Words to bridge the gap between faith and life…
The blind, the lame, are let inside;
the cursed now are blessed.
The king in triumph rides upon
a humble donkey’s colt.
The temple tables overturned,
the mind thrown into chaos,
prophecies are rendered true
in ways that chill our hearts.
The unexpected king burns bright
with anger at the sham.
He knows the depths of truest Law
And what is this that we now hear?
The workers who arrived too late –
the lazy, the beggars, the weak, the lame –
have won the Master’s favour and
have earned equal pay.
What is this that he proclaims,
this carpenter with hands of dust?
The children step aside while dogs
who surely are not fit for crumbs
have places at the feast.
The first are last, the last are first;
grumbles sound in stony hearts.
But broken hearts which yawn and weep
abound in joy, and even stone
can soon be rolled away.
Well, with March now ending I’m pleased to announce that my 12 Poet’s Project has finished. What a year it has been – beginning with 17th century poet and pastor George Herbert and finishing in the 21st century with former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams.
To celebrate this year of exploring some of the best Christian poets of the past four hundred years, I have put together a collection of 12 highlights of the year: one poem for each month. You can access it here, via the 12 Poets Project page. You can also look back over all 48 poems, all linked from this page.
I’d love to know what the highlights have been for all of you. It’s certainly been wonderful delving into the riches of Christian poetry and seeing the ways that these 12 quite distinctive poets have given voice to their faith and viewed the world through the wonderful, nuanced prism it provides. I look forward to announcing my next writing project, due to be unveiled after Easter. In the meantime, God bless you all in this Lent season.
But whose victory?
And how the victory won?
A camel approaches the needle’s eye;
Money glints in place of God…
All these I have done since I was a child –
Still one thing is needed, and here lies pain.
The victory walks ahead to death.
Enemies watch and wait.
Can anyone keep the law of God perfectly?
Since the fall, no mere human has been able to keep the law of God perfectly, but consistently breaks it in thought, word, and deed.
(New City Catechism)
All this being said –
the neighbour languishes
where thieves
and Levites have left him.
The Samaritan shames
the priests, the sons of David.
Yet even his heart
turns the wrong way to worship.
The eyes of righteousness
scan all of earth’s children.
The straightest human heart
is too crooked to reach heaven.
Jericho’s road, ridden
with bumps and threats
takes the best among us
and casts us to its side.
But look: one comes
like a Son of Man.
He makes only level paths
and follows with ready feet…
And we need want
nothing.
Though the mountains rise to threaten,
though the Temple sways and falls –
we trust.
Our Shepherd leads.
We know His voice.
Though our enemies writhe
and demons laugh exultant –
look:
a table stands where least expected.
We dine, victorious.
Yet we close
our hearts to the man
who cuts us off driving
or sits in our seat.
And we close up the access
and passage to remorse
when the sins of our fathers
still fester in minds:
the servant who casts
his debtor into
the prison from which
he too had been freed.
Father, forgive.
Our hearts bear our grievances,
medals of pride
and stones built inside.
Jesus, reteach
our grudge-bearing fists
to open themselves
in Your jubilee.
Our minds cannot contain
something so small, so
microscopic, yet
Universe sustained within –
a mustard seed
which sees the mountain,
sees despair beneath its foot
and says to it, Now move.
O God. The mountain blocks our view.
The heights have dizzied;
the depths distress.
Open your seed within.
Son of David, immortal king, why –
Shoot from stump of Jesse, how –
Anointed one, long-promised ruler –
Where is victory? Where your crown?
Losing life to save it, why –
Eyes bent towards the grave, what for –
Die that life may glorious reign –
Our minds cannot contain
The Messiah came one day, tattered in Adam’s rags,
ragged and anxious from the moment of sin,
sick nearly to death.
I said, My father has betrayed you
and I have chased dead beauty.
Sit ragged with me by my hearth.
I too wear scars: do you know them?
These the contours that choice has worn
and the schisms of my youth.
Sit, Christ said, eternally. My hands have scars to hold.
Come, throw past curses into iceworn fields;
now is the moment of eternal breath.
See “Rublev” by Rowan Williams here.
The Consolations of Writing 