Poetry and Praise
Scripture Collage: Words in the Word
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through this Word, and apart from this Word not one thing came into being. What has come into being through the Word was life, and the life was the light of all people (John 1:1-4)
It all started with a Word. A Word that spoke with beauty and with power:
“Let there be light; and there was light!” (Gen. 1:3)
The Word became flesh, but it also took shape in words that proclaimed and reflected and celebrated the wonder of the Maker’s passage through this world. Words gathered and arranged and enjoyed in their creative potential.
O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! (Ps 8:1)
The Word inspired words that shared comfort and assurance:
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me (Ps 23:1-4).
The Word inspired words that poured out the experience of pain and grief:
By the rivers of Babylon – there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion. On the willows there we hung up our harps. For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked us for mirth, saying, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!” (Ps 137:1-3).
The Word inspired words that danced with the rhythm of divine love:
Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things (1 Cor 13:4-6)
The Word inspired words of delight as this love bore fruit in human relationships:
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away; for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away (Song of Solomon 2:10-13).
The Word inspired words that wrestled with the mysteries of the universe, giving voice to our deepest questions and fears:
To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn and a time to dance.
All life seems vanity, and a chasing after the wind (Eccl. 3:1-4).
And sometimes the Word rose up and spoke once more to remind all these many words where they first came from:
“Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements – surely you know! Or, who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone when the morning stars sang together and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?” (Job 38:4-7)
But the Word gave birth to words, and they are its delight. A canvas of creative potential, awaiting new combinations and configurations in joyful reply to their maker. Many collected in the pages of scripture with the divine breath still heavy upon them. And many more still to be spoken and still to be written. Stretching us not only backwards to the beginning, but forwards towards a new creation.
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passd away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,
“See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they shall be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away” (Rev. 21:1-4).
The Word speaks, and we return our words – poor as they may be. Confident that even as we stumble and stammer, we are held in the Word that was in the beginning with God. The Word that is God.
Who will separate us from the Word of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who speaks to us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in the Word – Christ Jesus our Lord (Rom 8:35-39)
Amen!
Reflection (Kevin Derksen)
Poetry isn’t necessarily everyone’s idea of a good time. I’m going to guess that a service called Poetry and Praise probably intrigues some and turns off others. There’s almost an infinite variety of things that could fall under the category of poetry, but what comes to mind first might be either rhyming verse, or avant-garde free writing so dense with strange words and complicated metaphors that a reader can hardly make sense of it. I will confess to reading very little poetry myself. There are a handful of poems I’ve come across over the years that I find really profound and hold onto closely. And sometimes in a fit of cultured zeal I’ve ordered books of poetry and tried to read through them. But I don’t usually get too far. I certainly don’t write poetry. I like the idea of it, but have never really been able to make a start.
And yet, something about a poetic way of seeing and engaging the world has become really important to me. And I think this has everything to do with creativity and beauty. A big part of what makes poetry, I think, is the shape and sound and cadence of words. Not just their meaning at face value, but the effect of putting them together in creative ways. We don’t just communicate information when we write or speak, we paint images and pictures, we tap into feelings, we create beauty. Poetry is a reminder that form matters as well as content. That we are made not only of minds, but of hearts and spirits and bodies too.
So maybe what we’re talking about here is creative communication. The ways that we share and connect with each other. Lots of communication happens without words, of course. Maybe most of it. But we do have this gift of language that helps us bridge the gaps of time and space and diversity between us.
Our scriptures, of course, are made up of words. And in our tradition they have a uniquely important place. We heard in the reading earlier about the Word that spoke creation into being, the Word that was with God and in fact was God. The Word that took flesh in Jesus as God-with-us. And God’s Word in scripture that bears witness to how the divine has been in relationship with creation.
All this “wordiness” might make us think that our faith is about silver tongues and ivory tower scholars. That we need to stay in our heads to stay in the game. But this Word and these words are poetic – creative and alive, in flesh and in spirit, breathing fresh and vibrant air into the world. There are many sections of the Bible that commonly get described as poetry – the Psalms, the wisdom literature like Ecclesiastes and Song of Solomon, and many shorter pieces of creative writing that pop up in the midst of narratives or instructions or epistles.
But there is also a poetry to the whole. A living and vital creativity in scripture that continues to touch and convict those who come to it – whether for the first or the thousandth time. The Word has inspired these words, and these words keep inspiring our own. And so we are invited to play with words too, and find in them new points of entry for the wonders of God.
So this morning we will be blessed with three pieces of creative writing – poetry in a few different forms – as the gift of God’s creativity has ignited within our own congregation. First Brent, then Leah Boehm through Ella’s voice, and Floyd Buehler as shared by Christine. May you find your own points of connection to these celebrations of poetry and praise.
Words (Brent Horst)
Words… what do they mean? Why are they so important, or are they? Letters put together to make a word, words put together to make a sentence… a paragraph… a joke, a story, maybe the story of your life. Some books are classics some are trash. Says who? Says a critic with more words. What makes their words the truth? I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The truth will set you free. Truth or empty words? For by your words you will be justified, by your words you will be condemned.
The power of words. Words that are memorable are quotes. Words that rhyme are poems. Poems to music are songs, words that sell are slogans, words to live by are mottos, words tattooed on your skin can become regrets. There are Vows, testimonies, sermons, speeches, monologues, dialogues, shouting matches. All words, all with a purpose? Some maybe, but not all.
A picture is worth a thousand words. The pictures you see are different than the pictures I see. Better than a thousand words is one word that brings peace.
Synonyms, homonyms, antonyms, pantomimes, similes, metaphors, analogies, paradoxes, oxymorons, dictionaries, encyclopedias, Wikipediaes, thesauruses… thesauri?
Short phrases can carry a lot of weight and join your heart with your soul. I’m sorry, I miss you, I’m here, I will always love you, you complete me, I do, grow old with me. Words can cut through the heart and drain your soul. I’m leaving. Loser. You’re fat. You’re ugly too. Nobody likes you. I don’t believe you. I hate you. Drop dead.
Some words you can live by. Words from your mother, your father, your sibling, your best friend, your soulmate, the word of God, the word made flesh. Sometimes there’s nothing to say; sometimes the words flow so fast nobody can understand.
Confusing words… do I have to tell you, you should know; tell me what’s wrong, you won’t understand, no fighting now… use your words. Words can be sharper and cut deeper than a weapon. WORDS. Move the S to the front and you have SWORD. No protection from the sword of words. The pen is mightier than the sword, or is the pen the sword?
Out of the mouths of babes…First words are cute.. well almost all first words are cute. We count their words at first, then too soon they are using words against us… sometimes our own. Words on paper, on a whiteboard, in emails or texts, words in songs, words whispered, words yelled, words over words…. ”I can’t hear you, I’m talking”….words by sign language, words written in the air, words written in the dirt… he who is without sin cast the first stone…
Short words can say volumes…. yes, go, us, bye, fine,
Longer words are not better, they’re just longer.
Words get overused, used as filler and become meaningless…. words like meaningful, relevant, awesome, literally, totally, whatever, meh, like, ya know, my bad, super, superstar, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious… even the sound of it….
Words can change the world. How do we know which words? How do we know which words are for us? How do we know which of our words are helpful, hurtful, prophetic or just repetitive noise? Words of love or a clanging cymbal? Blah, blah, blah. Is anyone listening? Really listening? If we’re talking, we can’t listen and we are talking so much. If we’re not talking, we may still not be listening. If we’re listening, we may not be understanding. We all hear with our filters. If nobody is listening or understanding, then why do we keep talking and writing and singing and texting? Because we are so desperate to be understood. To say something new. Is there really anything new to say or write? Hasn’t it all been said before? Aren’t we just all repeating the same things over and over again? Repeatedly redundant. Verbal diarrhea it’s been called. That makes me feel sick. Some people’s words make me feel sick. I’m just sick and tired of so many words.
Some words are better left unsaid, unwritten. Think before you speak, or maybe don’t speak at all if you’re not thinking. You can’t put words back once they are out. “Worst day of my life” Really?… or just first world problems? Preach the gospel and if necessary, use words. Actions speak louder than words.
So many words, we seek solitude, we take vows of silence, silence is golden, silence becomes a retreat, but then more words come to our minds, words get put on paper, words come from above, or are they just the same words caught in the carousel of our mind?
But then one day you hear a word or two. You read a sentence or two. And it all makes sense. The picture you see is clear, maybe for the first time. Words can seep into your soul, softening the cracked dryness that was there. Words can feed your soul, causing growth. Words can soothe you, caress you, make you laugh or cry like you never have before. Words can take you places you’ve never been and help you see things you’ve never even imagined. Words can build your knowledge, raise your spirits, inspire you to great things. Words can be genius but you may not understand until you’ve experienced something similar. Words don’t stand on their own. They need to be lived out in our actions, they need to shape our lives, our dreams and our contribution to society. They help build our faith but faith without works is dead.
If we can be the speaker or author of words that can impact others, that’s the ultimate feeling of satisfaction and fulfillment. If our words make a difference, a real difference in the life of another or impact the world in some small way. Wow, that’s the power of words.
I said my piece. I rest my case. A thousand words. What pictures did you see?
Last word. Amen.
In the Passing of Time (Leah Boehm)
Seasons come and seasons go,
Creating time for things to grow.
Babies are born and the elderly die,
One makes us laugh, and the other cry.
We plant a seed and expect a harvest,
We kill a lamb and prepare a feast.
Rejoice in plenty and dance with glee,
Though things so satisfying tend to flee.
Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose,
Things broken apart are given a new start.
There’s desire to splurge, a need to purge,
Pleasure and pain stubbornly merge.
A loving embrace may soothe a wound,
While caring words dissolve a fear.
Unspoken advice holds great value,
An empathetic ear grasps the clue.
Wars will rage throughout the world,
Peace will return more precious than gold.
Though much was devastatingly destroyed,
All will be well when fully restored.
Sundown (Floyd Buehler)
I saw the sun go down tonight; a great ball of flame rolling gently down behind the hill at the back of the neighbours farm-a blob of red-hot slag seemingly pulled into the earth by that mysterious force, gravity. It went down silently, as though, having spent all its energies in rising to its zenith, it fought a losing battle to stay there, and finally tired and red from exertion, it gave up and slowly dropped from sight.
But as I looked up above the horizon I saw a brilliant display of colour. It seemed as though the sun, having given up all hope of lighting the earth with its own rays, now concentrated all its efforts on focusing its beams in a magnificent fusion and diffusion of colour on the mass of boiling clouds overhead-stranded there when the day left, much as foam is stranded high on the beach when the tide goes out. And as the colours faded into a faint glow along the horizon, the birds returned to their nest and loved ones and as they returned they mourned for the king of the day as he passed away into oblivion. They say, however that as he disappears from our sight, he appears to others living beyond our familiar hills and valleys to light another horizon and bless another world with day.
I watched the sun setting this evening. It caused the houses and trees to cast a long shadow across the grain. As it drifted down, the grain-stocks added their own lengthening shadows until, just before it gave its last light to the earth for the day, it caused every pebble, stubble, blade and stalk to cast a shadow behind it as a prelude to the darkness that was to cover, shortly, the entire land.
Now the little night animals began to prowl and a multitude of night sounds began to replace the noise of the day. Crickets began their familiar serenades. At the millpond the frogs began their incessant squeaking, croaking, and grunting and an occasional bull-frog added his deep, weird “garoomph”. Muskrats splashed as they dived for prey and deep in the pine forest a lone fox crept stealthily toward an unsuspecting rabbit. A silent owl dived for his prey out in the field. All was well.
Sundown has come. I care not whether it is he, she, old, young, middle age. The reaper makes no distinction at sundown. The old are it seems the symbol of sundown. The hoary head stooped in its last stooping, the hands waving the last farewell, the son of the earth sinking gently to his last sleep. “He shall have no pleasure in time, in the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened. And the doors shall be shut in the streets when the sound of the grinding is low, and he shall rise up at the voice of the bird and all the daughters of music shall be brought low.” Ah, sundown has come.
Fond memories arise and transport us to the time when he was a guide, a light, a protection. Now have come the last rays of his day. They say, however, that as he disappears from our sight, he appears on another horizon in a new day, not however, to bless a new day or to light the pathway of another people, but to bask in a light far greater than his own; the light of the great Son, the Creator of all.