Poems on Preaching
Inspired by class. I wrote these poems.
The Preacher Teacher
Who is this versed man?
A sage from the pulpit.
An expert on the pew.
A keeper of rhyme.
Who is this wordsmith?
A painter with words.
A connoisseur of verbs.
A teller of tales.
We are his students.
Sponges of his skill.
Receptacles of his wisdom.
Apprentices of his craft.
The Preacher Student
I am a Peter that is still afraid of roosters.
I am a Paul timid on the waters.
I am a Stephen afraid to speak.
But with some help from the Preacher Teacher
I will be a Peter waiting for the feast.
I will be a Paul swimming in the seas.
I will be a Stephen ready to serve.
But what will make me
A modern Peter at Pentecost
A Paul with e-mail.
A Stephen standing in the crucible.
A book? No.
A Preacher Teacher? Perhaps.
A Carpenter? Yes.
The Carpenter
A carpenter of words
Selects great thoughts from the forest of wisdom
Hews long planks of words
Planes them into sentences
Trims away the extra verbs
Sands off the dangling participles
Polishes the adjectives and the verbs
And cuts the piece to fit
His crafted argument.
Where have all our prophets gone?
Where have all our prophets gone?
Evil has not died
Nor is its defeat secure.
Injustice is still in style.
So where have all our prophets gone?
The voice of truth is lost in the noise of fairness.
But fairness and justice are no friends.
So where have all our prophets gone?
Who will stand up to wrong?
Who will sing freedoms new song?
Where have all our prophets gone?
Question of a man born blind
I was born blind but now I see.
But how it happened still puzzles me.
Standing in the temple whose beauty I never knew.
Lost in the heart of the nation of the Jews.
Then one morning to my surprise a country prophet looked into my heart’s eye.
He spoke freedom to my sight, and now I see.
Oh how it still puzzles me.
But how I wonder how those born with sight
Still cannot see
The miracle of grace he gave to me?
posted by Hugh @ 9:53 AM
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