Hermeneutics of Politics
From the chapter “Faith” in The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama.
Obama writes....“But let’s assume that we only had Christians within our borders. Whose Christianity would we teach in school? James Dobson’s or Al Sharpton’s? Which passages of Scripture would guide our public policy? Should we go with Leviticus, which suggests that slavery is all right and eating shellfish is an abomination? How about Deuteronomy, which suggests stoning your child if he strays form the faith? OR should we just stick to the Sermon on the Mount-a passage so radical that it’s doubtful our Defense Department would survive its application?”
This dear friends is the question that the religious communities in our country need to consider. It
doesn't mean that one group has the truth, or that truth is relevant. It does mean that we must determine how are we to approach and utilize the entire witness of Scripture into our life, faith, and culture. This is a question that I would love to hear answered. How do we understand what God has revealed to us in Scripture and apply it to our lives? This is the question of hermeneutics.
I wonder if
Obama has read
The Politics of Jesus?
Stranger on the street
Everyday we pass a stranger on the street
But how often do we ask
“Do you want something to eat?”
So many hungry people
Walking all around
Searching for a loaf of bread
While looking towards the ground.
But if they would only look up
They would find both the loaf
And the cup.
A meal that not only fills the soul
But a meal that makes the hurting whole.
Everyday we pass a stranger on the street
Next time help them look up to eat.
Collection of Poems written on Feb 20 2007
Type Cast
I wanted to play the clown
But I was cast as the fool.
An unwelcome disappointment
An unnecessary burden
An inconvenient truth
At an inconvenient time.
Trip to the Fruit Stand
I traveled to the fruit stand
To buy some oranges
Only to discover they were
Out of season.
Which reminded me of the
Apple of my eye
That rotted on the tree.
Both unavailable because
I waited too long
To venture out to the fruit tree.
I traveled to the fruit stand
To buy some oranges
Only to ask myself.
“I need them for what reason?”
Last Days
The last days are looming near
Like a dawn that will
Soon break forth
Into full
Day.
The last song is being sung
Like the final movement
Of the symphony
That will soon
Break into a
Standing
Ovation.
And soon I will stand
Before the fullness
Of the day
To applaud
A symphony
Written by the dew.
In the Morning
In the morning when I wake
Life breaks forth like
Syrup from a jar
That even though it was
Labeled shatterproof
Still managed to break.
Ode to the Perfume Laden Lady
A lady with too much perfume
Walked into my room.
And even though she is gone
Her scent still looms.
An unwelcome intrusion
That caused my nose
Too much confusion.
Starting the final verse of the song
Two weeks ago I started singing the final verse of the song called "Seminary." In less than 90 days the song will be over, and I will begin singing a different song. It is kind of sad to realize such a good song will soon be over.
I think I will really miss this place. Somehow through all the classes, homework, nasty meals, snow, and stress Asbury Seminary has forged a piece of itself into my heart. The other day I went to the SPO and asked myself, "will I remember my SPO and its combination 20 years from now?" I can't recall my address at Georgia State.
Many dear friends have moved on from Wilmore. Despite all of my efforts, I have been unable to maintain the relationship that I hoped to have with them. I wonder how things will work out after I graduate. Hopefully the relationships created here and the ties that accompany them will survive the strain of full-time pastoral ministry.
Well I guess its time to stop writing and start singing.
Departed
To say good bye can bring much sorrow.
For we often hate to think about tomorrow.
When a friend must bid farewell.
To only find our self alone.
Now I feel like an old man.
Reaching out for the hand.
That is no longer there.
Only to find himself alone.
Now I feel like an old lady.
Whose breast long for a baby.
That is now grown.
Only to find herself alone.
Yet there will soon be a place.
Where we will see the face
Of those that have departed.
And we will no longer be alone.
A Toast to Stephen Foster
I thought about posting a few lines from a song that I often sing. It was written long ago (mid 19th century) by Stephen Foster.
Oh! Comrades, fill no glass for me
To drown my soul in liquid flame,
For if I drank, the toast should be
To blighted fortune health and fame
Yet, though I long to quell the strife,
The passion holds against my life
Still, boon companions may ye be,
But comrades, fill no glass for me.
