Shifting Gears

Not an ounce of preach
Or push here
Not a witness
Or a woo
You have everything in hand Lord
And so often I just “do”
Do the thing
That comes to mind first
Though the Spirit
Is all hush
Do the service
All presumptuous
Do it in some fleshly rush.
But those days
Must surely end now
Let the wonder fill my mind
Let the praises get first billing
With all striving left behind.


A Young Death


She was taken
And the years were few
Little of this mortal life observed.
The fever ravaged
Did its work
And she without
Apparent twinge of fear
Passed over gloriously.
Oh precious woman
You taught her well
Gave her Christ in one hand
Grace in the other.
She knew not departure
In all its pitiful loss
But rather arrival with smiles.
A Beautiful Vine
Now blossoming
On the other side of the wall.
Glorious light from Jesus
Giving health and song
Weep not
Rather anticipate briefly
The hilarious reunion
In common faith.

(Inspired by the writings of Samuel Rutherford, mid 1600’s)

Blood and Water

Aye, there was a death alright.

Sent me back to finish off

The three of them.

Clubbed, smashed legs

For the two rogues.

Breathing becomes impossible.

Third one looked already gone.

They told me He’d been different;

Calm, connecting with some Spirit.

Eyes closed, serene

Like a worker in a well-earned sleep.

He seemed out of place.

Nasty business for One

Who had taught peacefully in town.

So I’m told.

Feeling the ugliness of my job

I thrust with spear,

Bringing on a queer eruption

Of blood and water.

Happens sometimes.

Convulsive internal rupture

Confirming death.

We spared His legs.

Those who remained

Around the cross

Were all in tears.

As if something great had broken

Inside them too.

(1 John 5: 6-8)

Down These Aisles

young-man-kneelingI walk these aisles



And recall the purity of faith

That started this building

That acquired the Bibles

That delighted in the little pipe organ

And brilliant children’s materials.

How simple the approach

But full of adoration

Those dear folks adored me

Appearances were unimportant

They approached the Four Evangels

As if thirsty desert travelers

And I satisfied

I did.

Not some other tributary

Body of “teaching”

Not methods

Not concert clash-bang

Not denominations’ handles.

I still come here

Looking for the adoration

And when I find it

The little child/sheep

Trembles and weeps

With blessing so very non-public.

And I whisper, lovingly

I Am the Light of the world.

Never Met Such a Judge

The seat’s for her

Don’t say different.

And those little ones

Right beside.

Let your faces

Show a welcome.

Dump your postures

Dump your pride.

No she missed

The teaching series.

Coming new here

Without shine.

And she needs some care

That’s obvious.

But she’s precious

And she’s mine.

The collection

Will scarce miss her

But she gives much more

You see.

She is needy

And she knows it

And she’s not ashamed of me.

Much unlike

The current fashion

Where the name of Christ

Is hid.

Talk of marriages

And finance

And the way to tame that kid.

And the suppers

Pot-luck pretty

And the baseball when it’s hot.

She is seeking out

My City.

And you trendy bunch

Are NOT.

So the lesson

Sits among you

And the litmus test is here.

Come up forward

Gracious daughter

At my feet

Where all is clear.