The Crows Nest

There are plenty of ways to end this poem with a “ribbon”. But most of our prayers exist before the “ribbon”. This poem meets us, like the psalms, in the space of not knowing. Faith occurs in unrequested places. Sometimes, but only sometimes, those places are temporary. Mercy is much bigger than we imagine.

Prayer, thirsty in the crows nest with no land in sight. 

Ten thousand silent waves lapping. Open water.

Drifting down and away from all horizons.

In this boundless cell of questions.

The old ways reluctantly fall.

A place of beauty and ash.

A blood spilt mutiny.

Submission.

Come Mercy, diminish me.

That in this salt sea I might overflow.

Back to the crowsnest I climb. Watchers stare. 

Wisdom waits. To be the fool pointing upon the horizon 

Prayer. What a school!

-B.Oaks

“Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?... But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God.”

— 1 Corinthians 1:20&27-29

“My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.”

— Psalm 130:6

The Prism

Everybody has a context that God uses to shepherd us toward hope. But it is never as we would prescribe. If you are in the valley or the harvest, growth in hope is ALWAYS better in the shared light of community.

THE PRISM

Indiscriminate Light

Variant beams land on the Left and on the Right.

Every scar and hammer receive equal beam.

Gracing faded glory, in colors not yet seen.

Some colors carve out valleys, days to disdain.

Others give like harvest, with endless fields of grain.

Unshakable Light

A purpose veiled for the wrong, and the right.

Prophets and Poets, all receive a proper share.

Who gets the fortune and who gets despair?

In long lean split mysteries, our shadows beg to shine.

When wishes get divided, by fractures and by lines. 

Boundless Light

Submission is abiding, in escapable flight.

All the jars are cracking, each one wanting to know.

Can those touched by darkness, trust the light, then wounds to show?

No one can escape it, a wisdom that is Just.

The deeper mercies found, when light shines upon the dust.

Lay it up to the Light

-B.Oaks

“ But who are you, a human being, to talk back to God? “Shall what is formed say to the one who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?’ Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for special purposes and some for common use?”

— Romans 9:20-21

“Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable his judgments, and his paths beyond tracing out! “Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor?” “Who has ever given to God, that God should repay them?” For from him and through him and for him are all things. To him be the glory forever! Amen.”

— Romans 11:33-36

“Questions #1
What is your only comfort in life and death?
Answer:
That I am not my own, but belong with body and soul, both in life and in death, to my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ. He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from all the power of the devil. He also preserves me in such a way that without the will of my heavenly Father not a hair can fall from my head; indeed, all things must work together for my salvation. Therefore, by his Holy Spirit he also assures me of eternal life and makes me heartily willing and ready from now on to live for him.”

— Heidelberg Catechism question #1

Aunt Helen

Like a tapestry, our memories are woven by moments. These moments are threads of pain and joy. Each one so interwoven that we can never pull one without the other. Wisdom is learning to use that tapestry to love those around you in the here and now.

---

This old guitar plays just fine on a Sunday afternoon

It welcomes back by sweet memories and secrets from every room.

I can draw it out to perfection, the carpet, pictures and the clock.

Country roads and front porch chairs, pass time by sway and rock.

It's all about Aunt Helen, the family I’ve never known.

She's a shadow in my memory and her hugs smell like home.

There are butterflies and box fans, stealing ice from the freezer tray,

I’ll hum this tune just for you as we cool off from the day.

Its summertime in the vineyard, hiding beneath the magnolia tree,

There something in the barn that’s gone, a picture of you and me.

It's all about Aunt Helen, the family I’ve never known.

She's a shadow in my memory and her hugs smell like home.

In the oven there is cornbread, for butter and blue table salt,

Fresh fruit in the cellar fridge and adventures with Charles Kuralt.

It’s a quiet that feels normal, I never felt alone,

When window units cool late night rooms and calls from rotary phones.

He is Carnac the magnificent, laughing at a world beyond our view,

Riddles from the ages past and the truths I thought I knew.

I hear tires on the gravel, slipping by in the dead of night,

The sound of keeping promises, passing by like highway lights.

It's all about Aunt Helen, the family I’ve never known.

She's a shadow in my memory and her hugs smell like home.

- B.Oaks

“When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.

So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.”

— 1 Corinthians 13:11-13

Holly Pond

My foot is broken (5th metatarsal). Without rest it wont heal. This is also true for every part of you. Your spiritual, mental, emotional and physical health need rest. Whether things are calm or chaotic, rest is essential. Rest will shepherd you from an illusion of control and lead you to the larger narratives of love and justice.

Holly pond

A plastic folding chair with the arm torn off, resting in the vertical remnants of a pier that once was. 

This was his post, the launching point of a thousand mornings. 

A place where coffee and gliding geese folded the seams of days yet to be. 

But now, there is only grass, water, and this chair with the arm torn off. 

The meteorologist gave all the signs. 

Two pressure systems colliding in a place called tornado alley.

The barn, the house, the fence and dock.

Nothing was spared except those who can't be replaced. 

The years of turmoil, sweat and striving now scattered in the pasture and across the county line.  

And as he sits, maybe for the first time, he thinks less of what was lost, and smiles.

Then glide in the geese, folding the seam of a day yet to be. 

- B. Oaks

“To the choirmaster. Of the Sons of Korah. According to Alamoth. A Song.

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved; God will help her when morning dawns.

The nations rage, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.

Come, behold the works of the Lord, how he has brought desolations on the earth. He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the chariots with fire.

“Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!” The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.”

— Psalm 46 - esv

The Foyer Rug

Its a tricky thing to write about pain and hospitality. Fear and Risk. You never know where people have been, recently or through seasons. While I typically tag a verse at the end to support the idea, I think the passage from Corinthians is particularly relevant on this one.

The Foyer Rug

Everybody wants to talk about my foyer rug. 

Kids, parents, new friends and old.

The homeless, helpless and those who love to scold. 

It was given years ago, at a time when no one seemed to care 

Spotless hopeful fabric, free from weather, rain and wear. 

A sponge for libations of joy, guilt, birth and death

Just inside an unlocked door, the collecting ground of confidential breath.

Like Mary Shelley’s opus, a monstrous muddy clump 

Revolving stories no one knew, priceless crusted bumps.

Offensive and disarming, every fiber makes me smile

A greeting for the weary, from wound, weep and trial. 

I’ll leave the door wide open, you can sit and lay your cares

Nothing you can spill is worse than what’s already there.

- B. Oaks

“For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ.

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you. all the difference.”

— 2 Corinthians 4:6-12

Breathing Under Water

About 6 years ago I heard about a friend who hit a pedestrian while texting. In the blink of an eye lives were shattered. I can only imagine how complex things got. Unfortunately western religion teaches us that for every “ebb” there is always a “flow”. This is neither true nor does the bible teach this. The gospel is a promise that no matter how devastating or permanent, the “ebb” is not our forever home. Furthermore, in a wisdom outside our comprehension, God can use the “ebb” to teach us about the strength of his love and our true home. Below is a poem my friend shared during that time 6 years ago.

BREATHING UNDER WATER

I built my house by the sea.

Not on the sands, mind you;

not on the shifting sand.

And I built it of rock.

A strong house

by a strong sea.

And we got well acquainted, the sea and I.

Good neighbors.

Not that we spoke much.

We met in silences.

Respectful, keeping our distance,

but looking our thoughts across the fence of sand.

Always, the fence of sand our barrier,

always, the sand between.

And then one day,

-and I still don’t know how it happened -

the sea came.

Without warning.

Without welcome, even

Not sudden and swift, but a shifting across the sand like wine,

less like the flow of water than the flow of blood.

Slow, but coming.

Slow, but flowing like an open wound.

And I thought of flight and I thought of drowning and I thought of death.

And while I thought the sea crept higher, till it reached my door.

And I knew, then, there was neither flight, nor death, nor drowning.

That when the sea comes calling, you stop being neighbors,

Well acquainted, friendly-at-a-distance neighbors,

And you give your house for a coral castle,

And you learn to breathe underwater.

Sr. Carol Bieleck, RSCJ

from an unpublished work

“I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

— Philippians 4:11-13

Mumble Bumble

RJ Clifford says this about wisdom.
Wisdom is a free gift, the way to it is discipline, in the willingness to learn from others and the capacity to bear pain and contradiction.

Perhaps our stumbles and the rumbles are part of that contradiction: teaching us of God’s kindness.

Mumble Fumble Bumble

round the rough paths I stumble.

The jagged ragged ledges of a day long drawn down

Who placed this path under the boulder?

Now older, bolder more faithful courage to ascent

mumble fumble bumble

round the rough paths I stumble.

The ragged jagged edges of years drawn thin

I placed this path under the boulder

Now older, bolder more humble to descend

mumbling fumbumbling

round and round and round the rough path I stumble.

God placed the boulder and the path

Grateful now. Not to ascend, nor to mourn.

but to laugh. A pleasant line drawn in my path.

- B.Oaks

“The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.”

— Psalm 16

Talking with my sleeping wife

I wrote this during a very difficult season of life. I was a full time pastor and full time student. Our second child was on the way. The Church I worked at was experiencing chaos. Our basement was taking on nearly 1500 gallons of water daily. In order to accomplish my school work I had to stay up extremely late and rise early. Often 2 or 3 am would come and I would close the books from exhaustion.

---

Talking with my sleeping wife

The house is asleep with one light on.

In the silence of the night I think of you

Once again, the clock turns night to day

As my dreams wonder aimlessly in the yard

Spring has had its way with me

And I am ready to give up the fight

But these mental revolving images of you keep me, lift me, and carry me.

For moments ago this one light seemed to be a prison

Binding me to its late night glow

But a thousand secret glances have brought you seated by my side

With comfort I feel your presence

Pouring encouragement and hope back into my weary mind

All these fragment memories paint a puzzled portrait of you

My Heart Melts

I fall to my knees and sing thanks to our God

For I have been talking with my sleeping wife.

- B.Oaks

“I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, and he will hear me.
In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted.

When I remember God, I moan; when I meditate, my spirit faints.
You hold my eyelids open; I am so troubled that I cannot speak.
I consider the days of old, the years long ago.
I said, “Let me remember my song in the night; let me meditate in my heart.” Then my spirit made a diligent search:
“Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable?
Has his steadfast love forever ceased? Are his promises at an end for all time?
Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has he in anger shut up his compassion?”
Then I said, “I will appeal to this, to the years of the right hand of the Most High.”
I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your wonders of old.
I will ponder all your work, and meditate on your mighty deeds.
Your way, O God, is holy. What god is great like our God?
You are the God who works wonders; you have made known your might among the peoples.
You with your arm redeemed your people,
the children of Jacob and Joseph.
When the waters saw you, O God, when the waters saw you, they were afraid; indeed, the deep trembled.
The clouds poured out water; the skies gave forth thunder; your arrows flashed on every side.
The crash of your thunder was in the whirlwind; your lightnings lighted up the world; the earth trembled and shook.
Your way was through the sea, your path through the great waters; yet your footprints were unseen.
You led your people like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron.”

— Psalm 77

wonder

I took this photo many years ago. While the image always strikes me with joy and beauty, I prefer the wonder Chapel must have experienced as she considered the brilliance of creation. Seeing her gaze at the world around her reminds me of Clyde Kilby’s famous resolutions.

I shall not turn my life into a thin, straight line which prefers abstractions to reality. I shall know what I am doing when I abstract, which of course I shall often have to do.

I shall not demean my own uniqueness by envy of others. I shall stop boring into myself to discover what psychological or social categories I might belong to. Mostly I shall simply forget about myself and do my work.

I shall open my eyes and ears. Once every day I shall simply stare at a tree, a flower, a cloud, or a person. I shall not then be concerned at all to ask what they are but simply be glad that they are. I shall joyfully allow them the mystery of what Lewis calls their "divine, magical, terrifying and ecstatic" existence.

I shall sometimes look back at the freshness of vision I had in childhood and try, at least for a little while, to be, in the words of Lewis Carroll, the "child of the pure unclouded brow, and dreaming eyes of wonder."

The basic reality of God is plain enough. Open your eyes and there it is! By taking a long and thoughtful look at what God has created, people have always been able to see what their eyes as such can’t see: eternal power, for instance, and the mystery of his divine being.
Romans 1 - The Message

Good Waters Flow

Good waters flow

By stones beneath the stream

From the mountain to the valley go

The waters come the waters flow

Tumbled bumbled rumbled

Shaped by flood and flow

A mighty silent river

Of stones beneath the stream

Smoothed by time and trial 

The giver and the means

A witness of the mountain

The stones beneath the stream

-B.Oaks

“It is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.”

— Philippians 2:13

Adoption and Fear

The “Orphan Mindset” happens when an adopted child lives as if abandoned despite being surrounded by security and love. This is often demonstrated in hording provisions to give the illusion of control. Biblically, adoption is an act of God’s grace where we are received and have all the privileges as children in the family of God. In short, spiritual growth is moving from and orphan mindset to trusting the adoption promised in Christ.”

---

Gone. Gone. Gone. 

A threat evaporated and whist beyond. 

No more guarded glances or last scraps guessing if cold and hunger might hush. 

This home is quiet. The walls clean and fortified with kindness. 

Her smile is framed on the mantle and the scent of rosemary warms the air: a promise of love. 

But something inside her whispered, “don’t trust this”.

-B.Oaks

“be strengthened with all power according to his glorious might for the display of all patience and steadfastness, joyfully giving thanks to the Father who has qualified you to share in the saints’ inheritance in the light. He delivered us from the power of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation, for all things in heaven and on earth were created in him—all things, whether visible or invisible, whether thrones or dominions, whether principalities or powers—all things were created through him and for him. He himself is before all things and all things are held together in him. He is the head of the body, the church, as well as the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he himself may become first in all things. For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in the Son and through him to reconcile all things to himself by making peace through the blood of his cross—through him, whether things on earth or things in heaven.

And you were at one time strangers and enemies in your minds as expressed through your evil deeds, but now he has reconciled you by his physical body through death to present you holy, without blemish, and blameless before him”

— Colossians 1:11-22

The grass withers, and the ladder fades

The Lord gives and the lord takes. This well known phrase addresses the variables of life and the surprising speed of those variables. However, deeper in this phrase is a promise. Yes, the creator gives and takes. But this is of his creation, not himself. There is no gift receipt with the mercies of God. Once received, they are permanent and irrevocable. They are purchased and sealed with the blood of Christ. For those mercies to diminish, Christ work would have to diminish. He is our forever priest. He gave of himself that we might be received. He descended that we might ascend. Not in part, but in whole. The poem below explores the challenge of our affections.

The grass withers, the ladder fades:

• Veiled is the star in the skyline not known
  Obscured by a paper canvas of late night hours and missed rehearsals.

• Onward upward, Onward striving, Climbing achievement: 
  Ladder rungs of sweat slipping through my grip.

• Then time washes down and a new council designs faster better ladders. 
  And yet, never not one rung, new or old, ever reached the stars. 

• Those sentinels: veiled by the canvas now withered and a heap of ladders. 

  - B. Oaks

“Comfort, comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that her warfare is ended, that her iniquity is pardoned, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.

A voice cries: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain.

And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”

A voice says, “Cry!” And I said, “What shall I cry?”
All flesh is grass, and all its beauty is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades when the breath of the Lord blows on it; surely the people are grass.

The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.

Go on up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good news; lift up your voice with strength, O Jerusalem, herald of good news; lift it up, fear not; say to the cities of Judah, “Behold your God!”

Behold, the Lord God comes with might, and his arm rules for him; behold, his reward is with him, and his recompense before him. He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms; he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young.

Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand and marked off the heavens with a span, enclosed the dust of the earth in a measure and weighed the mountains in scales and the hills in a balance?

Who has measured the Spirit of the Lord, or what man shows him his counsel? Whom did he consult, and who made him understand? Who taught him the path of justice, and taught him knowledge, and showed him the way of understanding?

Behold, the nations are like a drop from a bucket, and are accounted as the dust on the scales; behold, he takes up the coastlands like fine dust.

Lebanon would not suffice for fuel, nor are its beasts enough for a burnt offering. All the nations are as nothing before him, they are accounted by him as less than nothing and emptiness.

To whom then will you liken God, or what likeness compare with him? An idol! A craftsman casts it, and a goldsmith overlays it with gold and casts for it silver chains. He who is too impoverished for an offering chooses wood that will not rot; he seeks out a skillful craftsman to set up an idol that will not move.

Do you not know? Do you not hear? Has it not been told you from the beginning? Have you not understood from the foundations of the earth? It is he who sits above the circle of the earth, and its inhabitants are like grasshoppers; who stretches out the heavens like a curtain, and spreads them like a tent to dwell in; who brings princes to nothing, and makes the rulers of the earth as emptiness.

Scarcely are they planted, scarcely sown, scarcely has their stem taken root in the earth, when he blows on them, and they wither, and the tempest carries them off like stubble.

To whom then will you compare me, that I should be like him? says the Holy One. Lift up your eyes on high and see: who created these? He who brings out their host by number, calling them all by name; by the greatness of his might and because he is strong in power, not one is missing.

Why do you say, O Jacob, and speak, O Israel, “My way is hidden from the Lord, and my right is disregarded by my God”? Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint”

— Isaiah 40

Thinking of a Friend who Fell

Some mistakes are more pubic than others. Sadly, our response is often from preservation rather than grace. Something in us says, “if you associate, then you endorse”. This is not Christ like. I know this, but struggle to apply it. Love, care and time are reflections of us, not another’s actions. The love of Christ is demonstrated to those without. This does not diminish Christ, but glorifies him. I confess how often I look like the final line.

Thinking of a Friend who Fell

Last night an invisible man fell through the skylight. 

For years, day in and out, he observed our rising and resting. 

He had been spying on us for a lifetime.

In the storm, we glimpsed a silhouette between the snow and glass 

And laughed with dregs at the memories of 12 great years. 

Without warning, crash, an avalanche of snow and glass

Wine and blood now mingled in our feast. 

Across the table, his broken body, evidence of a man we thought we knew. 

One by one, we slip away.

-B. Oaks

“Do you suppose, O man—you who judge those who practice such things and yet do them yourself—that you will escape the judgment of God? Or do you presume on the riches of his kindness and forbearance and patience, not knowing that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance? But because of your hard and impenitent heart you are storing up wrath for yourself on the day of wrath when God’s righteous judgment will be revealed.”

— Romans 2:3-6

“SAME PASSAGE (paraphrased)
You didn’t think, did you, that just by pointing your finger at others you would distract God from seeing all your misdoings and from coming down on you hard? Or did you think that because he’s such a nice God, he’d let you off the hook? Better think this one through from the beginning. God is kind, but he’s not soft. In kindness he takes us firmly by the hand and leads us into a radical life-change. You’re not getting by with anything.”

— The Message