Monday, 13 May 2024
The Sower
Seemingly spread at the whim of the wind.
Some will find purchase, some will lie battered,
But each holds the code to a life without end.
And so go the words of the Sower in question,
Cloth-eared disciples are handed the key.
But Truth only germinates when it’s clandestine,
Faith is the blind spot that’s needed to see.
Strewn on the pathway, His seeds are downtrodden,
Then come the birdies to pick the plate clean.
The words have been heard but then quickly forgotten,
An email from heaven lost somewhere downstream.
It’s hard to hear truth when it’s had such a bashing:
Deepfakes and chatbots and mad culture wars.
Savaged by soundbites and gone out of fashion,
Truth often seems like a desperate cause.
Devoted consumers hard-wired for compliance,
With comfort our default, we’re flattered by liars.
So how shall that voice that is finer than silence
Be heard in this market of artful desires?
His seed then alighted on dry, stony ground,
And speedily withered, possessing no roots.
These folks cried “Amen!” but then rapidly found
That walking the talk is a trying pursuit.
They heard all the words, but their hearts were too faint,
Were moved for a moment, but didn’t bed in.
The first sign of trouble, they filed a complaint:
Such fair-weather faith never really begins.
Spiritual tourists out shopping for highs,
Emotional junkies just spinning their wheels,
And when the bliss fades, they won’t wish you goodbye:
They might come tomorrow; they’ll see how they feel.
Others are smothered by briars and thorns,
Choking the seedlings and starving their fruit.
All smiles at church, but their souls are withdrawn,
Their minds have gone AWOL, the Word is on mute.
Lulled by suburbia’s siren slumber,
Dulled by the rhythm of daily cares,
Numbed by perplexities without number,
Succumbed to a dosage of mild despair.
They go through life’s motions as though it’s a game
While wired to devices designed to distract.
“The world’s on fire? That’s a terrible shame.
We’d love to commit, but our schedule is packed.”
Safe in their siloes, they’re cushioned from pain.
When living in Heaven it’s easy as pie
To imagine the Kingdom as more of the same
And never think why that a seed needs to die.
Yet what of the few that found nourishing ground?
Ah, now our sad litany takes a new turn.
The scattergun strategy seemed less than sound
But now its true genius may be discerned.
Their seed it sank deep in the dark soil of soul,
With slow, secret sustenance, swelled and took root.
Then the first germs of faith felt the sun and unscrolled
And new life erupted in gleaming, green shoots.
For they heard the Word and it rang in their ears,
Their hearts were invaded, their lives altered course.
Through trials and hardship they still persevered,
And they multiplied life with miraculous force.
For the Father He knows every seed that will grow;
No earthly appearance can give us a clue.
We must sow willy-nilly, to the four corners go,
Then watch open-mouthed as He makes all things new.
For our least word of faith is like gold in His hands,
For His light, self-propelled, vaults the vacuum of doubt
Till it pierces the heart and a soul understands,
And the high halls of Heaven resound with His shout!
Phil Clarke 2023
Sunday, 23 April 2023
On Larkin's Solar
Philip Larkin's poem 'Solar' from his 1974 collection High Windows has meant a lot to me over the years. As a student, its psalm-like meditation on the sun's apparent munificence seemed to chime with my faith in God's providential care. Reflecting back now with a fuller appreciation of what the unbelieving poet was actually doing with this piece allows a clarity that even more strongly brings home to me the stark contrast between the life of faith and the experience of those without.
You can find Larkin's poem here: https://allpoetry.com/poem/8495653-Solar-by-Philip-Larkin
On
Larkin's Solar
Your
sun blinded me,
That
heraldic metaphor.
The
glow of my faith obscured
How
truly unfurnished
Your
heaven was.
How
you turned each symbol
In
the light like a gold
Coin.
Each face showing now
Glory
now shining
Blank.
I was still in the
Psalms,
mesmerized by that
Blissful
bridegroom, that
Joyous
hero. I still am.
No
angels for you.
That
old Jacob's Ladder
Just
a prop for fond
Projections.
You eyeballed
Truth's
sere singularity
Till
the void appeared
Like
a pupil. Paying your debt
To
beauty alone.
Wednesday, 19 April 2023
Firmament
A thin blue line, the scantest sapphire wisp,
To
separate all this terrestrial sphere
And
every living wight that here subsists –
The
blinking whelp, the seer of many years –
From
cold and airless black. My chest feels tight
To
think this sliver might accommodate
The
rollercoasting history of life.
Yet
ancient eyes looked up to contemplate
A
sturdy dome of lapis lazuli,
A
gleaming vault, divinely-wrought, designed
To
dam up all the waters of the sky.
Copernicus
and comets undermined
And
cracked this Heaven's pavement, still I feel
The
promise of that firmamental blue;
Solidity
dissolves but to reveal
A
deeper constancy, a law more true.
For
all is motion, world on whirling world
Careening
through the night, yet kept on course
And
governed by the same momentous word
That
called them forth. We like to reinforce
Our
tender faith with metaphors of stone
But,
truth be told, our trust is better placed
In
neither rock nor sky, but Him alone
Who
carved His little wards this breathing space.
For
we ourselves are dust, we'll blow away,
Our
greatest feats but eddies in the breeze.
The
One alone who wrote our DNA
Can
recollect our atoms, should He please.
Yes
we are dust, but turning in the light,
Mere
motes adrift in glory borne aloft;
We
have no up nor down, no left nor right,
We're
wheeling through the dark – but never lost.
I
chuckle at our insubstantial sky
Then
watch it fade to twilight's mystic hue –
The
wildest, deepest lapis lazuli
Beguiles
my startled soul with boundless blue.
January
2023
Tuesday, 21 March 2023
Chesed
Set like a seal upon our fickle race;
Extraordinary kindness undeserved,
Determined care, by cold hearts undeterred.
Fili, December 2022
Monday, 17 January 2022
Tutu
In
Cape Town, thousands pay their last respects,
Outside
St George's queue in heavy rain
To
view his simple casket and reflect
A
moment, cross themselves, and leave again.
Their
Tata lies in state, their grief's sincere:
This
fiery little priest who took to task
The
mighty for their sins, who showed no fear,
And
asked the questions no one else could ask,
They
simply knew that he was on their side.
Some
there for sure recalled another day –
The
Arch was in full flow when doors flung wide
And
filing in, their weapons on display,
Policemen
lined the walls, recorders live
To
capture his incriminating words.
But
Tutu spoke and looked them in the eye:
"You're
powerful, but know I serve a Lord
Who
can't be mocked – you have already lost!"
Then
stepping from the pulpit flashed his smile,
"So,
I invite you now to come across
And
join the winning side!" And every aisle
Erupted
into praise! A dancing mass
Spilled
out into the streets. Police fell back,
The
forces of Apartheid at a loss,
Disarmed
by joy. See how the smallest crack
Admits
the light of hope, and demons cower!
For
Tutu knew that it is not enough
To
rail for justice, hammer truth to power:
The
victory that lasts belongs to Love.
Forgiveness
isn't easy, but it's worth
The
grace it takes to sacrifice your right,
And
stem the urge to pay back hurt for hurt,
To
break the chain of hatred, that despite
The
truth of evils done, new hope may form
For
healing and for peace. This Tutu knew
Too
well, for he had walked that road before.
And
as he heard the victims' tales and, too,
Their
violators', there and then he wept.
But
all who knew this man spoke of his joy,
That
cackle, and the sense of fun that kept
Him
grounded – that no cancer could destroy.
And
now the angels join to line his way,
All
blowing vuvuzelas as they jive,
Now welcoming
this saint in royal array
To
Jesus’ Rainbow Nation in the sky.
But
Tutu’s spirit has not gone away,
The
Lord with perfect timing marks his life.
For
with a pun too obvious to miss,
(the
kind the Arch himself could not resist)
He hints,
“To get through 2022,
Just
think 2-2 and you’ll know what to do!”