A Mighty Fortress Is Our God by Martin Luther

A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing;
Our helper He, amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing:
For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe;
His craft and power are great, and, armed with cruel hate,
On earth is not his equal.

Did we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing;
Were not the right Man on our side, the Man of God’s own choosing:
Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is He;
Lord Sabaoth, His Name, from age to age the same,
And He must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us,
We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us:
The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him;
His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure,
One little word shall fell him.

That word above all earthly powers, no thanks to them, abideth;
The Spirit and the gifts are ours through Him Who with us sideth:
Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;
The body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still,
His kingdom is forever.

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Quotations: Violence #2

We must, in our hearts, live through Abraham’s harsh and bitter experiences if we would know the blessedness which follows them.  The ancient curse will not go out painlessly.  The tough old miser within us will not lie down and die in obedience to our command.  He must be torn out of our heart like a plank from the soil.  He must be extracted in agony and blood like a tooth from the jaw.  He must be expelled from our soul by violence…(more)

Letter To Joel Osteen

A revision of my poem previously titled Suffering: A Poem To Joel Osteen.

Joel Osteen, you are a champion.
Even your name is like esteem.
You are reassuring, unable to offend,
and I cannot help but like you.
Yet I wonder,
where do you put pain?
You seem to manage headaches
and American depression,
but what about big suffering,
like that mentioned
in Hebrews five, verse seven?
Are people who obey God always happy
and content?  Sinless Jesus
learned obedience
by what he underwent.

Well meant are your admonitions.
You believe in good decisions,
and in Jesus, by whom promises are given.
Don’t forget, as Christians
we confess best intentions
as hankerings to be a mannequin
or a magician.
Listen, one pastor said,
you’ll know you’ve encountered God
when you limp.
We are inexorable. Happiness feels foreign.
Oh, to be sleek like plastic,
to live with faith-expectant…
if only our ragged souls
were not so bent.

Words are power, but we don’t hear them.
Coaxing can’t turn us, we must be caught!
We have a worship problem.
We won’t receive a gift
until our hands are shaking.
Ask the poet, ask Bob Dylan—
behind every beautiful thing
there is persistent aching.
Where are your sick, your sad,
your malcontents?
We read your books
to become smooth and stiff.
Prop us up behind plate glass,
we want to be convinced.
But we must ask ourselves:

do we love the poor;
do we pay attention?
Imagine we visit the slums of Kolkata
with Mother Theresa.
All of us are smiling.
She sees the people.
We look at them.
We stand straight, full of promise.
She is crooked
from leaning into their faces.
We want to help them,
but we’re stuck in our position.
The masses are borne up
by her cracks and creases;
gleaming teeth shame them.

So let’s close our mouths for a season.
You may have built an empire
on your congenial smile,
but what we really need
is to put on desperation.
Do you want us to be like you
or be forgiven?
Idols fall.  People get bruised.
But that can help us
to stop encouraging belief
in a god who gives his best
only to those who follow
the rules.
That god is ruthless.
And his face is never at rest.

Elegy For An Uncle

Your second death, this.  The first you cheated—
buried alive, then resurrected to describe
paralysis beneath a cave-in.

They dug you out, but no hands reach you now.
Your story is complete.  The tumor pressed you
down in ways no one could defeat and

I despise it.  You would have wanted to
assure me that you’re in a better place;
I want that for you.  But here,

I fight the enemy of your absence.
I can’t get another handshake or hardy laugh.
There is no father, no husband,

no uncle who donned an apron and cooked
chicken halves at picnics on a giant barbecue
he welded in the garage;

no quick joke or story to bring a smile;
no soft voice—the sound of a Vermonter—asking,
Well hi there John, what’s going on?

I have an early memory: you’re on Grandma’s sofa,
snoring loud; I am only five or six and
a bit afraid of the great rasp.  Now,

I just hurt—God gave you for my Uncle;
I’ve known some love through you—I miss you,
but I’m willing to believe that is good news.

Help My Unbelief by John Newton

Albert Finney as John Newton in Amazing Grace

I know the Lord is nigh,
and would but cannot pray,
For Satan meets me when I try,
and frights my soul away.
And frights my soul away.

I would but can’t repent,
though I endeavor oft;
This stony heart can ne’er relent
till Jesus makes it soft.
Till Jesus make it soft.

Help my unbelief.
Help my unbelief
Help my unbelief.
My help must come from Thee.

I would but cannot love,
though wooed by love divine;
No arguments have power to move
a soul as base as mine.
A soul so base as mine.

I would but cannot rest,
in God’s most holy will;
I know what He appoints is best,
and murmur at it still.
I murmur at it still.

Jesus Of The Scars by Edward Shillito

If we have never sought, we seek Thee now;
Thine eyes burn through the dark, the only stars;
We must have sight of thorn-pricks on Thy brow;
We must have Thee, O Jesus of the Scars.

The heavens frighten us; they are too calm;
In all the universe we have no place.
Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm?
Lord Jesus, by Thy Scars we claim Thy grace.

If when the doors are shut, Thou drawest near,
Only reveal those hands, that side of Thine;
We know today what wounds are; have no fear;
Show us Thy Scars; we know the countersign.

The other gods were strong, but Thou wast weak;
They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne;
But to our wounds, only God’s wounds can speak,
And not a god has wounds, but Thou alone.