A Poem


If it be all for nought, for nothingness
At last, why does God make the world so fair?
Why spill this golden splendor out across
The western hills, and light the silver lamp
Of eve? Why give me eyes to see, the soul
To love so strong and deep? Then, with a pang
This brightness stabs me through, and wakes within
Rebellious voice to cry against all death?
Why set this hunger for eternity
To gnaw my heartstrings through, if death ends all?
If death ends all, then evil must be good,
Wrong must be right, and beauty ugliness.
God is a Judas who betrays his Son
And, with a kiss, damns all the world to hell–
If Christ rose not again.

–Unknown Soldier, killed in World War I
(From The Life of Christ in Poetry, comp. Hazel Davis Clark)

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Dear Heavenly Father: You know the hearts of all who come by this blog today. I ask that people who stumble here looking for something would find the thing that they are ultimately seeking. Let the people who hurt, find healing; who mourn, find comfort; and those who are troubled find a peace that transcends their understanding. Let those who come here thinking they are not good enough to receive your blessing be encouraged and reach out to your fantastic love. I ask these blessings in the name of Jesus Christ who is Lord of Heaven and earth. Amen

Jeremiah’s Christmas

Jer. 50:6

 

His cheeks are wet; a hot tear flows;

A grief quite real on an old seer’s face.

As crashing hordes dash to and fro.

“My people have forgotten their resting place.”

 

We celebrate the Lord of rest

With weary flesh, in this hectic race.

The prophet calls. Our brash world jests.

“My people have forgotten their resting place.”

 

The flashing lights; the blaring horns;

The shopping carts; hide our Lord’s sweet face.

We search for gold among life’s trash

“My people have forgotten their resting place.”

 

He came to bring a Sabbath rest.

He offers us a refreshing grace.

Unheeding all, we rush around.

“My people have forgotten their resting place.”

 

Come unto me you weary ones.

Who requires of you this frantic pace?

By quiet streams; in pastures green;

Find the Prince of Peace; find Your Resting place.

 

 

 

Jonas J. Borntreger

Christmas 2003

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We came upon them in the living room

Where they had made

Their last stand. (more…)