The logic was faultless;
But the equation, in its
Faultless, watertight being
Had no place in human hearts.
Still, He defies logic,
And the mystery and the silence that mystifies
Are what drew us to Him once, and
What will keep us seeking when
The equation has balanced itself
Out of existence,
Leaving no remainder.
Category Archives: Other
The logic was faultless;
The light in their eyes
has changed, and there are now
no refracted colours,
pieces, in its place.
True, those shards
may yet assemble
into a shape first seen
in better days. But now
with a fatal
flaw at its heart.
The tree was a revelation;
Less striking than we had expected,
True, but silhouetted against
A blood-red sky it spoke
A better word into the darkness.
Some heard the voice, and fell, weeping
To their knees. They gathered
Together as one around the tree
And their lament rose up
From the cold ground.
Can a people so intimately
Bound up in this business of dying
Bring life to a world that stands agape
At all they have seen here?
Time will tell –
But not until we once again
Gather in this place
In the first of many days
That are soon to come.
Another day, another tree;
One can only hope that those
First watchers saw the new
World stretching ahead of them
In the dark path they would tread
On their way home.
Do not run to all that
Appears to be glorious;
Pause, for there is a tenor
To true glory that cannot
Be heard whilst in motion.
Not that glory is found solely in
Contemplation, anything but.
Beware, nonetheless, the shallowness
Of those streams whose surfaces glint
With reflected light but where,
Beneath the surface, nothing dwells.
Not for us, this beginning community of readers,
Revelation. That comes
More gradually, in the
Quiet consideration of the
Eternal Word, spoken
Long ago and still being
Spoken today, even if not knowingly. Our words
Reach into the stillness
That is not silence, searching
For that which existed
Once, we were alienated, were people on the outside – confused at the way this all worked and the nature of His leading. Like with many things that are alien, we reacted in hostility and fear, wondering at the ways that He called His followers to; these fishermen who followed a rabbi from the shore with no apparent reason, those disciples who claimed that He was risen and went to their deaths proclaiming that. We looked from the outside; some of us rejecting outright, others scared to get close enough in case we got burned. Others inched closer with an ill-disguised curiosity, a nervous excitement stirring in them. Weighing up the pros and cons, we wondered if it was worth it, as if we knew what it was that being offered.
Reconciliation does not look like we may have expected it to, but how could it be any other way as a follower of Him? We sense His leading, His glorious whisper, and in following we are more alive to this world and increasingly mystified by the things it prizes. Yet, when we have stepped out into the unknown, it is easy to look back and wonder at the stability we have left behind. There will be times when it seems that we have made the wrong choice – surely He would not have led us to these times of uncertainty and doubt. We may turn back, back to that which we know, and who could blame us?
Still, it is in following, and in continuing to follow, that we will find our hope. That is how we began, no matter the manner or setting in which we met Him – we heard His voice, and we chose to go with Him. We are called Christians, followers of Christ, but what then is a follower of Christ who chooses not to follow?
This is pretty great… I’ve been searching for some new, off-the-beaten-track worship lately and I’m liking the alt-country stylings these guys bring to the genre.
Could we, in our silent meeting of minds,
Unwittingly be creating either life
or death, a blessing or a curse?
We had thought that our presence here was itself a statement;
but beyond these solid walls we are
mute, far distant from the wordless peace
that is our Sunday home.
Stolen from R. S. Thomas:
Enough that we are on our way;
never ask of us where.
Some of us run, some loiter;
some of us turn aside
to erect the Calvary
that is our signpost, arms
pointing in opposite directions
to bring us in the end
to the same place, so impossible
is it to escape love. Imperishable
scarecrow, recipient of our cast-offs,
shame us until what is a swear-
word only becomes at last
the word that was in the beginning.