Sunday, May 5, 2013
Do You Believe This?
(To Andrew Joseph, May 5, 2013)
A quiet yes
with a firm nod
to the congregation,
more an act than a word
but clearly voiced
without hesitation,
the culmination
of a long course
but the first step
of dedication
to walk with those
who are with God
in a conversation
going both ways
forever more—
Do you believe this?
When you were chosen
to be part of
this celebration,
we raised you up
as a young child
without expectation,
with an education
that was never a test
or an overload
of indoctrination,
and to this day
you are only asked
for an appreciation
of what you’ve been given
since you were born.
Do you believe this?
The breath of God
is in you now
and the inspiration
that moves your soul
is the same moment
and animation
of all creation:
the source, the wind,
the spoken word,
and the transformation
of Eden’s mud
to Adam's blood
and deportation
is your claim too,
but there is more,
and you believe this
with a quiet nod
and a firm yes
to the congregation,
a yes that says you
will never die,
an exclamation
with the jubilation
of Martha seeing
Lazarus
and the revelation
to Nicodemus
in the night
and the confirmation
that you are born
a child of God
and you believe this!
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Inspiration comes from God's first breath into Old Adam, then Jesus' drawing in the sand, then the Spirit's tongues of fire upon all believers' heads, and eventually hearts.
ReplyDeleteI would not have ventured into poetry except that my brother Jon blazed that trail in ways I can never quite reciprocate. This "Eden's mud / to Adams blood" to "Martha seeing / Lazarus" is far more Skideroo than ever I could have envisioned when I opened that first Stillwater Symposium poem, at Lac La Belle, circa (let us say) 197?
Then, in probably my next-to-last year at Concordia, I hummed this song between classes, daily chapel, and ephemeral cross-country runs:
I don't know why I'm weeping,
O, God of power and might;
perhaps because I'm seeking--
prepared to make a fight.
Perhaps because I'm turning
your grace into my gain;
and like a sore I'm burning--
I keep scratching at the pain.
I face your cross unworthy,
and I cringe to make the choice,
and as I'm still discerning,
I hear a gentle voice:
Believe in me--I'll help your unbelief,
and like a shepherd searching,
I'll meet you on your street.
Believe in me--I'll help your unbelief,
just as the sun keeps shining,
you can depend on me (you can depend on me)...
So doubt helps form the answer,
one I cannot control,
just Christ the sole enhancer
can make the torn parts whole.
While sacred words assist me,
my heart calls out in fear;
so God, when I resist thee,
please send your Spirit near.
I face your cross unworthy,
and I cringe to make the choice,
and as I'm still discerning,
I hear a gentle voice:
Believe in me--I'll help your unbelief,
and like a shepherd searching,
I'll meet you on your street.
Believe in me--I'll help your unbelief,
just as the sun keeps shining,
you can depend on me (you can depend on me)...
Dan, I assume this is your own poem, but please confirm - and give us its name so I can put it on the index page.
ReplyDeleteyes, composed as a song before I had a guitar, I never quite managed to play it well (I'll try later this week with Joey when he comes back from the mountains, where he's enjoying some R & R). I remember talking to Dad a bit about this song, maybe even singing it. As ever, I wish I remembered exactly his thoughts on Mark 9:24, the heart of our conversation. Title? "I'll meet you on your street"...
ReplyDeleteThanks for indexing and this chance to recollect!