Poems

That’s Not How It Works

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments


“And he began to speak and taught them, saying: ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.'” – Matthew 5:2-3

By God, you’ve got it so wrong, Jesus.
Do you really not know?
That’s not how it works.

The poor in spirit won’t receive the kingdom of heaven.
The poor in spirit are poor by their own negligence.
They could be rich, you know, if they made the right choice,
invested in the things that bring them gain, ignored the claims
of other obligations, engaged in fraud, then they’d be rich…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

The ones who mourn, will they be comforted?
There’s a whole industry to comfort them.
They’ll pay for it, of course, because who wants
to write insurance for a mental health distress?
If they were rich, they’d comfort themselves…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

The meek? Don’t make me laugh. The earth belongs
to those who take and seize and hold it firm.
The meek are those who follow orders barked
by armed and masked anonymous authorities.
The meek are not entitled to the earth…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

Now how can you assert that anyone is hungering
for righteousness? We have the law (that serves me well)
and isn’t that enough? And if we bend it some
to punish those we’ve in advance condemned, we will
not satisfy this thirst of sentimental saps…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

I see the people who cry, “Mercy!” stand
between the human vultures and their prey,
and hear them ask the victims if they are OK,
and tell the wolves, “That’s fine, dude. I’m not mad
at you,” and they receive the mercy I expect…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

As for the pure in heart, they can be pure
as pure they wish to be. But if they live
where I don’t want them to, and if they live
on land I want, well. They’ll just have to move.
If they resist, they will see God for sure…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

Now if I claim to be a peacemaker
and threaten nations with invasion
after blowing boats to kingdom come
and killing their survivors, you’ll give to me
the prize of Child of God? That’s right…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

Once more I tell you, Jesus, not one soul
is persecuted for their righteousness.
They suffer for their crimes, the crimes that I
decide, the story that I tell, and I alone.
Not heaven theirs, but hell, and hell on earth…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

And tell me, Jesus, who you think has been
oppressed or injured for their loyalty to you?
We pepper spray the ministers who resist us,
not for their faith in you. Do you maintain that they
are marching in the streets on your behalf?

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

By God, you’ve got it so wrong, Jesus.
Do you really not know?
That’s not how it works.

And Jesus wept.

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 5:1-12, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany.

The image is “The Sermon on the Mount,” woodcut by Lucas Cranach the Elder, from his Passion Christ und Antichrist, Herzog Anton Ulrich-Museum, Braunschweig (1582) – Digitised image, Rheinisches Bildarchiv, Köln, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=50665418.

Did They Know?

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments
A black and white drawing with two men in the foreground at left hauling a fishing net. At right further away a third man beckons at them as they look toward him.

“As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea for they were fishers. And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fishers of people.'” – Matthew 4:18-19

Matthew left it out, of course.
What did you tell them, Jesus?

“Hey, guys, I’m sort of on the run
since they took John, although
they probably don’t know my name,
so that’s all right, you think?
Come follow me.

“Now mind you, folks will hear my name,
and quickly, too, if I am any judge.
They’ll come even from Syria to seek
some healing for their bodies and their souls.
Come follow me.

“I’m sure no one will think to look for me
atop a mountain peak – unless they follow those
who follow me, and frankly guys, I hope
to leave a wide and beaten track.
Come follow me.

“Now come along. We’ve work to do
that doesn’t need a net. No, we’re as likely to
be caught in Roman or Herodian nets as John.
They’ll lift us high – but not as high as God will raise us all.
Come follow me.”

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 4:12-23, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Third Sunday after the Epiphany.

The image is from The End of that Person (1980), published by the Indonesian Bible Society. Anonymous artist – Koleksi Wikimedia Indonesia, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=141661922.

That Awkward Question

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments
Three figures wearing Biblical clothing standing in a sandy landscape. Two of them follow the first, who is turning to speak to them.


“When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, ‘What are you looking for?'” – John 1:38

Well, Teacher, I’ve been following you
for forty-five years and more, and yet:
I don’t think I can tell you what I’m looking for.

It’s such an awkward question.

Like Andrew and his long-forgotten friend
(what happened to him, anyway?),
if you asked me I’d say something inane.

“Where are you staying, Teacher?”

You know, I know, they knew
that wasn’t why they took those steps
from John the Baptist’s side to yours.

But how were they to answer what they didn’t know?

And I, with decades as a follower,
with decades as a teacher of your flock,
with years of writing poem prayers to you,

I still don’t know.

What am I looking for in you?
A place of honor, a big frog
in what seems like a shrinking pond?

That would be silly, wouldn’t it?

Might I be looking for some meaning in
a world that seems to shed its sense
and sense of morals, too?

Can you make sense of what’s nonsensical?

Could I be looking for a safe embrace,
for arms extended wide, to hold me
fiercely, gently, for all time?

I could. I could indeed.

But most of all, dear Teacher, I
suspect I’m looking for the One
who’ll listen to my babbled nonsense answer, and

Reply with, “Come and see.”

A poem/prayer based on John 1:29-42, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Second Sunday after the Epiphany.

The image is Vocation de Saint Jean et de Saint André (The Calling of Saint John and Saint Andrew) by James Tissot (between 1886 and 1894) – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2008, 00.159.55_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10195829.

Power at the Riverside

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments
A circular image of mosaics in a dome. At center are three figures, a bearded figure representing God at left, a beardless figure in water at center, and a bearded figure wearing furs at right pouring water over the central figure. A dove is over the central figure. Surrounding the central image are twelve male figures representing saints.
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

“Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’ But Jesus answered him, ‘Let it be so now, for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.’ Then he consented.” – Matthew 3:13-15

I wonder.

How many of the senior teachers,
how many of the higher priests
who gathered with the laborers,
the tax collectors, soldiers, on
the riverbank in search of some
forgiveness through the flowing stream,
thought secretly or not so secretly
that they, not John, should wash away
the sins to be forgiven, or
would rather send the penitent
to climb the slopes and pay the price
charged by the Temple vendors who
would scatter later at the wrath of Christ?

How many would have said, “Let it be so
for now,” and bowed their heads to wash
as Jesus did? Or did they huff upon the bank
and claim that they were justified
no matter what they’d done, or others seen,
recorded, understood, and known for wrong?
How many would have roared that they alone
determined right or wrong, despite the blood
which dripped into the Jordan from their hands?

How many would have humbled pride of place?

Events of then or now suggest it would be very few.

Perhaps: just one.

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 3:13-17, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Baptism of Christ.

The image is the ceiling mosaic in the Arian Baptistry, Ravenna, Italy, 5th-6th cent. Photo by Petar Milošević – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=39891909.

Dreaming with Joseph

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

“But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.'” – Matthew 1:20-21

Let me dream with you, Joseph,
just for a moment.

Let us dream together that our trust
is well placed.
Let us dream together of a
promise fulfilled.

Let us dream together of a
God who is with us.
Let us dream together of a
break in the gloom.

Let us dream together, waking
newly resolved.
Let us dream together and see
a new day.

Let me dream with you, Joseph,
just for a moment.

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 1:18-25, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Fourth Sunday of Advent.

The image is a 12th century fresco of Joseph’s Dream and Joseph and Mary with the Cherry Tree (bizarrely misunderstood as Adam and Eve) in the crypt of the Notre-Dame Gargilesse church, Gargilesse-Dampierre, France. Photo by Daniel VILLAFRUELA, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=19347294.

I’ve Got to Know

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments
A mosaic of a bearded figure with a halo behind bars, flanked by armed men.

“When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?'” – Matthew 11:2-3

John, there you are, imprisoned by a king
whom you had castigated for a sexual misdeed
and took it badly. Beyond the stony walls,
you hear, another speaks your word: “Repent!”

“The realm of God is near!”

You know this one. You baptized him despite
your protests that he should have baptized you.
The water has flowed on beneath the bridge,
incarcerating you and prompting him to speak:

“The realm of God is near!”

I’m with you, John, if not behind those iron bars,
I’m with you in the need to know: “Are you the One?”…
and I believe he is the One, and preach that faith as truth!
There is no faith without anxiety, for me as well as you.

“The realm of God is near!”

You said, “I’ve got to know,” and John, I hope you knew
to hear about the healing and the good news for the poor.
It’s what I hang my hope on, and my faith,
and why I trust in God’s eternal love.

“The realm of God is near!”

You know, I hope, wherever you may be today
your faith and hope and trust moved in the world
alive and powerful and merciful. And I will trust,
like you, that our Anointed One still lives.

“The realm of God is near!”

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 11:2-11, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Third Sunday of Advent.

The image is The Imprisonment of John the Baptist, one of the mosaics in the Baptistery of Saint John, Florence, Italy, unknown artist (early 1300s). Photo by Sailko – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=41892074.

Shoot of Jesse

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse,
    and a branch shall grow out of his roots.
The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him,
    the spirit of wisdom and understanding,
    the spirit of counsel and might,
    the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.

Isaiah 11:1-2

I hate to break it to you, Isaiah.
But then, perhaps you know already.
You saw it, after all, in Hezekiah,
who trusted in the word of God
and watched the army of Assyria
retreat from Jerusalem’s walls,
but then succumbed to royal pride
and showed his wealth to greedy eyes.

These shoots of Jesse had their moments, true,
the worst had flashes of your wisdom. But
they let the widows cry for justice,
let the orphans cry for food, while they
enriched the wealthy, fed the full.
The best of them, like Hezekiah, fell
afoul of hubris like their ancestors before.

And then, Isaiah, came a child anointed
by the Holy Spirit, who embraced your words,
declared they’d been fulfilled, and best of all
with mercy, stories, grace, and healing brought
them to fulfillment. You would have cheered
to see this shoot of Jesse blossom and bear fruit.

You would have cheered to see the fishermen,
the shepherds and the farmers, even tax
collectors, daughters of Jerusalem,
embark on journeys up and down the land
to seek his healing and his word.

They cheered to see the lepers cleansed.
They told his stories to their neighbors with
excitement and enthusiasm. They affirmed
a humble man from Galilee as Christ.

They could not save him, though, Isaiah,
from the fear and might of powerful men.
They seized him and they beat him.

They called him rebel, and they nailed him to a tree,
and jeered to see him suffer there and die.

Isaiah, human folly is enough to break your heart.

A poem/prayer based on Isaiah 11:1-10, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, Second Sunday of Advent.

Photo of a fern shoot by Eric Anderson.

Let Us Go Up to the Mountain

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments


“Many peoples shall come and say, ‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob, that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.'” – Isaiah 2:3

A mountaintop is the House of God,
a place of mystery.

A mountaintop lacks human homes,
for it is foreign ground.

A mountaintop is a solid thing, we think,
until it flows.

A mountaintop can teach us anything
we wish to learn.

A mountaintop can teach us truth unless
we’d rather hold our lies.

The liquid stone flows down the mountainside
passing people flowing up.

The mountain’s fluid flanks sweep our
pretense away.

And then the lava hardens into rock
like human hearts

Who fail to learn the truth that swords and spears
mean nothing

And the truth that plows and pruning hooks
mean everything.

A mountaintop can teach us truth unless
we’d rather hold our lies.

A poem/prayer based on Isaiah 2:1-5, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, First Sunday of Advent.

Photo of the Kilauea summit by Eric Anderson.

Save Yourself

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

And the people stood by watching, but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” – Luke 23:35

I sometimes ache for your pain, O Savior,
tortured there upon the cross,
and I, without the mocking, echo those
cruel words of long ago, and urge you, “Save yourself!”

But when I do, you hold me close
with misted eyes. My lips go silent, as
I strain to hear your soft reply:
“Instead, I will save you.”

A poem/prayer based on Luke 23:33-43, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Reign of Christ, Proper 29 (34).

The image is Crucifixion with Darkened Sun by Egon Schiele (1907) – Unknown source, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5105294.

We Have the Right

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

“This was not because we do not have that right but in order to give you an example to imitate.” – 2 Thessalonians 3:9

We have the right to claim whatever we want.
We say.
We have the right to say offensive things
and sneer at those who hear.
We have the right to say to one, “Go here,”
and to another, “Go there,”
and they will go.
We enforce.
We have the right.

Are we any more than irresponsible,
mere busybodies,
tearing down the building of
a blessed community?

Is it not true that we who say,
“The one who does not work,
we’ll let that one not eat,”
do little for our neighbors?

Is it not true that we who say,
“The one who does not work,
we’ll let that one not eat,”
will underpay their workers?

Is it not true that Paul’s example,
sparing those he served from burdens,
that the greatest burden, ignorance of love,
might lift from them, is our greatest call to work?

Is it not true that we are Paul’s
“mere busybodies, not doing any work,”
not building up community.
How can we claim our right to eat?

A poem/prayer based on 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13, the Revised Common Lectionary Second Reading for Year C, Proper 28 (33).

The image is The Multiplication of the Bread and the Fish by Jacopo Tintoretto – http://catalogo.fondazionezeri.unibo.it/ricerca.v2.jsp?view=list&batch=100&sortby=LOCALIZZAZIONE&page=1&decorator=layout_resp&apply=true&percorso_ricerca=OA&locale=it, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=79669072.