Glorified. (2/02)

This somewhat peculiar poem was launched by the suggestion that there are multiple dimensions-- maybe hundreds -- beyond the three or four that we are somewhat able to grasp.

In the first dimension

ten trillion angels dance

on the head of a pin, that is itself

one of a ten-trillion pins

stuck in the eye

of a child that lied.

In the second “D”

two trillion devils with beautiful legs

try a can-can-dance.

Only problem:

Their eyes are stacked on their feet,

and they can’t lift their toes from the ground.

In the third “D”

I am tall enough to see

in 2-D,

but not quick enough

to see, anything at all.

In the fourth “D” everything is popping –

yanked apart with time,

and I find

that where before

Many things might occupy the very same location,

or that I could be

young and old at once,

I must now experience my life in this rigid sequence

And I can no longer drive my car into walls

and have it not matter.

In the 5th Dimension

everyone is singing in the 60’s.

In the 6th D

I am able to hear notes that exist in time like a dot

but have them appear in my head

as if the past were true and still here.

In the 6.2 Dimension

the little silk worms that dangle in my headlights

as I drive down our drive by dawn

grow up and convict me

of worm slaughter.

In the seventh “D”

The devil is a liar and a jerk,

He jerks my chain with

wanton ads of wanton women that I want

to exist in my eyes without

the little censor bars or blur spots,

and I wonder why I am so stupid

that I can not seem to click off a laundry-matt TV.

I know that know one will be angry (no one else was there.)

I know that Howard Stern is a maggot

I know, that even though I could not see

any little cameras, watching to see what I was watching

GOD was watching

I know that I am called

to hunger better,

after righteousness.

--

In the love Dimension

Jesus is a bloody mess, stapled to a tree,

Before time.

In the 8th I find the blood of God

is like a living sea all filled with fish,

and I am a friend of corpuscles.

In the 9th D

Satan is a 2-D doll, flatter than a Stan.

Jesus wads him up and throws him in the fire.

In the “enth” Dimmension

my eyes and heart and His

are never far apart, and I look across the world

without shame.

The stuff that shocks the Bourgeoisies

fails to register with me,

Though it isn’t that I am made of jade

but rather that I’m knit

from dry woolen mitts, old carpet bits,

powdered-lighting rod and TNT …

So ..

Before you hint at something crass,

Wave your hand before the grass

and tell me that He knows

each blade.

Or

Hold a bag

of empty sky,

If you’re cruel, you’ll whisper:

“Is the air within your lungs alive?”

Oh Dear …

This shocking ever present now

is more than I can take:

Just tell me that the world is real,

and I go reeling, stealing, feeling

into bedazzled whelm.

Ha!

But you can see I’m joking.

I do have ordinary sense

and know the shock that comes

With this, our modern age,

twined vulgarity and rage that makes

the daily waves.

So, Do you want to shock me ..

I’ll go for that photo

of a tortured Jesus

in a bag of pee …

Lets see …

There are those shocking kidneys

straining poison from the blood

in an ever going miracle where

excess minerals and crud, escape

into the miracle of saving urine!

Then, there is that statue

with the little copper quills, in his little copper wrists --

What kind of man would sculpt this thing,

or better yet, What kind of MIND

would leave a trail of bloody surreal memos? --

A testimony to a 3-D God, stapled on a tree

and littering the ages

with the thought

that God knows pain.

Just the same… there is that fact of placement,

Mr.  Serrano.and friends,

Your knack for shock is trifle lame.

Try a crucifix in semen or in puss*,

or better, stab the thing in us

And still – you wouldn’t touch thy tyranny

of what

Jesus does each day ….

wading through the garbage of our lives.

Next time, if you want to rate

place him in a bag of hate,

or shame, or stale erotic lust …

or

Pride, more obscene than dreams

or …

For your chilling nod to Hell,

place him in a bag

of “I don’t care”

But I don’t think

you

or the world

are ready for that.

*While I wouldn’t recommend placing crucifixes in much of anything, it would be hard to find two materials of greater glory: one the conduit of life, the other – evidence of healing.

Some lie about who they love
Some lie about the truth
Some lie to save their lives
Some lie about their youth
Some lie about age and beauty
The conquest of sex
Most lie about the night before
A woman lies for a party dress
I've lied for a stolen moment
I've lied for one more clue
I've lied about most everything
But I never lied to you
And we lie, lie, lie on a streetcar named desire
Oh we lie, lie, lie for that sweet bird of youth
I could be great like Tennessee Williams
If I could only hear something that sounds like the truth
Some lie in the face of death
Some lie about their fame
Some kneel and lie to God
Some lie about their name
Some lie in words and speeches
With every living breath
The young lie with their guitars
The old lie for a little respect
I've lied to lie with danger
I've lied for a drug or two
I've lied about most everything
But I never lied to you
I've lied for a stolen moment
I've lied for one more clue
I've lied about most everything
But I never lied to you.

In Oklahoma

Oak trees, wither in the burn

The sycamore, more sick, are fed upon by worm

While up above, death implied

Pivots on the wind

Circling on fingered wing.

A picture, a picture of something yet to come

A picture, of judgment yet to come.

I love the world of National Public Radio. Several years ago I listened with interest to an interview with deeply baritoned African-American poet and professor who shared both his poems and teaching experience. (I wish I could remember his name.) Besides the voice, the one thing I remember is an anecdote he told of a certain religious student in his class whose poems fell flat. “The problem with your poems” he said, “is they don’t have any sin.” Accordingly, the next day she showed up in class with a plunging red dress. (I think that latter line was a joke.)

Anyway, I’ve often thought about that and other issues of sin as they relate to the creations of “sanctified” folk. On one hand, followers of Jesus are to hate sin. We are told, “touch not the unclean thing… hate evil, do good … Whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are pure -- If there be any virtue, if there be any praise, think on these things.”

One can imagine then, why a student of the Way might have difficulty including much about sin in her poems. On the other hand (and this is a big hand) we have a holy book so stuffed with sin, that the idea of neither writing nor thinking about sin, is made ludicrous by the very book that teaches us to forego sin. We are awash in drama, and drama seems to need sin.  Crack open any page of holy writ and put your finger down. Bloody murder, torture, rape, sodomy, pride, idolatry, religious tyranny, lying and deception, etc. leap from the pages. In short, you are likely to find descriptions or warning about human vices ranging from the petty to perverse, often carried out by hands of “saints.”   As a child I was introduced to some categories of human conduct that I never would have imagined had I not read about them in the scriptures first.

So, here we have it. A riddle of deepest proportions. God, who hates sin, quite active in the  business of drama.  He crafts its, sets the stage, then crashes his own play taking one of the parts.  And the same God “who can not look upon sin” (in one sense) looked at it hard with human eyes, even as He looks at it every day all the time. How could he see otherwise?

My goal here is not to solve this riddle but reflect on it from various angles. I will write more later, but for now my goal is to consider our right response to the one who both finds our behavior sinful, and has provided for a redemption and deepest freedom from that which names us.

We are sinners. And these are sinful poems.

This is a collection in process, and may not be ready for real viewing for some time. You can however, post any of your own sin poems or quotes in the reply section.

sIn :

a meditation on the mystery of

e e e evil , & the beauty

of redemp t ion.

Kirk Jordan

.

“ Sin complicates things”   

Jim Tracy

G.K. Chesterton - Orthodoxy (chapter 2, the Maniac.)

Works of art require some education in the beholder, before they can be thoroughly appreciated. We do not expect that the uninstructed should at once perceive the varied excellence of a painting from some master hand; we do not imagine that the superlative glories of the harmonies of the Princes of Song will enrapture the ears of clownish listeners. The must be something tin the man himself, before he can understand the wonders either of nature or of art…

By reasons of failures in our character and faults in our life, we are not capable of understanding all the separate beauties, and the united perfection of the Character of Christ, or of God his Father. Were we ourselves as pure as the angels in heaven, were we once what our race was in the Garden of Eden, immaculate and perfect, it is quite certain that we should have a far nobler idea of the character of God than we can possibly attain unto in our fallen state. But you cannot fail to notice that men, thought the alienation of their natures, are continually misrepresenting God, because they cannot appreciate his perfection.

C. H. Spurgeon: Spurgeon's gems

--

Prelude to Space

So Man, grown vigorous now,

Holds himself ripe to breed,

Daily devises how To ejaculate his seed

And boldly fertilize

The black womb of unconsenting skies

Some now alive expect

(I am told) to see the large,

Steel member grow erect,

Turgid with fierce charge

Of our whole planet's skill,

Courage, wealth, knowledge, concentrated will;

Straining with our lust to stamp

Our Likeness on the abyss--

Bombs, gallows, Belsen camp, Pox, polio,

Thais' kiss Or Judas', Moloch's fires

And Torquemada's (son's resemble sires).

Shall we, when the grim shape

Roars upward, dance and sing?

Yes: if we honor rape,

If we take pride to fling

So bountifully on space T

he sperm of our long woes, our large disgrace.

CS. Lewis - Poems

Our earth we now lament to see

with floods of wickedness overflowed,

with violence, wrong, and cruelty,

one wide-extended field of blood,

where men like fiends each other tear

In all the hellish rage of war.

As listed on Abaddon's side,

they mangle their own flesh, and slay;

Tophet is moved, and opens wide

Its mouth for its enormous prey;

and myriads sink beneath the grave,

and plunge into the flaming wave.

Oh might the universal Friend

this havoc of his creatures see!

Bid our natural discord end, d

eclare us reconciled in thee!

Write kindness on our inward parts

and chase the murderer form our hearts!

Who now against each other rise,

the nations of the earth constrain to follow peace,

and prize the blessings of thy righteous reign

the joys of unity to prove,

the paradise of perfect love.

Charles Wesley 1758

all-fall-mall :

How great the Fall

Yes,

how great the Fall.

Was anything forgotten,

was anything left whole --

Oh, itch on bite

The mortal rite

Weed and wheat confused

My memory’s abused

By the things I’ve been.

Jordan

Anonymous Rex (Anonymous Jordan )

If you set out to seek freedom, you must learn before all things Mastery over sense and soul, lest your wayward desirings, Lest your undisciplined members lead you now this way, now that way. Chaste be your mind and your body, and subject to you and obedient, Serving solely to seek their appointed goal and objective. None learns the secret of freedom, save only by way of control.   Bonhoeffer (1947)

When I was a kid, I spoke as a kid

And thought as a kid

But when I became a man (or something close)

I really stunk.

And I came to You

With my sin-greased heart

And said: If You exist I’d like your help

For I am neck-deep in water

With a millstone for a float;

I’m scared spitless by the thing I am

Or what I'll be If you don't pulverize me now

Or forgive.

And you did.

Both.

In an instant

Like an Hiroshima angel dipped in blood.

Everything erased: Your atom bomb of grace

Shattering my sin into oblivion.

And I stood before you like a naked lamb

or Adam, that first minute man,

and I looked to find my rancid heart

or that worm that had wormed its way

into my brain like some bad root

but it was gone, without a hole.

And I said to my soul:

Soul,

should someone ever come to you and say:

God's gospel is a myth,

or that Jesus is a kind of fairy dust for folks who need a fairy fix,

or simply a fine man

I would simply split my shirt like Superman

and show them blinding chrome.

NO!

No work of my mind or imagination

can dream my own forgiveness.

I cannot pull the mental trick of calling myself clean -

so as to believe it.

The change was tangible and real;

And no psyche lab

or theologian

will ever steal that from me.

NO, No No-one

Can ever take You from me!

But then,  I who had been made cleaner than invisible glass

wasn't sure I liked the squeak.

Off-white is one thing, but who wants to look like iridescent snow.

So said I: Hey, God this is great! I believe, and all... and thanks.

But I really need a safety net. I wouldn't want to fall…

Or return like a dog ....

Just give me a thimble to wallow in.

Maybe something on the side.

I'll do my dirties in my head

and keep myself from doing greater harm.

And you replied: It's true: you won’t go blind

or die that fast...But, this forgiveness is compete and powerful.

Forget about the net and take my hand.

You don't need it.

But I persisted and said "please,"

then jerked my eyes to the side and said:

Hey, The Jews asked you for a king, against Your stated wish.

Could you show me just a little latitude?

Take into account my humanness and my need for pleasure?

And you, hard-pressed to impose pureness

where it isn't cherished, said: Sure--have a King!

And I did.

It should come as no surprise

this king, with beady wanting eyes

and a wanton heart

was not easily contained, or of royal birth.

He didn't want a single meal

Or a single bride.

He ate his meals atop of meals,

and couldn't stand the thought that any dream should fly,

unmolested.

Long last, he wore his welcome out

And I bid him bye, I wouldn't run a harem

or a whore-ville in my soul.

But he was bold, or cold

And wouldn't budge … told me that he'd starve

Or bang on pots Or scream.

Aughhhh!

I tried my best to lock him up, starve him or distract him.

Wrote him notes with Bible words

even waved a flag To God. I surrender I surrender.

But even though each plead was graced by His forgiveness

the power of that first time never came.

No blinding flash No blinding chrome,

And I am dipping daily in the blood.

But now my God I pray

For I have seen a fresh wind after winter.

Promises exploding like new flora -

I have seen my winter soul.

I know I am a worm.

I know I yearn for that which will undo me.

I know I am not strong

I know I play with fire (yet never much with flame)

But twenty-something years of smoking choke

and smolder in the rain is enough.

I put my pride out on the river like a burning boat.

And ask you once again,

Would you make me like Your first-time offer

of iridescent snow

without shame or haunted thirst...?

Lord, Kick this Bozo out.

From sinners in the Hands of an Angry God. Point 6

There are in the souls of wicked men those hellish principles reigning, that would presently kindle and flame out into hell fire, if it were not for God's restraints. There is laid in the very nature of carnal men, a foundation for the torments of hell. There are those corrupt principles, in reigning power in them, and in full possession of them, that are seeds of hell fire. These principles are active and powerful, exceeding violent in their nature, and if it were not for the restraining hand of God upon them, they would soon break out, they would flame out after the same manner as the same corruptions, the same enmity does in the hearts of damned souls, and would beget the same torments as they do in them. The souls of the wicked are in scripture compared to the troubled sea, Isa. 57:20. For the present, God restrains their wickedness by his mighty power, as he does the raging waves of the troubled sea, saying, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further;" but if God should withdraw that restraining power, it would soon carry all before it. Sin is the ruin and misery of the soul; it is destructive in its nature; and if God should leave it without restraint, there would need nothing else to make the soul perfectly miserable. The corruption of the heart of man is immoderate and boundless in its fury; and while wicked men live here, it is like fire pent up by God's restraints, whereas if it were let loose, it would set on fire the course of nature; and as the heart is now a sink of sin, so if sin was not restrained, it would immediately turn the soul into fiery oven, or a furnace of fire and brimstone.