More than the pain of torture,
More than the pain of loss,
Or of his friend’s betrayal
As he hung upon the cross,
Was the pain of separation
From the love above all loves,
That He’d known His whole existence
On His throne in heaven above.
And yet when sweating blood
In apprehension of this course,
He knelt before His Father,
And said, “Not my will, but Yours.”
We’ll never fully grasp the depth
Of his self-sacrifice
To free us from the pit we dug
By paying that great price.
My failures stand before you,
Adding to the weight
Of your burden on the cross
When you took my fate.
As they drove the nails in
You did not rage or curse,
Determined in your task to save
The entire universe.
As your lifeblood flowed away
You looked to other’s needs:
Your mother’s care, forgiveness
For those who did the deed,
And most of all to pay the price
In anguish of your soul,
Separated from His love,
So we could be made whole.
Let me not forget your grace
In all I try to do;
The thing that everyone on Earth
Needs most of all is You.
My apologies, I should have posted this yesterday. It is a song (to the tune of “A Song About Heartbreak” by Daniel Thrasher) about our duty to those that protect us and have given their lives throughout history to keep us free.
When you’re under attack…
When you’re under attack,
Things look so black,
And it seems you might crack;
To get back on track,
And see what your soul lacks,
Take a look back:
Remember the heroes who stood at the gates
When evil clouds gathered, to spare us our fates.
They strengthened each other and stood side by side,
To weather the onslaught and beat back the tide
Of enemy fury, missiles and blades;
Some armoured like titans, some stealthy as shades.
When push came to shove, they didn’t give ground;
When faced with old terrors, new courage they found
On a lonely hill, to the bone all chilled,
Through sheer force of will, they watch us still.
To pay back the way that they lay down their lives
Let’s honour and treasure our husbands and wives,
Raise God-fearing children with love and respect,
And give them a place they’ll be proud to protect.
Let them know, that you love them so,
So their hearts will glow as into the night they go.
By reader’s request, I am reposting this piece for Father’s Day.
This is another commissioned work, this time in connection with the Art and Craft of Writing Kickstarter. The poem includes numerous inside jokes, personal memories and details of family history provided by the client, a wife and mother wishing to honour her aging father (and from what she told me about him, he is more than worthy of such a gift), hence some of the curious asides and word choices. I hope that general readers will still find it enjoyable and uplifting.
Fathers that know the Father are such a special breed,
Though success in their endeavours is far from guaranteed;
They are not granted super strength, immunity from harm,
Super speed, astounding wealth or overpowering charm;
What they do receive instead is far more precious still,
A spirit touched with grace and a calling to instil
A love of God and truth and life in his children’s souls,
That they may lift their heads to aim for high and worthy goals.
Even in his absence, his influence is strong,
His loved ones know they always have a home where they belong,
Where they are known and cared for, and greeted with a smile,
Hoping that that their current stay can stretch a little while.
Far from our shores, you harnessed mighty atoms in the deep,
Ensuring that ten million children could stay safe asleep.
The sacrifices that you made leave echoes in their wake,
Clearing noble paths for other, younger feet to take.
Discipline unasked for, and even fought outright,
Is now appreciated in a wholly different light.
Prayers and verses planted in a mind when it is young
Grow into fruitful wisdom that flows in its own tongue.
Standing at attention while my tidying was checked
Has led to strong self-discipline and stronger self-respect.
You drilled me to work hard, in all things seek to learn and grow,
Aim for excellence, but never bask in my own glow.
A leader and great teacher in every port you called,
You had so many ways to keep your students all enthralled
As you passed on knowledge that was more than just a hunch,
Such as the laws of thermo forbidding a free lunch.
I wish I’d been less stubborn and took the time to hear
The wonders of the universe that you so loved to share;
When you said your expectations of me were too high it hurt;
When you took it back and were proud of me, I thought my heart would burst.
A sweeping gift you gave me on the 8th year since my birth,
And we took turns adventuring all over Middle Earth.
So many books we’d share with joy, I even got some signed;
You always were so loving, so insightful and so kind.
A fluffball called Salami nuzzled past your stubborn gates,
Moved you in a way your heart could not anticipate;
And so when perched upon your leg in good old Morro Bay,
He became the furry lord of all that he surveyed.
Our stomachs stuffed with tacos, we’d waddle up the hill,
Half-regretting extra bites when we had had our fill,
Back home to talk, to laugh, to revel in our family life;
Moments I still treasure now as a mother and a wife.
Black Mountain’s view enchanted us each time we scaled its slope,
Guests were met with signal flags along the yard arm rope,
Grandparents teaching step-ball back at 512 South Clay,
A family determined to all walk the narrow way.
Your love of God infectious, your love of us so clear,
Each time you wrote us letters it would fill our hearts with cheer.
No one on this earth could ever hope to fill your shoes;
No one we would rather join us on a fun-filled cruise.
Because of you, our families walk and prosper in the light,
Gleaming like Alaskan gems of purest tanzanite.
Whether it is of the Apes or of the Caribbean,
All of us are certain you are worthy of this paean.
You showed us what a father is, what we should aim to be,
Reflected glints of glory that shine eternally,
Helped us in our crises, gave us strength to cope,
And led us to the One who is our everlasting hope.
You taught us to be humble, to never put on airs,
And of course, most importantly, to not forget our prayers.
For this and more we’re grateful, in more ways than you know;
So in this and other ways, we’d like to let it show.
It was my sin that pinned him there,
My blows he chose to take;
The insults I deserved to bear
He suffered for my sake.
If I had seen him on the cross,
Would I have turned away?
Would I have joined that ugly mob
On that horrific day?
Would I have fled and hid in fear
That I was next in line?
Would I have seen the signs appear
When noonday ceased to shine?
Would I have stood and watched and wept
As his blood was shed,
My heart unable to accept
That my lord was dead?
Would I have understood the gift
That he was giving me,
The price he paid to heal the rift
And set my spirit free?
Do I now live in thankfulness
For all that he has done,
And joy that words cannot express
At all his death has won?
When the People Saw Their King
When the people saw their King
And shouted praises in the streets,
Laying cloaks as offerings
Before the donkey’s humble feet;
The nation’s healing was at hand,
Vain men dared not stem the flow
Of joy their pride could not withstand,
For fear the people might outgrow
Their iron grip upon the minds
Of the faithful, good and true,
And leave their twisted souls behind,
As God poured out blessings new,
And heaven would come down to earth;
All their hopes would be fulfilled.
All would see their own true worth,
Broken lives would be rebuilt.
As He revelled in the cheers
That greeted Him along the way,
Perhaps He shed an inner tear
At what awaited in five days.
I forget the precise context of the conversation, but several years ago I used a simplified form of this analogy to describe Christ’s mission on earth:
A prince falls in love with a common girl from a distant province of his kingdom, but she rejects him thus: “I no more belong in your world than you do in mine; with all your wealth and finery and power, your palaces and servants and armies, you will never understand how poor people live.”
So the prince disguises himself as a serf, telling no-one but a few trusted servants and taking no money or other possessions with him, learns a trade and goes off to live where his face is not well known, supporting himself and working his way across the country. Where he spots an injustice against others, he has his servants secretly report it to the king to be dealt with, but gives them strict instructions to not intervene on his own behalf, no matter what, merely record how people treat him and only deal with such matters after he has decided to reveal himself.
Over three years he meets with both kindness and cruelty, generosity and greed—dishonest merchants, corrupt sheriffs, hospitable paupers and violent bandits. He is insulted, robbed, beaten, wrongfully imprisoned and tortured, yet not once does he invoke his authority to spare himself, not once does he call out for his nearby servants to intervene, he endures it all quietly.
Finally he arrives at the girl’s door, his simple clothing torn and scars visible on his face and hands, and asks her to reconsider, that his offer of life with him at the palace still stands.
Can you imagine what those servants must have felt, watching their beloved prince be so mistreated, suffer so many affronts to his honour, endure such undeserved pain and degradation, yet with strict instructions to not defend him, and all for the sake of some common girl. Scandalous!
Christ’s sacrifice for us is even greater than that, in that he is far further above us than a prince is above a commoner, and He took the punishments for our crimes, enduring even separation from the Father and excruciating death. At any moment during His earthly ministry, he could have called down legions of angels to defend him, yet He did not, only using his divine authority to help others, to heal the sick, free the oppressed, bring hope to the fearful and light to dark places. We are utterly unworthy of His generosity, of His scandalous humility, and each day we should remember and be grateful.
This is another commissioned work, this time in connection with the Art and Craft of Writing Kickstarter, where for $50, the supporter would obtain access to every instructional video we produce (which we are making steady progress on), plus receive a poem by me to honour a special occasion and/or person in your life. This request was actually made outside the kickstarter channel by contacting L. Jagi Lamplighter directly, so I assume that this option is in theory still available today. The poem includes numerous inside jokes, personal memories and details of family history provided by the client, a wife and mother wishing to honour her aging father (and from what she told me about him, he is more than worthy of such a gift), hence some of the curious asides and word choices. I hope that general readers will still find it enjoyable and uplifting.
Fathers that know the Father are such a special breed,
Though success in their endeavours is far from guaranteed;
They are not granted super strength, immunity from harm,
Super speed, astounding wealth or overpowering charm;
What they do receive instead is far more precious still,
A spirit touched with grace and a calling to instil
A love of God and truth and life in his children’s souls,
That they may lift their heads to aim for high and worthy goals.
Even in his absence, his influence is strong,
His loved ones know they always have a home where they belong,
Where they are known and cared for, and greeted with a smile,
Hoping that that their current stay can stretch a little while.
Far from our shores, you harnessed mighty atoms in the deep,
Ensuring that ten million children could stay safe asleep.
The sacrifices that you made leave echoes in their wake,
Clearing noble paths for other, younger feet to take.
Discipline unasked for, and even fought outright,
Is now appreciated in a wholly different light.
Prayers and verses planted in a mind when it is young
Grow into fruitful wisdom that flows in its own tongue.
Standing at attention while my tidying was checked
Has led to strong self-discipline and stronger self-respect.
You drilled me to work hard, in all things seek to learn and grow,
Aim for excellence, but never bask in my own glow.
A leader and great teacher in every port you called,
You had so many ways to keep your students all enthralled
As you passed on knowledge that was more than just a hunch,
Such as the laws of thermo forbidding a free lunch.
I wish I’d been less stubborn and took the time to hear
The wonders of the universe that you so loved to share;
When you said your expectations of me were too high it hurt;
When you took it back and were proud of me, I thought my heart would burst.
A sweeping gift you gave me on the 8th year since my birth,
And we took turns adventuring all over Middle Earth.
So many books we’d share with joy, I even got some signed;
You always were so loving, so insightful and so kind.
A fluffball called Salami nuzzled past your stubborn gates,
Moved you in a way your heart could not anticipate;
And so when perched upon your leg in good old Morro Bay,
He became the furry lord of all that he surveyed.
Our stomachs stuffed with tacos, we’d waddle up the hill,
Half-regretting extra bites when we had had our fill,
Back home to talk, to laugh, to revel in our family life;
Moments I still treasure now as a mother and a wife.
Black Mountain’s view enchanted us each time we scaled its slope,
Guests were met with signal flags along the yard arm rope,
Grandparents teaching step-ball back at 512 South Clay,
A family determined to all walk the narrow way.
Your love of God infectious, your love of us so clear,
Each time you wrote us letters it would fill our hearts with cheer.
No one on this earth could ever hope to fill your shoes;
No one we would rather join us on a fun-filled cruise.
Because of you, our families walk and prosper in the light,
Gleaming like Alaskan gems of purest tanzanite.
Whether it is of the Apes or of the Caribbean,
All of us are certain you are worthy of this paean.
You showed us what a father is, what we should aim to be,
Reflected glints of glory that shine eternally,
Helped us in our crises, gave us strength to cope,
And led us to the One who is our everlasting hope.
You taught us to be humble, to never put on airs,
And of course, most importantly, to not forget our prayers.
For this and more we’re grateful, in more ways than you know;
So in this and other ways, we’d like to let it show.
The mighty salmon swims upstream to die and to give birth;
We, too, must resist the flow and climb for all our worth.
The world spews out debauchery and every kind of sin
In waves to surely knock us down the moment we give in.
And yet we stand on solid rock with strength that’s from on high;
Just stay upon the narrow path, that way your feet stay dry.
He promises to bring us back should we ever stray
From His footsteps up the hill along the narrow way.
Don’t dip your toe in that awful flow, it’ll soak you to your skin;
Worse yet, drag your foot away until you topple in
And tumble hard against the rocks that pulverise your soul
‘Til purity and sanity are futile, foolish goals.
That’s when a feeble plea to Him is answered at a run;
He dives in, pulls us to the shore, but still His work’s not done,
Gives us the pure white robes He left behind as He dove in,
Then sets off with divine resolve to break the power of sin,
Swims up that putrid torrent to block it at its source,
By soaking up its vileness with His own disfigured corpse.
He made himself a horror that no holy eye can stand
To open up a way for us to reach the Promised Land.
His humbling sacrifice complete, He rose again in power,
Now sits upon His throne and at His own appointed hour
Will judge the living and the dead with justice, but with grace
To welcome those for whom He has prepared a special place.
Trudging through a wintry plain
As toes begin to freeze;
Kind eyes look down from heaven
To watch over such as these.
Disfigured outcasts stumble on,
All ravaged with disease;
Holy hands don’t fear to touch
And make whole such as these.
Abandoned by their former friends,
Despite their desperate pleas;
A well-lined back in heaven knows
The pain of such as these.
Souls wracked with guilt that won’t wash out
And wearying unease;
Scarred hands and feet in heaven show
He died for such as these.
Slandered, beaten for His sake
And forced onto their knees;
A special place in heaven
Is prepared for such as these.
Their race full run, their strength all spent,
Their breath a painful wheeze;
Arms in heaven are stretched out
To welcome such as these.
A loving smile, a sick friend healed,
A fragrant summer breeze;
Foretastes of His heaven are found
In moments such as these.
A child’s unflinching openness,
Trustful and keen to please,
The kingdom of our God must be
Approached as such as these.
The Zwyckyverse 