Posts Tagged ‘Christian Poetry’

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Dual Citizens

May 25, 2021

While I traveled along a narrow path
I crossed from the republic of conscience
Peaceful here beyond my life’s aftermath.
I could hear a Dove’s long call unconscious.
Immigration was a confusing ease.
An old man smiling wise my constant guide.
In his hand a list of names set aside.
Amongst those there written was mine in red.
Scarlet evidence of passage paid free
Freedom bought from a republic of dead.
Price paid with simple acceptance in glee
The first law in the land of adoption,
A response of love is not an option.

A customs agent asks me to declare
Homeopathic cures and charms for woes.
Remedies to justify are not rare.
Contraband these ways with no cure to show.
Banned what seems right in old republic eyes.
Yet, I sneak some in as if on a dare   
Testing my knowledge to explore red’s share.
Will power against words or thoughts impure. 
Contraband to a fee already paid
An add that contains a hidden allure
of earning an entrance the debt to evade
An abhorrent desire to claim a share
of the purchased glory dimming its glare.

Monarch’s commands reveals laws to observe.
Laws interpreted as burdens to bear.
No Sherpa to call. No other can serve.
You carry your own burden with fanfare.
Soon symptoms of creeping privilege show.
The right of an earned citizenship.
Entitlement transformed from kinship.
But what count of burdens borne is enough?
Is one offense sufficient to revoke
a name from the Custom’s list as a bluff?
Contraband declared should not provoke.
One cannot add to merit adoption.
A response of love is not an option.

Tempted to recline here at the border
Passport in hand, retirement at last
A chronic compulsion calls to order.
Wonder compels distance from shadows past
Progress hard won but must go on, go through
Only course is forward answers to find
Will not turn back, sorrows have been declined
Stumbles and falls all part of wonders draw
Every tumble dislodges a treasure
Useless trinkets, burdens progress does stall
Remorseless for trifles of displeasure
Should have heeded customs agent advice
Journey easier fueled by loves devise

The path I walk different than before
narrow, cobbled, disfigured by roots
Curious dust more at home on a shore
Troublesome filth that coats from hat to boots.
Not a fine dust that can be beat away.
Each step aerates more crystals minerals
Air full with particles not minimal.
I am covered with icicles of white.
Caked by the lands prized symbol salt.
New or old told by its reflected light
Encrusted clothing worthy of a vault
Evidence of citizenship granted
a walk into what love has transplanted

Ahead a statuesque form in motion
Reflecting a glow ever growing
Beyond yet beside in full devotion
Chronic surprise astonishment owing
Kindness presenting an ideal as real
Salt constantly swirling and alluring
Drawn to one with no false assuring
Truly disclosing custom’s hidden hoard
No loss shown by robed riches gained
Every illicit trifle long ignored
A man of stone matured through years sustained
Expert nurturing particles of taste
Clothed in treasure attracted without haste

My companion and I journey along
Old republic traveled in parallel
Saltless person we meet blind and headstrong
My companion heralds fear to dispel
The custom agent asks him to declare
Insults ensue, words viewed like death and rot
Guides sad note, at the border he is not
He looks me in the eye beckons me see
More new than old it is obvious now
Declared dual citizens both are we
Ambassadors to what love can allow
Sharing news of the land of adoption
Where love abounds desiring no options.

This is my first attempt at writing a sonnet; I hope I followed all the rules. My inspired came from “From the Republic of Conscience” by Seamus Heaney.


 

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EMBRACING INFINITY

February 20, 2021

A new creation in Christ Jesus.  The Holy Spirit now residing within me.  I am not sure how this can be.  I don’t feel different as if wholly new but yet changed enough as to not be askew.  A temple to the Lord they say, but holy and sacred this temple does not stay. A grand edifice or pilgrimage terminus this temple is surely not. I wonder, based on what I see, how can He in me and what is a lot?

Made one in Christ, we are told as marriage is meant to be.  Why should I be surprised in struggling to understand the oneness of the divine when the illustration often eludes being defined.

As I gray, I have learned that oneness is much more than an act of coitus. Marriage is a blending. Where do I end and she begins? We are a new creation; something different than from what was when we said “I do”.  This new is no longer she and he but we.  We is an entity of one, a union not created by an institution.  Whole in all of me but nothing without all of her. Never to be divided without being blighted.  The we becomes a diamond, more precious than the separate carbon assignments.

Too often, the focus drifts to the parts mayhem rather than the gem.  Scrutiny is dedicated to the raw material rather than ethereal.  A temple is more than sweat and stone.  The value lies not in a bill of material alone.  Even more disappointing is when we miss the lesson in the example of the mortal which is pointing to more beyond the portal.

Oneness, in marriage, I cannot define.  I cannot explain how it can be, but I say look and see.  Oneness is on display when you cannot help but see the her when you see the me.  That is the moment when a glimpse is revealed of the mystery of this new creation called we.

The whole of wedded oneness is so much more than a goal. It is a sacred symbol written in our DNA. A new creation is marriage’s ballet.  This mysterious mixture of the infinite with the finite. Yet, unlike our example of mortal marriage, 50% XY and 50% XX, the spiritual composition is infinite God and something less.

Consider if the new creation was the number 7 in all its perfection.  What would my portion be?  Surely, not much more than 0.1 of a part can be me.  That is 70 parts, 69 His and 1 me.  That doesn’t seem right, so let’s make it a little more trite, maybe .0001, which will be 70,000 parts with only one of me.  I must confess that it still seems too much credit to the edited element of this new installment. Let’s stretch it out, further and further.  What are the portions to be?  Based on value, He is the treasure by far.  Test it toward holiness, what a joke, there is no contribution from my lowilness.  Examine the value inherent, my worth comes from His image, which is apparent.  What about my contribution to this new creation?  How can one be impressed by the ignorant who merely prayed yes?

Stretch out this mental marathon further to the edge of humilities dawn; divide by 10^-10, 10^-100, 10^-1000.  Move the decimals farther and farther to the right; go as far as your fright.  As humility pushes each place holder to the left, we come upon the cleft of zero’s nothingness, the absence of value, humility’s rest.  We encounter the mortal sin of maths innovators; dividing the numerator by numbers traitor.  It is not that the equation no longer works.  A quotient sin, as man defines, lies in the loss of vicinity, an inability to grasp infinity and the uncertainty in a human’s ability to do anything.

The same is glimpsed when this new creation is split.   A new creation in Christ is a phrase so commonly used, but how to comprehend the me’s and you’s. The infinite in me, no beginning and no end, the alpha and the omega, made one with the finite, infinitesimal me. How can this be?

Oneness, in Christ, I cannot define.  I cannot explain how it can be, but I say look and see.

This new creation is out of sight, but what can see is Him through my small light.  That is what is on display when one’s light burns bright.  If you see me in my small minute, then I have dimmed the infinite.  For those in Christ, when observed in this finite, you cannot help but see the infinite or so it should be.

I wonder if this isn’t the curse in which we all are enmeshed. We cannot be rid of this sinful flesh.  Our portion it must always thresh. No matter how large or small that portion remains, we struggle to find humility’s domains. The place where we can finally see the revealed glory of infinite God without the clouding of you or me.  Maybe, that is the blessing of death, the reduction to nothingness. Knowing my place, to truly participate, in the oneness of Christ Jesus and me.  No longer, Him in me with my portion trying to be stronger.  I long for the day when it will be, I in Him, complete, and all glory to Thee.  Then I will embrace infinity, where there is nothing left for one to do but to praise and glorify the One who is so much more.

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QUOTE (Phillis Wheatley) – May 8

May 8, 2014

English: Phillis Wheatley. A variant of earlie...

“Mine was the act,” th’ Almighty Saviour said,
And shook the dazzling glories of his head,
When all forsook I trod the press alone,
And conquer’d by omnipotence my own;
For man’s release sustain’d the pond’rous load,
For man the wrath of an immortal God:
To execute th’ Eternal’s dread command
My soul I sacrific’d with willing hand;
Sinless I stood before the avenging frown,
Atoning thus for vices not my own.”
~ Phillis Wheatley

In honor of Phillis Wheatley, who was born on this day in 1753. She was the first African American and first U.S. slave to publish a book of poems and only the third American woman to do so.

Resources:
This Day in History for 8th May
Isaiah lxii. 1-8 Phillis Wheatley

 

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