Poets’ Evangel

It’s a mirror

It’s a ladder

It’s a weapon for Mansoul

It’s a bombast

From the Christ past

Crying now to be made whole.

It’s a comfort 

For the wounded

And a hospice for their hurt

It’s a warning

To the haughty

That their Father came from dirt.

It’s another

Look at Calvary

And another, yet again

It’s a resume

On Jesus

Working still today for men.

It’s a fairground

For the senses

But it must not leave the trail

Of the journey

Ever upward

By the folk who pass Death’s Vale.

It’s an invite 

To the wayward

And a shelter for their night

It’s adoption

To a family

Resting washed and safe and right.

It’s an offering

From the heart’s purse

With but two small mites in hand.

It’s a blessing

To the writers

That they hardly understand.

 

Doug Blair, Waterloo, ON

Bono Singin’ the Holy City

I remember working a shift at the grocery store. About this time of year. Hints of spring.

The store manager had the habit of playing streamed in music that usually repeated a cycle every ten songs. But this day the selection seemed strangely different. And then came Bono singing “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for”. I felt a chill up my back and wondered if any of the customers noticed anything odd about my demeanour. Here was an Irish pop star singing about the New Jerusalem; singing that nothing else would satisfy the longings of his soul.

But the people seemed to be going about their business of milk, cheese, meats and pastries oblivious to the world’s one great heart cry over this piped-in music. I was near tears. The whispers of the Holy Spirit so very evident.

This morning I was reading from Ephesians chapter three where Paul delights in the great mystery, just then in his age coming to be understood, as Jews and Gentiles found harmony and comfort honestly for the first time in loyalty to the risen Messiah Jesus. That mystery in the Church transcends the awkwardness of Jew and Gentile. It extends to a whole world, all tribes and tongues.

That world right now is percolating toward intense troubles. Bono knows this and gives freely of his largesse to the hungry, thirsty, unwell and lonely. He is living out the mandate of Matthew 25. He has chastised presidents and prime ministers for their comfortable words not being followed up with sacrificial deeds and helps.

He is still looking, neck craning, for that City. And he is acting; and the most amazing of assemblies are catching on.

Point of Combustion

The day will come.
Incontrovertible truth
Presented.
The messenger’s face
Bright, direct
With sincerity,
Thanksgiving
And assurance;
The sufficiency
Of Christ.
His noble service.
His victorious ethic.
His blood-letting.
His invigorating Spirit.
The words are
From God;
Seeds of life
Through the ages.
Your arguments
Dissolved.
Your idols
Cracked and
Tarnished.
Your tradition
Picayune.
The trying moment
Comes.
Lab-testing
Of alloy.
The metal strip
Presented to burner.
Ignited and red,
Rushing to flame?
Flash of light?
Ethereal wind
Unleashed?
Or charred and limp,
Refusing transformation?
Lacking the inner
Accelerant.
Such a day
Will be yours.
Expect it.
Pray for
Christ’s constitution.
His agenda.
Disparage the
Experiences of
Soiled self.

 

http://crosspointsatmidstream.blogspot.ca/2009/05/point-of-combustion.html

An “Oldy”…Doug

Poets’ Evangel

It’s a mirror

It’s a ladder

It’s a weapon for Mansoul

It’s a bombast

From the Christ past

Crying now to be made whole.

It’s a comfort 

For the wounded

And a hospice for their hurt

It’s a warning

To the haughty

That their Father came from dirt.

It’s another

Look at Calvary

And another, yet again

It’s a resume

On Jesus

Working still today for men.

It’s a fairground

For the senses

But it must not leave the trail

Of the journey

Ever upward

By the folk who pass Death’s Vale.

It’s an invite 

To the wayward

And a shelter for their night

It’s adoption

To a family

Resting washed and safe and right.

It’s an offering

From the heart’s purse

With but two small mites in hand.

It’s a blessing

To the writers

That they hardly understand.

 

Doug Blair, Waterloo, Ontario

john bunyan writing