The storm rages

After I Peter 1:3-5 

The storm rages around us,

a tempest, pounding

turbulence, threatening

destruction. It rages,

but we are safe, secure,

protected with a promise,

with an inheritance,

one that is permanent,

perfect, held in reserve,

a hope amid the storm,

a hope in spite of the storm,

a living hope, a refuge,

a rock, and we are

in its cleft, our safety

and salvation secure.

 

Photograph by Mac LaRochelle via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

The Value of Work & Picking Blueberries – Russell Gehrlein at the Institute for Faith, Work, & Economics.

 

The News Media is Broken. What Now? – Mike Woodruff at The Gospel Coalition.

 

Narnia Remains – Samuel D. James at Digital Liturgies.

Christ the King - sonnet by Malcolm Guite.

A storm

After Romans 1:18-32

Clouds build, darken,

threaten a storm; it

breaks, incessant power

and sound, a storm

of destruction, not

a natural storm, but

a storm of punishment,

of retribution, unleashed

against those embracing

ungodliness, those embracing

unrighteousness, those embracing

evil and calling it truth, suppressing

what is true, strangling what is truth.

A storm breaks,

and pours down.

Photograph by Lee Junda via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Outside the tent

After Psalm 61

Outside the tent is the storm,

a whirlwind of sand and grit

etching skin and heart;

inside a silence and light,

cushioned and pillowed, 

food and drink, a place

away from the tearing,

the noise, the deafening

of the storm. Inside the tent

the storm no longer is,

dispelled and flicked away,

a memory erased.

Photograph by asoggetti via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Unexpected storm

He was expecting the storm

when it arrived, almost

suddenly, without portent or

warning, simply arising

in front of him. He held on

as it raged, tearing at his skin,

sharp nails with stinging points.

They found him there, still

holding on. He did not know

salvation was in letting go.

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

Thunder

I hear the thunder

a rumble in the distance

attended by flashes of light,

and rain.

Moving at its own speed

neither slow nor hurried

cleaning and healing and washing,

like rain.

An integral and intimate component

of what lives, and is, and will

following its path and swath, wet

with rain.

Washing my face, smoothing lines

of worry and doubt, and fear,

falling on my hair, washing

with sound and sense and light,

like rain.

Time is not chronology

or a clock

Time is sometimes soft.

often hard, and driving

always cleansing,

 like rain.

This poem is submitted for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. To see more poems, please visit the site. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.

Photograph: Before the storm by Larisa Larisa via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

The Final Blessing of 2010: Storm Poem

Yesterday morning, my son called to ask if I could babysit while he took my daughter-in-law to the doctor (eventual diagnosis: bronchitis). You want me to babysit Cameron? Then I rang their doorbell.

They live about 15 minutes away, in the St. Louis suburb of Fenton. They had the windows of their house open – it was unusually warm (mid-60s) for Dec. 31. A cold front was approaching, and a tornado watch had been issued by the Weather Service. Cold air + warm air = tornado possibilities. Although a tornado in December would be extremely rare.

Cameron was sleepy, snuggled in my arms. We were watching one of the bowl games on TV. Cameron had just dozed off when I heard the tornado sirens. Down to the basement we went, and waited. The sirens stopped; we went back upstairs to resume watching the game.

At 11:40, the sirens went off again, and down to the basement we went (my wife has trained me well). We waited for some 10 minutes before the sirens stopped. There was a lot of rain and thunder going on.

Half a mile away from the basement, right across the highway from where my son and daughter-in-law were waiting at the doctor’s office, a tornado hit the roof of a Catholic Church and smashed the rectory, hopped a parking lot and hit a subdivision, damaging or destroying several homes before moving on.

At 11:56 a.m., the sirens went off for a third time, and Cameron (sleeping through the whole thing) and I were back in the basement. Three miles away, about halfway between our home and my son’s home, a tornado had touched down, right in the area where my wife has her Pilates class. Twenty homes were destroyed. Power lines downed, cars and trucks flipped over like toys.

Miraculously – and I mean miraculously – no one was killed. Two minor injuries were reported. Other areas weren’t so fortunate. Three people died in Missouri and two in Arkansas. The town of Robertsville has virtually every building and home damaged or destroyed. (The St. Louis Post-Dispatch has extensive coverage and photos, but it usually hides everything behind the firewall after two to three weeks, so this may be a dead link by the end of the month.)

Reports say six tornadoes touched down in the St. Louis metropolitan area. My family was near two of them. Winds were estimated at 160-170 miles per hour, and the storm moved at something more than 50 miles an hour. A few minutes in duration – and lives could be changed forever.

It took three times as long to get home. Several major thoroughfares had to be closed. Traffic was snarled all over the southwestern suburbs. I didn’t see the major damage, but I passed damaged brick walls, large trees snapped in half and downed power lines. Neither my son’s home nor mine suffered any damage.

Last night, my wife and I watched a movie courtesy of Netflix (yes, a wild New Year’s Eve). We had our choice of a comedy series we’ve been watching or Amazing Grace. We picked Amazing Grace. Somehow, it was a fitting ending to the day.

Storm

Silence eerie
Shaded yellow
or faint green
patina of an aged painting
still life by a long-dead
Dutch master

Darkness, then sound:
sirens; wind rain hailing
destruction howling
upon the earth
in repetitious crashes
unleashed by skies raging
scattering memory
like old sticks –

Light.
In the backyard
I see a robin
pecking for worms.

Photograph: Grey Sky Storm Clouds by Kim Newberg via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

I’ve linked this poem to One StopPoetry’s New Year’s celebration. To see other linked poems and stories, please visit the site.