Two Poems on Suffering

It's been a rough month. My last post touched on a news item that hit close to home, but there has been a lot of other bad news since then. We've had bombings in Boston (which also hit close to home, since I went to school there) an explosion in Texas, and earthquake in Sichuan, China, continued civil war in Syria, and a collapsed building in Bangladesh, not to mention countless other tragedies, many of which probably didn't get reported. All this bad news has caused me to think a lot about how messed up the world is. These are my best attempts at expressing my thoughts so far.

Waiting for Hope

We wait within this world of pain

Where sunlit days explode in fire

Directed by some dark desire

The shrapnel falls like April rain

We wait within this world of fear

With trembling rocks beneath our feet

Our shelters crumble in the street

And with them falls all we hold dear

We wait within these feeble frames

Where battles rage in every cell

The parts against the whole rebel

Or fall to famine, flood or flame

We wait – but if we raise our eyes

To look beyond our dying sun

In heaven sits the Living One

Upon whose wings from death we rise

We wait, and through the night we sing

Undimmed, the hidden stars still shine

Hate will give way to love divine

As ice dissolves in certain spring

And the second poem:

Prayer of Suffering

O God who hears our every plea,

When darkness blocks the sunlight’s beams

When bomb blasts shatter tranquil air

And cheers and laughter turn to screams,

We cling to hope that you are there.

O God of glory, fiercely just,

The cosmos rests within Your hand,

O master of each hurricane,

Although we do not understand,

We beg You for the grace to trust.

O Christ who bore our every grief,

Absorbed death’s fullest agony

When grief and pain impale our hearts

Back to Your spear-torn side we flee,

Your blood is balm for our relief.

O Christ who overthrew the grave

Within Your triumph we find peace,

We thirst for Your returning day

When You will cause all war to cease

And Your tormented people save.

O Spirit who grants every grace,

Infuse our hearts with mercy’s power,

To break the bonds of fear and pain

And even in this evil hour

With selfless love the night to face.

O Holy Spirit, living flame,

Send out Your glory’s radiant beams

To pierce the heart of evil’s throne,

Defeating dark, demonic schemes

And bringing honor to Your name.

To My Fallen Comrade

Hearing the tragic news about the death of Matthew Warren, Rick Warren’s son, stirred up deep feelings in me. I realized that we had much in common – so much so that but for God’s mercy his story could have been mine. We were fairly close in age, both Christians raised in Christian homes with parents who do some kind of ministry (my father has even worked with Rick Warren on a project), and we both struggled with mental illness for years. But I pulled out of it (more or less), while Matthew never did. This is a terrible time for the Warren family, and although I know nothing I say can heal this grief, I am offering my prayers to the One who can. I dedicate this poem to Matthew Warren and hope it will bring some kind of catharsis and/or comfort to those who are grieving.

To My Fallen Comrade

It was a weary, lonely fight we fought

Standing side by side, yet miles and miles apart

Upon the blackened landscape of our thoughts.

With all our strength we strove each morning,

Wrestling our weary bodies from the beds

Where we had fought, bled, wept

For sleep that fled.

With every breath we breathed we choked

Upon the black and burning smoke that cloaked

Our every move, obscuring sight,

With darkness deafening our ears

To words of hope.

We struggled through the days, weeks, months and years,

Begging our Lord for peace that did not come,

Striking at shadows, never knowing

Where to swing to smite the beast

That battered, bruised and broke our hearts until they hurt to beat

And every breath burned.

How did I escape that battelefield

To find this sweet oasis where the air

Is clear and light can fill my eyes?

But you, my brother both in faith and battle blood,

Are fallen, and my heart is filled with tears.

I long to tear into that demon in the dark

That stole you from this world

With so much joy untasted,

With so much good undone,

But there is nothing I can do.

So rest, my brother, in the sleep that once fled

Until the day when agony and death will lie dead

And we will dance where once the darkness reigned

And weep no more.

Mount Moriah

My Bible study has been reading Genesis, and last week we studied chapter 22, in which God called Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac. Like any good father, Abraham loved his son deeply, and Isaac was also the promised son through whom God had promised Abraham an enduring legacy. That legacy would include the Messiah, which is why I refer to Isaac as the “child of hope.” However, the first two couplets could also refer to another “child of hope” whom I mention more explicitly at the end of this sonnet.

Mount Moriah

Would God demand as idols did of old

Youth’s priceless blood poured out in sacrifice?

The child of hope by heavenly voice foretold

Cut off from Earth by ceremony’s slice?

His servant flinched but faltered not in fear.

He rose beside pale light of trembling dawn

While stillness masked his sorrow’s silent tear,

Perplexed but trusting hope’s child would live on.

His trembling hand held up the awful knife.

Beneath its blade his bound beloved lay.

But then a word, a trade of life for life,

The boy was saved; grace shone in bright display,

An echo of far greater grace God gave

When His beloved Son He did not save.

The Song

Echoing out of the expanse of eternity is a song.

It flows in flawless three-part harmony from one Singer’s voice, vast and vibrant.

Its chords resound with such magnificence that the universe springs into being solely for the purpose of resonating with it.

Its harmony rings out in the treble tweeting of birds, the staccato rhythm of rain, the baritone bellow of the elephant, the tender lullaby of a mother.

But humanity in its vanity chooses not to sing along.

In our insanity we demand the right to compose solos for ourselves, rather than letting our voices meld into the overpowering orchestra.

We plug our ears with distractions – toys, wealth, pleasure, fame, flattery

We bang on everything we can touch, hoping to drown out the song, striking wildly at others and ourselves.

We create a cacophony so we don’t have to listen, then loudly conclude that since we can’t hear the Song, it must be a myth manufactured to silence our voices.

Its vaulting melodies are replaced with the grinding of machinery, inane chatter, whispers of gossip, voices raised in quarreling, the crack of whips, the thumping of soldiers’ steps, the sobbing of frightened children silenced by a gunshot.

Yet the song plays on.

The Singer’s voice will not be silenced, though it may sound soft and slow, sadden by our suffering.

The chords continue, constantly calling us to stop.

To listen.

To rejoin the chorus.

The song longs to seep into our tone-deaf souls, giving us new ears, hearts and voices.

The music will not stop until all discord resolves in radiant harmony.

For the Singer is also a Composer, and He planned a flawless finale before the first note was sung.

A Call to Adventure

The word “adventure” can evoke a wide variety of feelings – excitement, nostalgia, longing, fear. It ties together stories told across geography, era and culture. The word itself is enough to make children’s eyes sparkle, to inspire them to create imaginary worlds and picture themselves as the heroes. Adults don’t always react so enthusiastically, though. Maybe the monotony of everyday life has stifled the longing for adventure, or maybe years of bitter experience have taught us that anything out of the ordinary is dangerous. We may begin to think of adventures as, to paraphrase Bilbo Baggins from The Hobbit, “nasty, unpleasant things that make you late for breakfast.”

But I think the longing for adventure is still there, buried in our hearts. It’s why we race to see movies like The Avengers, Star Wars and The Lord of the Rings. In one scene in The Hobbit, Bilbo goes running after Gandalf and the dwarves exclaiming, “I’m going on an adventure!” His reaction makes sense because we share the source of Bilbo’s excitement – a longing to do something heroic.

This desire is strong and real, but even in movies, it’s not all that drives heroes. Often heroes reluctantly agree to take a stand when great evil threatens their home or loved ones.

This may seem distant from our everyday experience – we don’t often encounter mad scientists or evil wizards bent on world domination. But the world is still full of evil, and as I learned last month it does threaten the things closest to us.

Last month, the approach of Christmas stirred up fond memories and longing for my home. In my homesickness, I was tempted to think of my home as an idyllic location like the Shire where we can live safely, far from stress, danger and evil. The Newtown massacre sent me into a tailspin of mourning, in part because it made me realize that senseless, radical evil isn’t distant – it can ravage even my home state.

Evil is all around us, but we can still fight it. We must fight with all the power we have, whether great or small, in every circumstance we find ourselves in. That means saying no to the evil that would engulf our own souls, and it also means reaching out and bringing what light we can into the darkness. 

For me, that meant passing a card around the office and sending it to Sandy Hook Elementary School. It means writing posts like this that I hope will be helpful and encouraging. It means looking for opportunities to help others and make their lives a little brighter. Every time we choose to do good instead of evil, to bless instead of cursing, to love or to forgive, we strike a blow against the darkness. And by engaging in the battle against evil, we can find the adventure our hearts crave.

Light, truth and goodness will win in the end, but until then, we have an opportunity to engage in this epic battle. By taking a stand against evil, we not only help others, but we also give ourselves the opportunity to become the heroes we were meant to be.

I’d like to close with a quote from Winston Churchill, a man far more articulate than me, who faced evil far more dangerous and powerful than I do.

Do not let us speak of darker days: let us speak rather of sterner days. These are not dark days; these are great days—the greatest days our country has ever lived; and we must all thank God that we have been allowed, each of us according to our stations, to play a part in making these days memorable in the history of our race.

Christmas Haiku

In honor of Christmas, I'd like to present a set of haiku telling the story of the birth of Jesus from the perspective of all the major characters (and one inanimate object). Enjoy, and Merry Christmas!

Gabriel:

Mary, I have news:

The Messiah is coming.

He’s in your belly.

Mary:

Baby with no dad?

That was not covered in my

Biology class.

Joseph:

This is not my kid.

What’s that? He’s the Son of God?

OK, I’ll keep him.

Elizabeth:

Wow! My unborn son

Recognized your unborn son!

He must be psychic.

Shepherds:

What’s that up there? Aaah!

Angel army in the sky!

Good, they come in peace.

Angels:

Hey there, shepherd dudes.

Sheep are overrated. Go

See the Lamb of God.

Star:

Wise guys, look up here!

A great king is born tonight.

Hurry, don’t be late.

Herod:

When you find this king,

Tell me so that I can kill–

I mean worship – him.

Magi:

We have brought you gifts

To fill up his college fund

And make him smell good.

Myths About Work II: Work is Bad

During the last post in this series, I described an ancient Babylonian myth and pointed out that, although we may have shed its polytheistic trappings, it reflects false beliefs about work that are still prevalent today. Now I’d like to talk about the first myth I listed, which may be the most common.

The Babylonian legend suggests that they thought of work as a bad thing – after all, they believed their gods created people so they wouldn’t have to work. Similarly, many people today view work as a necessary evil. We complain about our jobs and look forward to vacations and, ultimately, retirement. We think of “living the good life” as lying around on a beach somewhere far away from the demands of the workplace. When people win the lottery, often the first thing they do is quit their jobs. And Christians take comfort in the idea that in heaven, we won’t need to work.

But is that what the Bible teaches? Although it doesn’t directly say whether people will work in heaven, the Bible does tell us a lot about the nature of work. And it begins right where the Babylonians did – at the very beginning.

The first place where the word “work” appears in the Bible is Genesis 2:2 “And on the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done.” So the first person to do work was God, and the result of His work was a “very good” universe, meaning that work is not a bad thing.

Of course, the verse does say that God rested, indicating that work wasn’t the only thing that mattered to Him (more on that in the next post). But that doesn’t mean He gave up working as soon as someone else could do it. Jesus said, “My Father is working until now, and I am working.” (John 5:17) So clearly resting in the Bible does not equal retirement.

When God created people, He did expect us to work. “And God blessed them. And God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth.’” (Genesis 1:28) God’s statement is a blessing, but it’s also a job description. Any parent can tell you that “being fruitful and multiplying” is one of the hardest jobs anyone can be given. Filling, subduing and ruling the earth means developing its resources into something greater than what it was in its natural state. That includes farming, building cities and other forms of economic activity. So God began His relationship with people by telling them to work.

But unlike the Babylonian gods, the God of the Bible didn’t make people work because He didn’t want to. We work because we are created “in the image of God.” That means we are like God and do the things He does. Being made in God’s image separates us from the rest of creation and gives us unique dignity. So work is a sign of nobility, not of inferiority. Perhaps this is why God’s first assignment of work is described as a blessing.

But work doesn’t always feel like a blessing. Even though I love my job, there are still mornings when I’d rather pull my quilt over my head and sleep than get up and face a day of work. There are afternoons when I feel like if I look at one more page of text, my brain will turn to liquid and start dripping out of my ears. And I know some people have much less rewarding and interesting jobs than I do.

The Bible explains this, too. When Adam and Eve sinned, God cursed the ground, saying it would yield “thorns and thistles” and that Adam would produce food from it “by the sweat of [his] face” (Genesis 3:18-19). This is the point where work, which is good, becomes toil, which is bad. The pain associated with toil is real and impossible to ignore. But the rest of the Bible tells about God making all things new, putting right the things that sin messed up, including work.

In conclusion, “whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.” Your current job isn’t bad (unless you’re a criminal or something); it was created by God and can be used to glorify Him. When we see our work as an act of worship and a way to better the world around us, we restore the goodness it was created to have and join God in rolling back the effects of the Fall.