I Have Not Love: A Poem on 1 Corinthians 13:1-3

Let's say I can write by hand in any script:
Latin, Cyrillic, Indic, Chinese,
And speak the words of any of these,
Be a polyglot with a pile of degrees
And teach others to do the same -
An intellectual exercise -
So that we can pat ourselves on the cranium for our fine accomplishments -
As others do in music, sciences, and the arts:
I forgot the most important part -
The most excellent way.

Were angels good enough as I,
They could speak the tongues of men and their own in the sky -
As useless as an endless recitation of pi
To a two-year-old - if we have not love.
A gong's clang, a cymbal's crash -
It sounds like a late afternoon's dash
Through the metropolis,
As the motorway's educated ideologists
Contribute their own sounds to a cacophony -
Ever crazier, blowing horns of various pitches,
Screaming sarcastic ne'er-too-well wishes,
Passing highway salutes to all -
And having not love!

Or I could be a mysterious man -
A prediction-gifted prince trapped in an ivory tower,
With nothing but my answers to each mystery keeping me company,
Thinking that my facts keep the world functioning
And doctrine is power,
Waiting for a similar princess to give me a flower -
When I am really just a frog this hour -
Who has not love!

Or a man with faith - and not even a dreamer,
I dreamt Olympus Mons and Everest were cast down to the sea just because God wanted them to be
And my church grew and sparkled and gleamed
In radiance: "Let all who are simple come in here"
And get programs, sound preaching, even tears
In worship of the one true God with thousands
While I only have the means and miss the end -
Christ - the source - All things made by, through, and for -
Yet I, with Sardis' heart, have not love!

Or a man with wealth - gold on top of gold
On top of platinum, on top of titanium, encrusted with diamonds -
Super Bowl rings are made from me! -
And yet I radically obey
Give it all away to feed the entire world -
For ten thousand spans of life -
And I live as a jolly average soul
And enjoy the tax breaks -
Or if I give my body from my fame
To be swallowed in ever-climbing flames
"For the sake of Your holy, precious name" -
And have not love?

I am nothing.
The Creator of music calls me noise.
The Author of knowledge deems me a fool.
The Source of true prophecy declares me a fraud.
The God of compassion says I poisoned the least of these.
The Lord who bid me come and die sees no gain in my loss.
I would be better off to never live than to never love -
As He tears the veil and shows -
I have not love -
Nor Him who is it.
In the end, none will twist His perfect love
To point back to themselves and steal His glory.

Let not the sophic man boast of his scholarship
Or the sculpted strut of his sinew
Or the opulent vaunt of his affluence
But let anyone -
Learned or simple,
Atlas' arm or Achilles' heel,
Living large or destitute -
Boast in this:
That they understand and know
Their Maker, the Source of love.

-----

The texts for this poem, as taken from the New American Standard Bible, are below.  Emphasis mine:

1 Corinthians 13:1-3:
 1 If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but do not have love, I have become a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge; and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 And if I give all my possessions to feed the poor, and if I surrender my body to be burned, but do not have love, it profits me nothing.

Jeremiah 9:23-24:

23 Thus says the LORD, “Let not a wise man boast of his wisdom, and let not the mighty man boast of his might, let not a rich man boast of his riches; 24 but let him who boasts boast of this, that he understands and knows Me, that I am the LORD who exercises lovingkindness, justice and righteousness on earth; for I delight in these things,” declares the LORD.

Shakespearean Sonnet: Get Wisdom.

Pay any price, that wisdom you attain

And go great lengths to bend your ear to hear

The cry of wisdom, calling o'er terrain

Nearby and far, to warn from future tears.

Prize understanding, wisdom's confidant

For knowledge works with prudence, hand in hand;

Defend yourself from growing nonchalant

Or callous to the Scripture's reprimand.

Embrace discernment; honor comes with grace,

A garland given you with beauty's crown;

Find satisfaction when you can retrace

Your days and know she did not let you down!

Heed caution's tales, replete from foolish choice

Of rebels, shunning cries of Wisdom's voice!

-----

The text for this sonnet is Proverbs 4:1-12, copied below from the New American Standard Bible:

1 Hear, O sons, the instruction of a father,
And give attention that you may gain understanding,

2 For I give you sound teaching;
Do not abandon my instruction.

3 When I was a son to my father,
Tender and the only son in the sight of my mother,

4 Then he taught me and said to me,
“Let your heart hold fast my words;
Keep my commandments and live;

5 Acquire wisdom! Acquire understanding!
Do not forget nor turn away from the words of my mouth.

6 “Do not forsake her, and she will guard you;
Love her, and she will watch over you.

7 “The beginning of wisdom is: Acquire wisdom;
And with all your acquiring, get understanding.

8 “Prize her, and she will exalt you;
She will honor you if you embrace her.

9 “She will place on your head a garland of grace;
She will present you with a crown of beauty.”

10 Hear, my son, and accept my sayings
And the years of your life will be many.

11 I have directed you in the way of wisdom;
I have led you in upright paths.

12 When you walk, your steps will not be impeded;
And if you run, you will not stumble.

Expositional Poetry on 1 Kings 9:9-18, Part 2

This is a continuation of "Expositional Poetry on 1 Kings 9:9-18, Part 1".

A whirl

Of breeze, barely felt

In an arid land - but something is different about it.

A pearl

Of wisdom comes inside it as he dwelt

In the cave where he had felt shelter from the storms.

A whorl

In his fingers feels this air,

So insignificant if he would not just listen.

Almost a calm

To follow the whole gale

Of tornadic force that he could barely withstand.

He puts his mantle back on, still shaken to his core

That a "failure" like himself would be given more

To do for the Almighty against his enemies' roar.

Be still, and know the stillness is too hard to ignore:

"You, in a silent breath of wind?"

"You see life with one eye through a shattered prism,

Two-dimensional - no depth perception.

You see the world through this savage system

Do I lack the power to change its direction?

What are you doing here, Elijah -

Continuing to place all faith in you?

What are you doing here, Elijah -

In causeless depression, through and through?

Just listen, Elijah -

If you trust, I level crooked paths.

Just listen, Elijah -

I will save a remnant from My wrath.

"A remnant -

Of seven thousand strong whose knees stay fixed,

Upright against the rulers' brazen god. They will resist

The advance of false worship in My land

Of a god of matter brought to being by My hand.

A new king

Will end the praise of Baal

Even after you are caught to be with Me.

I will find you still ever faithful, to the point

That the closest few that my Son will appoint

Will need a reminder - worship Me instead of you.

Have faith, until sight comes, in future grace,

Which arrives forever when you see My face."

"Repentance -

Even over despondency

Over kings killing me

And remnants writing me off

For my faults as a leader."

Resemblance -

To repent means change of mind -

"Go and sin no more", like the well woman -

And to replace sin with something,

To grab hold of God with no intention of letting go,

Trusting not in my hold on You

but Your hold on me.

It is promised in

Your Word - Saving breath of wind.

"You will follow

Until My work in you is done.

You will anoint the men to carry on

My work to praise My name under My sun.

From the rising to the setting of all days

In My city, earth, and heaven, I still reign.

Creation groans for its redemption and full praise

Of Me. I rule the waves and wind."

Expositional Poetry on 1 Kings 19:9-18, Part 1

My church is going through a lot, with several families being forced to move out of the area to find work. Some of those who have been able to stay have been anxious as they might only have one or two years left before they have to move. In a relatively small church like ours, losing several families takes a visible toll on our attendance and our giving. My pastor took a break from his series on Mark during the summer to take our church through a series of passages dealing with anxiety and depression. Several weeks ago, he preached on Elijah using 1 Kings 19:9-18 as his main text.

Most of the poetry I have written here until now has been free verse and topical. To reflect on this sermon more, I decided to write an expository poem on this text. I did not get to write last weekend because Hurricane Irene knocked out the power. That tied in well with the "wind" metaphors! :-)

I started to write this as the tempests whirled 'round me

and man-made lights flickered,

As the earthly wise were confused,

The simple stumbled from liquor

In hurricane parties with cheap draft specials,

Forced indoors as winds and rain battered roofs

But did not come strongly enough to make the buildings fall.

We witnessed a microcosm of Your destructive power.

As more rain fell with each hour,

Some thought they heard

You - in a raging breath of wind?

A storm at a distance

We give more than a glance askance,

Ready our stance

In case it happens to hit us by chance.

Some trust their persistence

Even as winds and trees cancel others' earthly existence,

They remain in resistance,

Running still against power which can outdistance.

Some wonder about subsistence

As they shutter their businesses at city officials' insistence,

Can't get bread for the day,

Maybe have to leave their low ground for the brae

As the storm does ballet

In violent style that cameras capture and replay.

Elijah went to a cave and stayed there,

Not for a storm, but a queen wanted to grab him by the hair ,

Trap him in a snare and kill with flair,

For the message he declared:

"The true God with no compare,

Maker of Altair,

Can tell that your cries to Baal are stopping in midair.

You told me, 'We're with Baal! Beware!'

Now complete this questionnaire:

Is your god off, solitaire,

Playing golf with billionaires,

Perhaps in the restroom getting debonair,

Or sleeping in the square,

So unconscious, he just got trampled by a hare?

Or he thinks it's funny like Moliere

That you think he'll answer you when you put your forms in disrepair?"

And after this victory,

Slaying four hundred fifty with a holy jealousy,

His inquiry - The mystery: misery, injury inwardly and spiritually:

Why react bitterly? Why treat it like trickery that life did not become glittery?

Then came the theophany:

Elijah cringed as the wind broke rocks in pieces

And he had no shelter from the tempest's reaches,

Stayed outside as his beard flew in front of him

As the wind challenged its anchors in his face,

Still grim - his tears moved more as he stood on the mount,

Sustained by grace in God's blessing fount,

But in that day he only knew law,

Following it to the letter,

A sacrifice required if he was ever its debtor.

His cold heart had yet to thaw

As he thought as hard as he could in what he saw,

"You, in mighty rushing wind?"

He didn't know the next was caused by plate tectonics

As soon as the jarring of the plates' harmonics

God only did it for histrionics

To show His power greater than electronics.

Soon after God called him from his self-imposed detention,

The earth shook strongly to get Elijah's attention,

To make him consider more than three dimensions.

What did that do to his comprehension -

"You, in shaking of the plates?

Is it fate that I wait and You don't change my state?

Did I misstate? My lightweight

Pleas for You to take me home looked strong enough to me.

But I don't see You here as fear

Envelopes me."

The familiar fire that exposed false prophets as sophomores

Performed encores.

He saw the dancing of phosphors

And probably dreaded this deja vu -

"Why don't You undo

All that happened there in lieu

Of an easy life for me, that I could waste and then rest with my fathers,

Without this tyrant Ahab breathing down my neck

And his wife wanting to separate my neck

From my head, and then feed me to her dog?

'Rare prophets of God, a shekel per pound at the pet store -

Your dogs will find it tasty, and you will be so delighted!'

Victor now victim,

I feel common as gypsum,

Courage softer than talcum,

Heart harder than diamond - I wanted my kingdom

Without any schism."

Then, the Designer of Theorems

Could say, "Wandering pilgrim,

See through My prism since My wisdom is winsome

To the true man of God who does not care about income."

Yet fire burned - to bonfire from a spark,

God certified that fire was not His mark

Nor any demonstrated havoc stark,

"You, in the fire that lights the dark?!"

"No, simple man with many limitations.

Hark - to the Ruler of all nations,

Including yours - Who ordained this ruthless ruler over you

And arranged each last detail hitherto."

Waxen Wings

You placed each star.

A thousand years a blink, and a second retards

To a millennium likewise.

Yet the stars, unfixed, can swirl

In poetic motion, like sonnets of the Bard

And catch the eye with a curious whirl,

Or we see only mudpies.

Man has thought hard to make sense of it,

Long believing that they stood in the midst of it.

But only fact could advance reason.

Copernicus came after Dark Age season,

With the sun in the hub of our world-play.

Without Ptolemy's epicycles,

Defended with Galileo's final breath: "E pur si muove."

Human reason, summed up in a line: "Cogito ergo sum" -

Yet "before you thought, I AM" -

His thought, eternal - before you dwelt in womb,

Before Abraham and Adam's eyes consumed

The world around them, in new delight and reverent fear,

His glory shone for many a trillion year.

"Look to your new-found courage, young man,

For that is the way to the stars."

Maybe a man will set foot on Mars,

Maybe reign there like the czars.

"Run farther, faster than the last man ran;

bring back new knowledge in jars.

They will talk of it in bazaars

And hail this new truth as ours.

"Three-score and ten, perhaps five-score

Is all you can give to the knowledge war.

So push the limits well. Achieve."

And time after time, we believe

That our Icarus wings will never melt

As coronal heat meets the wax we felt

Would hold, man's wisdom meets defeat.

Have we ever stood to praise

The God of All, Whose creation is a maze

For our minds to completely understand?

Glory to God that He would ignite curiosity,

That man would try to think at the highest velocity!

But our thoughts can never expand

To the unlimited delight that He takes in all creation,

To His boundless understanding of its innermost details,

To His incalculable power to move each constellation,

To His immeasurable might to create it as He exhales.

To the only wise God whose glory knows no twilight,

To better see Your saving work, move to improve my eyesight,

And save me from the limelight when You know it's only pyrite.

I praise You, all-wise God, because You made me finite!

I do not wish to trade my wings for nicer waxen wings,

Which will melt before Your presence like hay and other things.

Your breath will blow on man's works and destroy

The beauty in the flowers men enjoy,

But Your faithful Word You inspired outlasts

All Your unabashed iconoclasts.

Give me instead a heart with desire

Not to be You, but to love You, heart afire.

Your unsearchable understanding also knew a way to redeem

Me from each oft-wayward thought and dream.

And You remind me best when I lie faint.

In this world, grief and loss You would acquaint,

Far more than mine.

Here, You demonstrate love's sign:

A Savior, winged in glory, dons my waxen wings and dies

For each of my acts in selfish pride,

And by Your grace, Your hand denies

Me no truly good thing, and will one day make me rise

And be clothed and wed, brought with the Lamb to dine.

Adored, Part 4

"Do not bid love wake until it so desires,
Though it demand all cost from you and fires
On this fallen sphere! Your heart He will reform,
And teach it how to persevere through storm
Of hate of men, and tear your idols down.
Yet those standing till the end receive a crown;
Those He makes to love Him will facedown
Love Him through ceaseless praise in endless day,
Not for a second find Him far away,
Enjoying deeply all pleasures He purveys
To each child who His cross surveys
And throws upon this Lamb their trust entire."

Eventually, she will comprehend love's strength,
Extending past the end of her life's length
On Old Earth, her death-purchased soul to save,
Kept by the Spirit's seal to drown the grave.
His love for her cannot be quenched by wave
Or wind, both of which He created and arranged
To try her, that her feeble faith may change
From one glory to the next through her life's range.

Her Lover saved her broken heart astray.
This time, she bids her Lover: "Come away."
She trusts Him in His ever-helpful care;
Even when His love guides, "Come down from there!"

We yearn for our sight to become more clear;
We fast because our Bridegroom is not here.
The future glory still lingers past our view;
Let us gaze on it, that we may gaze on You!

"Come", the word of love's gracious, binding cord;
"Abide", to hold fast to love our Lord;
Kill the sins that Jesus has abhorred;
The Savior Who came with dividing sword
Paid the highest for His future Bride adorned:
Not many wise, not many noble,
Not many learned and some ignoble,
To prove that no condition moves His choice,
But all of grace, His sheep hark to His voice
And follow Him, to gain a great reward.
Know this: You did not choose those who He has adored.

Adored, Part 3

And He rejoices in the beloved - who?
Beautiful, lovely, majestic,
Overwhelming the Lover with radiant eyes;
Cascading, persuading, symmetric,
Stealing His gaze as His favorite prize;
Increasing in light as she wins in the fight
To be more like Christ and send idols to flight,
Clear to His sharp sight, she has shone in the night.
The crushed and contrite now love to do right.

He goes on with love-drunk comparisons:
Jewels, handiwork, eternal with wine;
Lilies, fawns, His own grand design;
Pools, tower, crowning glory;
More perfect than any stone cut from the quarry.

She asks for the lovers' escape,
That they may check on the shape
Of the fruits of the vines.
And her heart has inclined,
At last, to submit to her Lover on this day;
His cords of love had bid her, "Come away."

As their new world bears new eccentricity,
Electricity burns the air with unflagging intensity.
"Brevity" does not convey their new reverie,
Though devils came at them with powerful weaponry.
They chase after ecstasy endlessly,
Till the next day breaks steadily to end the night's ebony.
God's grace effectively provided the rarity
That they enjoy this true love eternally without any penalty.
The Father, staged centrally, has marked out her destiny.
His Son's death was her sinful leprosy's remedy.
She would then merrily display the King's heraldry,
As He told her with verity and inspired clarity.

"If only You were my brother--", she starts a cry -
He finishes: "You share with Me in the divine!"
"I could kiss You without shame--",
"Yet shame is a proper name
That I'll take in your world. I'll never own a house frame
Or the applause of men when I tell them to adjust their aim
And look on Me. Yet the bitten cannot in their nature grasp
That to be saved, they must regard the Brazen Asp."

She knows now how to feel her Love's embrace.
Yet to the world, why would she claim a man debased
By the tortures of a cross as her own friend -
More than a friend, more than a brother?
Why would she go to great lengths to defend
And have this strange desire to suspend
Herself on a tree too, her breath to spend,
If this world tells her to deny her Lover?

Adored, Part 2

And then she sees a sovereign king arrive,
With more glory than her mind could e'er contrive.
She cannot contain the excitement in her voice:
"I can see him now! This day, his heart rejoiced!"

He showers this youthful peasant maid with praise.
Do we even see the role this dame portrays?
In her wide eyes, we see the church - today's.
Christ the Lover sees perfection with His eyes amazed.

The law screams, "I must judge you with your death!"
Grace, louder, cries, "Dead sinner, have life's breath!"
Justice roars, "Drink My wrath's eternal cup!"
Forgiveness silences the din: "Your garden has always been locked up!"

He sees the resplendent jewels he gave this daughter
As a reminder of why He did not slaughter
Her under His law's demands, but gave her grace -
Her, being all His chosen race, both Jew and Greek -
Not the self-righteous strong, but the helpless weak -
Who see themselves in His light and are undone,
Who turn from wicked ways to kiss the Son.

He has many bigger yards from more well-known saints to darken,
But the Lover stands here right now to hearken
To the call of His dearly beloved in her garden.
And then He says, "This is My garden!
I will not see what the foxes have trodden,
The years the locusts have eaten or countless sins wanton.
It is - you are -
Complete
and sinless
and wonderful
and fruitful
and altogether beautiful to Me!"

And she will look upon her Lover - every saint! -
And see Him with no flaw or any taint
Though His appearance on this earth would not make anyone desire Him.

Yet here, we love Him with such imperfect passion.
He wishes to enthrall us, but we find our satisfaction
In fleeting little pleasures.
Our feet are washed, and off has gone the robe.
Complacently, we engage this present globe,
Too slack to love the Treasure.

Still, by Lover's grace, Beloved wakes:
"Help my unbelief, although it snakes
Throughout my imperfect love for You and shakes,
At times, my faith that You still love, 'spite my mistakes."
Yet the bolt to her door no longer quakes;
The Lover has gone for now, but never breaks
The bruised reed in the shallows of the lakes.
"Faint with love", she stands out from the fakes.

And she waits for His return - whose?
Radiant, wavy, purest of the pure;
Washed, anchored, sweeter than dripped myrrh;
Rods, pillars, bases, all secure;
Choice, sweet, His words the perfect lure.
"This is my Lover, who takes the highest precedence,
Heaven's one High King; gaze with me on His excellence!"

He stands now in a field, gathering the chosen
Lilies from the surrounding lands, as spoken
By His Father with perfect voice,
In perfect submission to the Father's choice
Of whom to bestow His saving grace,
Not those with no flaws in their face,
Trusting in law-keeping, self-sufficient faith,
But the infants to whom He revealed His grace,
To claim for His sole glory their law-place.

Adored, Part 1

Here lies a solitary rose,
Isolated, but for the hurt of human's foot,
Stormy weather's ravage, and time's decay -
A flower that no romantic chose
To give his darling, for the grimy soot
Surrounding it would make her turn away.

Here stands a maiden to one side,
Ashamed of her beauty, for she has worked outside -
Her words of comfort to herself, she sighs,
In contrast to the looks that say, "You'll never be a wife",
From girls in dollhouses, with the light-skinned, easy life:
"Dark may my skin appear, but fair am I."

Yet He, the Lover, sees no flaw in her:
Among the thorns, He sees His choicest fleur.
He will not defer the honor He confers:
"I love you for what I will make you, not what you were."

They say, "Hasten now before the moment dies",
Yet today, love stays bound with virtue's ties.
In this story now, it leads her to surmise:
True love has not desired to arise.

After gazing out all day, now her eyes will widen:
She sees her faithful Lover leaping hills on the horizon.
He ran days' journey so that she could see His face,
Like the prodigal's father, letting law give way to grace.

With storms of winter past, the trees bud with the signs
That springtime, by design, has brought life's signs to the vines.
Yet early in this story we still see this lesson hard:
Many fruit-destroying foxes still roam His sacred yard.

She tries to catch each fox alone, but they slip from her hands.
They keep running over every plant in the small vineyard's spans.
But mercy still flows from the future-scarred hands of the Lover:
For these idols He purges from His Bride, His death stands to cover!

The Lover seems to disappear, though her heart still desires
To take today to make way for their love's burning fires.
Yet to do it all now would wrap her in dire briars.
"True love still sleeps now", she repeats the refrain prior.

But oh, how her heart burns when she seems spurned.
His hard lesson: Leave no idol's stone unturned!
Her heart has sins to kill, not just to maim.
He has a sweeter stone to give her: white, with a new name.

A Sword

Builder of Each Constellation,
Inventor of Cogitation,
Definer of Consecration,
He reigns in conflagration,
worthy of all commendation.

He shaped the depths and elevations
With the words of His exhalations.
Most are unfound by our explorations.
Try to start with nothing for your emulations.

Somehow, we only see Christ as Lamb, or we only see Him as Lion.
Each angle sheds another light on the chief resident of Zion.
Many lesser-loved words of Christ need to be underscored,
like this one: "I came to bring a sword."

"It's strange that the Prince of Peace would say something so warlike"
may be a common objection,
but is worthy of correction,
since it is inspired truth despite apparent contradictions.

Yet a gospel of repentance is a call
to find no inherent worth in all
of our ambitions and hope in self.
There, Christ brings the maul
between us and our cosmos since the fall.

And many will find it strange that the score
to a follower of Christ is not based on what we hoard
for ourselves in this world, but the wrath poured
into the cup for Christ to drink down for sins galore.

Yet we were undone to the core
and our sins, we deplored
when He opened our dead eyes and our first sight was the Lord
and we saw that Christ our sins bore.
Are there treasures in store?
Yes, more.
But He Himself is the greatest of all treasures.

Abhorred

For the proud look in the eye,
For the tongue telling a lie,
For the murders implied by a hate standing by, (Matthew 5.)
For this scheming heart of mine,
For these feet that evil find,
For false witness and vain strife,
Someone had to die.

Not for low self-esteem,
Not to grant a worldling's dream,
Not for a Benz agleam,
Not for more wins for my team,
But for sin - my sins extreme
Against the God who cannot deem
That I can stand in His regime
Unless He would first redeem.

Do you know how a loving God can hate?
He hates because He first loves His own glory -
His own name -
His own attributes -
The name we profane when we do not consider its weight -
Its majesty -
Its dominion -

Over colliding galaxies and orbiting bodies and shifting continents -
That He first shaped in the palm of His hand
And said with a word, "May it be -
It is good. I have fashioned this for the glory and praise and pleasure of Me - alone!"

And all of heaven cheered as they saw this planet,
Freed to spin throughout the dark expanse of space
About its nearest burning star -
To show His creative power -
For His glory.

His dominion extends over every nation, whether in peace or war -
To every city great or small,
To every person rich or poor,
To every creature of the forest, air, and seas,
To every blade of grass that they trample on,
To every cell, molecule, and atom -
Engineered like a little solar system, with electrons orbiting a nucleus,
To show His grand design, even on the smallest scale -
For His glory.

And the angels, beside themselves in adoration,
Respond with their every meditation:
"Holy is the Most High over all creation!"

And my life's reply?
Selfish ambitions,
Not-captive cognitions,
Partial submissions,
Apathetic renditions
Citing "too much tradition"
Of men's compositions
To give Him recognition.

I should constantly strive to do the things which make my Holy Father smile,
To know that He grieves when my heart is not God-besought,
Because He knows that He alone is the source of every perfect gift
And apart from Him I have no good thing at all;
To see my inmost man, with a heart adrift
even for a second, in my mind I fall.
And for even that careless step, I ought
To march with the hellbound ranks, one hundred-file -

Rather than to take the narrow path with room enough for one,
A road with jagged rocks, traveled barefoot by the Son
Of God, who took the forty lashes - smack! -
Was lifted to a cross and nailed there - whack! -
And died the worst of deaths to buy me back. (That was grace.)

My trifles I pursue,
The idols not eschewed,
The thoughts that pleased my old mind unrenewed -
The Lord must abhor each one,
Because for His glory to triumph over that, He had to kill His Son.

Adorned

Envision the seraph:
A "burning one", unequaled in creation.
A "singing one" in constant worship celebration.
Yet to be praised has never been his concentration.
He will instead ascribe all glory to the God of every nation.

A perfect being, yet its perfections can't outdo
its God's, so worshiping a seraph is taboo.
Four of their wings hid their faces and feet from view,
Lest they be impure. They fly with the other two.

Do not think that in their presence you can be a passerby.
Isaiah himself cried out, "Undone am I!"
Supernaturally strengthened just so that he would not die?
He had to be when he saw the Lord nigh.

Consider their God:
There is one God in three Persons - with no brothers.
Not white, black, or Latin - this God checks "other".
But don't fit Him in our boxes. He has no mother.
And at His creations, we stare in wonder.

From the setting sun to the rising tide,
From the highest peaks to the lands' divide,
From the Challenger Deep to the deepest sky,
Creation spreads the fame of the Lord on high.

Now face down, I am entranced with the thought
That this God would call me holy like his priceless, sinless Son.
And more than a servant, He has made me one
co-heir with Christ, rejoicing in what He has done.

Examine the bride:
The world calls her a dirty girl in a dirty dress,
Full of sins not confessed and problems to address.
Many do not even call her a damsel in distress,
And concentrate only on her failures to impress.

The law is extensive. Even to focus on ten,
We would still break each commandment given then.
Liars, lusters, rebels - from each infant to each man
Whether living in Cannes, Iran, or Japan.

On that final day, we cannot point to house or lands,
Only to our Scapegoat who fulfilled the law's demands.
We could never walk next to Him along the ocean sands.
Each second, He carried us in His holy, nail-pierced hands.

And we make much of the Bridegroom:
The King of Glory, eternally co-existing with His Father,
Three in one with the Spirit in perfect pleasure. Why bother
To walk terra firma as a mortal man?
How could Judah's Lion on this mortal coil stand?

The Author of the law gave Him as sufficient grace.
This upholder of stars, planets, and interstellar space
Laid aside His glory to take on a fleshly case
And cast off our sins as far as east from west - erased.

He has named us sons and daughters of His own
And His perfect rule will never be overthrown.
Even as we think of sonship, are there tears,
Especially when our misdeeds large appear?
In this world, until we claim the shining Prize,
Realize that our joy comes through mournful eyes.

When You died there were stripes from a whip and thorns
Composed Your crown as You submitted to this storm
Of wrath for sin - our failures to conform.
Yet there, our lengthy process to transform
To future glory will be done - no more lukewarm.
We will see why You, Lord, suffered in this form:
Diamonds shine as coal compared to how Your bride will be adorned.

Each jewel of her necklace shines brighter than dawn.
Pure are her ways now. To her Savior she's drawn.
Joy on her face replaces her shame woebegone.
Once acting like Hester, she walks in like Esther,
Perfectly arrayed, with each scarlet letter gone!

What is it like to always live in the third heaven
with the Prince of Peace and no need for the weapons
of this war to kill sin, since temptation will die
and we will more clearly see the Christ's glorious eyes?

[This was inspired partially by Paul Washer's sessions on The Son's Glory (first session here) and a tweet by John Piper. I am also tweeting now.]

To Chase Him Down

Died He for me,

Whose life disappears like vapor

Who once chased a stack of paper

Instead of my sovereign Maker?

He's one Holy God in three,

His ways know no limitations,

His purpose sees no frustrations,

His Spirit - Regenerator.

His will? To make me holy,

Like Him, who became lowly,

The Son, who suffered slowly

And was once not seen as Son.

Fulfilled? Each prophet's story

By Christ, who left His glory

Who made it auditory:

The redemptive work was done!

My long-gone brother said it well,

I once dangled over hell

Only mercy did sustain me - kept on this earth to tell

That until that final bell

Repentance makes a sinner well

And believing in the spotless, perfect Lamb Who never fell.

It glorified my King to throw off my every chain,

To cleanse great and minor stains,

To test my growing faith with pains.

Let my life song's each refrain

Scream that He my life maintains

And that He by grace sustains

My chase of Him and not the vain.

I read and I write to encounter the divine,

To worship with heart and mind

To speak the truth that I find.

Lord, entrance Your chosen saints

In a state of faithful praise,

Amazed by Your sovereign grace.

Transfix my gaze,

Transform my ways,

To become what befits one who lives in endless day.

Rewrite each phrase,

Ignite my praise,

Set my passion on Your glory. May I never stray.

Many days I have a faraway look in my eyes,

Thinking of my future home where the pleasure never dies.

Considering His perfections, I do well to surmise

That His grace for today makes me able to live wise.

Seek His face, and chase it down,

In your house and in your town

Cling to the gracious Savior whose love and grace abound

Your life cannot be rewound.

Let it send a worthy sound.

Not knowing you were lost, by His mercy you were found.

As a lost sheep, lost coin, lost son, now found -

you can grasp parables now - thoughts unbound.

The Spirit shed light and made your mind renewed:

The Good Shepherd left ninety-nine for you!

Godly Fellowship: Introduction: Making Much of God in Words.

So, doubtless, some of you will pose yourself the question,

"Who is this writer? I can't hear his voice inflection.

Is he qualified to start this conversation?

Is he just an actor, or does he live all of these teachings?"

Let me tell you about myself, like the interviewers' query.

I don't call myself an "-ologist" or make my living writing theories

of communication that attempt to mix God's wisdom with the worldly.

But I am one of many He has named an uncommon earthling.

I have no qualifications to write this except what He has given.

He has saved me, and like Solomon, I asked Him for His wisdom,

that by His grace I may better live for the Savior risen,

that His name would be made great in this child that He's forgiven.

God, the gracious Giver - through the pen of James, He stated

that if you request from glory's owner, heavy-weighted,

a gift of wisdom, you'd obtain it. And that can't be overrated.

But the doubters always find their requests repudiated.

Those who believe Him find He gives in great supply

wisdom of priceless value from Him who cannot die.

I know I want to praise Him Whose sandals I can't untie

and see His name most precious - forever glorified.

So I'm a quiet but wordy man, writing slam poetry - basically.

Not a popular person, but I do have good friends - actually.

I once preferred to discuss this world's passing pleasures - initially.

But God continued His work and has me conversing - redemptively.

I have learned from men in glory who you might think are now fossils,

that even now as we know Him, we must grow in the gospel,

sharpening brothers and sisters with the prophets and apostles,

sowing and watering the seeds of sound doctrine.

And we must combine both theory and practice.

Experience can teach, but the Word is our atlas,

a lamp to our feet, a double-edged cutlass,

showing us Him who declares us the blameless.

Just discussing my God is not the end goal,

but constantly loving Him more Who refines me as gold.

Bought at a price, my soul has been sold

to the infinite King with perfections untold.

His ways are perfect; His commandments are right.

Like the Psalmist, His law does bring me delight.

His glories shine in Heaven, which has no midnight.

His beauties show no darkness. All in this God is light.

I don't want you to think this just a nice thought.

But by God's grace we must live as we ought

and make much of His person and the works He has wrought.

In all parts of life, praise the God we have sought.

Soli Deo Gloria!

-----

I thought this mostly freestyle poem would serve as a worthy introduction to my next series of posts here. For a while now, I have wanted to explore godly fellowship and how to live it out in the many types of relationships within the local and global church body. God willing, there will be at least seven more new posts about this, featuring mostly original writing along with Scripture and the wisdom of past and present believers. May all of the glory go to His name as I share His truth and my thoughts on it.

"We don't pursue Him in hopes that we will find Him. We do it 'cause He pursued us, and now we're abiding in the Vine - one track mind."

- Dillon Chase, "The Pursuit"