i will be taking a vacation for the next week or so; how desperately i need to get away. In light of this fact, i am posting something lengthy such that in my absence there will be plenty to read and ponder. Some readers will be familiar with the lengthy poems of Alexander Pope, written in what is called a heroic couplet. The following entry does not match Pope in length, nor in cleverness and rhyme, but does find an inspiration in Pope.

i first heard the term Warrior Poet while watching Braveheart, and later heard it used by two associates of Dr. larry Crabb in discussing the life of God, David and Christ.

Warrior Poets

What has become of the heroic couplet?

The couplet is not lost,
But certainly we mourn the passing of the hero.
When Pope's essay grabbed our souls,
We dreamed our dreams and saw
A battle worthy of our fight.
We did not equivocate,
But took up arms, pledged to engage,
And moved with a purpose
That would not be stripped from our wild hearts.
We knew a warrior dwelled within,
Yearning to break free, and so to win
A beauty's heart; most beautiful of all,
The One who created us
To be heroic and shine.
More than that, we felt His presence
Quicken, stir and beckon us
To something so much larger and so grand,
It took our breath away in bold anticipation
Of something deep and much more real
Than anything that had yet tried
To tame our hearts and quench our souls'
Longings for the liberating reality
Of who we truly were.

We saw at once, with rare clarity,
How the world _ too much with us late and soon _
Had hemmed us and doused our flame;
Forcing us to pledge allegiance
To a foul imitation of our rightful King.
We confessed our treason and bent the knee anew,
And vowed never to be on the wrong side again.
We stepped with the vitality of free men,
For free men we were.
And so imbued with passion,
We honored that Great Passion
Which won our hearts forever;
As a spectable among thieves;
In whom was no guile,
Only the most profound disguise.
Thus tethered, our hearts were free.
In paradox we found our papth illumined;
In simplicity we cherished Imago Dei,
Written on our hearts from all eternity
And evermore revealed in time's unfolding
As we saw the futility of filling the void
With all the trivialities and vain pursuits
From which we always thirsted again
Only to wonder if we would someday find the well _
And the One who tends it _ which truly sates
And fills and sates and fills again.

We looked down at our 30 pieces of silver
Too heavy in our hands, then looked above
To plead for mercy like the newness of the morning.
Looking then to our dim mirrors _
"Who's the fairest of them all?" _
Only to hear the deafening silence
Of those alone at the edge of the abyss.
In that deepest cry,
The first true expression of a once-guarded heart,
A breaking of the stone-cold wall,
Whose separation falsely counseled security.

Silence finally broken,
Healing words spoken.

We rose from our own ashes,
Much more glorious than the Phoenix;
Much more glorious, we glimpsed His likeness.
Looking back down the corridor of time
We saw that as time had passed,
So to, with it, had passed our purpose.
Our passion,
Once juxtaposed with our purity,
Had fled that symbiosis,
Murdering our innocence.
Where once we had walked with confidence,
We now paused in equivocation.
We thought we had found nobility,
But upon examination,
We were not kings, princes nor even dukes _
Just a company of pleasant cowards.
Deceived, we thought ourselves Supermen.
We awoke to a harsh reality;
We were not men at all.

So we resolved to speak
Order into chaos; light into darkness;
And resume our honest journey,
In search of that once-proud battle
We had been stirred, long ago, to fight.
Our dreams returned, our visions came into focus;
We took up arms to oppose the slings and arrows,
This time truly Warriors, not Destroyers.
The passive Dreamer, into his happy grave,
Finds resurrection as the Poet.

Warrior Poets, thus resurrected
We fight to win our freedom.
We marry the purity of that Great Passion,
The mysterious beauty surely calls.
But now we know the Voice which
Tells us truly who we are;
The Voice at once a thunderous declaration,
Yet also a whisper of serene strength.
Graveyards we knew too well, too long
No longer offer even the palest shelter.
Eternity is our canopy, and Beauty wins the day.

i stumbled across a very interesting site for artist Makoto Fujimura, and read his essay on living in NYC and some of the effects of September 11. This in connection with Francis Mooney's entry regarding the development proposals for Ground Zero.

i found Fujimura's site in the links section at Michael Card's site. Card is a fine songwriter and theologian whose songs have blessed me significantly over the last 12 years.

One song really speaking to me of late is Joy in The Journey.

There is a joy in the journey
There's a light we can love on the way
There is a wonder and wildness to life
and freedom for those who obey.
And all those who seek it shall find it
A pardon for all who believe
Hope for the hopeless and sight for the blind.

To all who have been born of the spirit
And who share incarnation with Him
Who belong to eternity stranded in in time
and of struggling with sin.

Forget not the hope thats bid for you
and never stop counting the cost
Remember the hopelessness when you were lost.
There is a joy in the journey
There's a light we can love on the way
There is a wonder and wildness to life
and freedom for those who obey
and freedom for those who obey.

Lullaby

Dusk's random clouds outlined in the faintest pink;
The fiery sphere's descent shrouded.

Evening's breath ruffles the trees' rich greens and chills the gold complexion.

The darkening shuts out all but the Atlantic's incessant knocking.
The granite shores beckon.
In the veil of night there is the air's dense salt, and yet more knocking.

The crashing sea is a serence explosion, a reassuring strength.
Nature's sleep is sweet, and I too am calmed by this thunderous lullaby.

i recently came across an essay Imagination as a Means of Grace, written by Leland Ryken, father of P.G. Ryken, now senior paster at Tenth Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia. Leland Ryken has great observations on the nature of art, the imagination and thinking Biblically about creativity.

In the essay, Ryken mentions, not surprisingly, Francis Schaeffer, who had plenty to say on creativity and many other relevant issues. The Francis Schaeffer Institute at Covenant Theological Seminary in St. Louis keeps Schaeffer's legacy. Also of interest is L'Abri Fellowhip, where many great discussions and learning regarding the Lordship of Christ in the whole of life made an indellible impact on folks such as Os Guinness. An acquaintence of mine working with InterVarsity in the Philadelphia suburbs had the privilege of studying at L'Abri, and _ if i recall the story correctly _ placed his faith in Christ there.

Schaeffer, like so many great Christians, speaks to us still although he shuffled off this mortal coil years ago. Striking to me are the insights of books such as A Christian Manifesto and The God Who is There, which are relevant in the 21st Century if ever they were before now.

And speaking of the God Who is There, i was recently thinking of how rather than face the fact that there is such a God and that sin is real, Christians and non-Christians alike are constantly looking for other explanations of why things are happening in our world _ and, more the the point, why things are happening in ourselves.

Upon further review . . .

i was thinking last night and this morning about the previous post, and i was led to Rom. 12:1-2. In those two verses, there is a wealth of power and truth. And, there is a tall challenge as well. Fortunately, calls to renew our minds and conform no longer to the pattern of this world are supported and empowered by the Spirit, and we know He will attend those prayers which seek to offer true worship.

Paul had a great understanding of a right relationship to God and true worship, and so Rom. 12:1-2 includes the whole person: present your bodies as living sacrifices. There is a great parallel with Jesus' command to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength.

And when it comes to renewing our minds, i think of the radio ministry of R.C. Sproul, who has always placed a high value on the command of Romans 12.

Sproul is currently teaching through Romans using the four volume commentary series by Dr. James Montgomery Boice of 10th Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia. Dr. Boice was a great preacher whom God may yet use in even greater ways after his death _ which is so very much like God.

What is there to say?

A friend recently confided in me that he feels he has forgotten what is is like to struggle against sin and see victory because he has ben struggling and seeing defeat over and over. In fact, he admitted, he's not even struggling so much as just laying down and letting sin roll over him.

The look of desperation in his eye and the forlorn tone of his voice said it all to me; he feels the anguish of his situation, yet feels a powerlessness. All i could say is that i have known that same situation more times than i care to admit. Somehow, in the midst of his confession, there in a coffeeshop, i couldn't hit him with all the scripture and doctrine and principles about sin which i know are true. Despite the fact that true power is in the Gospel, which totally transforms us, i sensed that saying those things would not change anything for him in that moment _ he knows all that stuff; he could finish each sentence had a started one.

But what a condition. How desperately i need, just like that friend needs, mercy, grace and love in a manner equal to the power of the resurrection. A pouring out of the Spirit in a way that just overwhelms us.

i thought of II Cor. 10: 3-5, and wondered how different the conversations of our lives would be if God really made those verses come to life in each of us who call him Lord.

May it be so.

More thoughts on that New York Times piece about at a girl pressured to have an abortion by her parents. The Weekly Standard makes some interesting observations about what exactly is Freedom of Choice.

And while we are on the subject of life and death, happy birthday to my son Elijah, who at 3 is sheer joy. He defines wild at heart boydom. And he could charm the buds right out of the trees.