, we make mistakes,

we misspeak, we’re boxed in by what

happened 50 years ago, or 100, or 157,

whatever, and because we’re good

it’s never our fault (I blame Trump),

we can all play our victim’s card,

earned and honorary membership, 

don’t tell me otherwise as I careen toward,

approach, stagger, stumble toward

the gates of death. I look around to see 

(blame) someone for shoving me here,

and all I see are mirrors, reflections 

that would embarrass Dorian Gray,

it’s all there staring at me really ugly

and the only thing I can do is cry

out.

Somehow, through the roaring

and the noise, all the screams around me

and the screams from me,

the cry is heard.

Photograph by Dil Assi via Unsplash. Used with permission.