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Tag: Poetry

  • Pull Up A Pew

    Pull Up A Pew

    I’ve been toying around with poetry lately, both as a fun little exercise and something to learn and improve my writing.

    I wrote the following after reflecting on Matthew 14:23, where Jesus, even after all the ministry and miracles, withdraws alone to pray. I suspect many of us live in the tension of hurry and stillness, this is a kind of prayer from that place. An invitation to slow down and respond out of the rest in his presence.

    Pull Up A Pew

    Driven, my heart beats fast and faster
    Hurried, from one to the next
    The urgent crowds out my time and place
    To sit, be still, and seek your face. 

    The mind, it races on and on
    Thinking, what I ought to do
    So much, so many, so few pursue
    But here you call, pull up a pew.

    You stopped and went with task after task
    Up the mountain, where in the Father you bask
    Teach me your ways, for I forget
    Instead I find I just project.

    I want to stop and pray my Lord
    To find the rest you promise so
    To leave the work in your hands
    As you lead me to the silent lands.

    After dismissing the crowds, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. Well into the night, he was there alone. – Matthew 14:23

  • Who Am I? by Dietrich Bonhoeffer

    Dietrich Bonhoefferby Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

    Who Am I?

    Who am I? They often tell me
    I stepped from my cell’s confinement
    Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
    Like a Squire from his country house.

    Who am I? They often tell me
    I used to speak to my warders
    Freely and friendly and clearly,
    As thought it were mine to command.

    Who am I? They also tell me
    I bore the days of misfortune
    Equably, smilingly, proudly,
    like one accustomed to win.

    Am I then really that which other men tell of?
    Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
    Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
    Struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
    Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
    Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
    Tossing in expectations of great events,
    Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
    Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
    Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all.

    Who am I? This or the Other?
    Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
    Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
    And before myself a contemptible woebegone weakling?
    Or is something within me still like a beaten army
    Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?

    Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
    Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine!