Pandora's Box

Pandora's box is empty now;

Our pride unlatched the lid somehow.

We wonder how we could allow 

Such evils to escape?

Yet, lessons deep in history

Have long uncovered this for me;

This fabled, former mystery

That often changes shape. . .

Men garner blessings so immense

From wooing, pard'ning Providence,

And start, with gratitude intense,

God's goodness to extol.

But getting gifts is but the hem

Of holding and enjoying them;

So oft, ingratitude will stem 

From loving their control.

It never seems enough for us

To see the wind for what it does;

We yearn to find out what it was

Before it blew our way.

So, inwardly, we curse the craft

That caused breath o'er our souls to waft,

That bade us know, then seeming laughed

That limits dimmed our day.

We try to trace, we need to know

The tempting gifts of twilight-glow

Whose rays impel us to and fro

With no real place to land. . .

For truly science can predict

From laws the Lord chose to inflict

Such outcomes as He wisely picked

For wise to understand.

But we, like Job the upright man,

Still vexed within a hidden plan,

Fight for a knowledge greater than

Our faithful God reveals.

That Tree we robbed from, we admit,

Robbed us of His rest, bit by bit---

Made us the carnal conduit

Of whining, proud appeals.

Now full-ashamed of shame are we

And callously transplant the Tree

And reap a ruthless trinity

Of body, soul and pride.

We hasten to sate pride's desire

For stimuli, and magic's mire,

Fearing the truth of logic's fire

Would set dark dreams aside.

Besides, do we not have the wits

To shout down holy hypocrites

Whose story loud and long admits

To foibles, factions, strife?

How pitiful the church's shame

Must harken to a higher Name. . .

Just give them time; they'll find the same

Futility in life!

Yes, long ago we read their Book.

We gave their Christ a cursory look.

We sympathize how they mistook

His loving words for light. . .\

He sang them like the pipes of Pan

To bring us back where we began;

We found we must embrace the Man

Whose love refused our fight.

And His men strike us still that way,

Who weirdly weather His delay,

As if they've found some distant day

Where striving is no more. . .

Yet we will still, till cry the rocks,

Pick proudly the Creator's locks,

Convinced that no Pandora's box

Remains for us in store.

MNA

c. 2000?

IT'S PERSONAL

I said that I would seek the truth

   if I found it worth the trip. . .
Now I can show you living proof:
   truth is found in a relationship!
The truth can only set you free
   if you know where it begins. . .
I thought truth had eluded me,
  ’til I found I had avoided HIM!

Surprise! The truth is personal.
The goal I sought is a personal Being. . .
The line is irreversible:
In back of it all, it was GOD I was seeing.
A holy God loves me even though I sinned,
And His word reveals His face
As His Son redeems our race.
I received His grace. I was PERSONAL to Him.

Most people turn the truth away,
   for He’s not what they desire. . .
Our wicked hearts lead us astray,
   quenching rumors of eternal fire!
Meanwhile, we scar our personhood,
   trading fact for fantasy. . .
’Til one day, by grace I understood
   that this sinless Person died for me!

Surprise! The truth is personal.
The goal we seek is a personal Being. . .
The line is irreversible:
In back of it all, it’s GOD we are seeing.
A holy God loves us even though we sin,
And His word reveals His face,
As His Son redeems our race.
We received His grace. We were PERSONAL to Him.

Yes, the Bible tells the story.
   All the facts are written down.
I can pass your test,
   I can do my best to show you. . .
But upon that Day in glory,
   when all facts his voice will drown,
Will you hear Him cry,
   “Go away, for I don’t know you!”?

Surprise! The truth is personal.
The goal you seek is a personal Being. . .
The line is irreversible:
In back of it all, it’s GOD you are seeing.
A holy God loves you, even though you’ve sinned,
And His word reveals His face,
As His Son redeems our race.
O receive His grace. You are PERSONAL to Him!


MNA
March 8, 1996

His Signature?

We have madly delved for data

   where terran truths are fossilized,
And have filtered through the strata
   for hopes man has hypothesized. . .
We have linked our lives to labors
   of stuporous seeker, fractured fact,
As our shepherds sharpen sabres
   to hack apart each human act.

But a God of shadowy wonder,
   who encased this globe in gaseous gloom
Left us nether-beasts of thunder
   to remind our pride of Satan's doom. . .
Who rebelled from lack of knowledge--
   defiled one brave created race
Only to despoil the homage
   of one God raised up in its place.

We enshrine unanswered queries
   as celestial screams fall on deaf ears;
Still, we chill at cemeteries,
   failing to inter our darkest fears. . .
We refuse to stand connected
   to a reasoned power past our own,
For our reason lies infected
   with viral visions set in stone.

Could our vision merely widen,
   we would feel, in answers never sought,
Creatures God chose to confide in
   who, for mercy's sake, by heav'n are taught. . .
Yes, the heavens are our teachers,
   as are hyacinth and zinnia;
Far more eloquent than features
   of Melchizedek's millenia.

One might think this God in error
   to deposit puzzles unexplained;
Earth would seem, perhaps, the fairer
   were all myst'ries in our minds contained. . . 
In no sense would He be worthy
   of His creatures' free, submissive love
If solutions all were earthly,
   if the vessels thrown could potters prove.

Should our science be so errant
   that signatures divine be lost,
Let us fear what cosmic parent
   would seek our ardor to exhaust!
But if God indeed has given
   insignias of such eloquence, 
Both the verbal and half-hidden,
   what counsel stands in our defense?

If this God came as a Brother 
   to invite with living blood and bone,
How can we search for another?
   Is it unjust that we die alone?
While all time and matter rages,
   while all energies in Him dissolve,
Will we yearn through endless ages
   for our higher power to EVOLVE?

MNA  
August 27, 1993

Home and Garden

The joys our God is growing

in the homes He will redeem
Aren't hidden in some hothouse,
locked away for leisure's show. . .
These bright bouquets immortal
ought in every room to gleam,
Where'er in you I'm taken
radiate their godly glow.

The peace and joy of Jesus
are not overgrown and lush;
They grow not as a jungle
for all clumsy scythes to claim. . .
The Gardener's knowing patience
works within a holy hush,
From room to room maintaining,
keeping each wild tendril tame.

Gay roses in the kitchen,
water lilies in the bath,
All need the expert urgings
of the Eden-crafter's care. . .
Dark-dwellers so deficient
and so lately saved from wrath:
How can we hope for harvest
if all rooms we fail to share?

So often we restrict Him,
Cultivator of the seed
That grace once gladly planted
in each box and every bed. . .
We set the stifled hours
when we think His hands we need,
Not dreaming that imprisoned
petals elsewhere lie half-dead!

Let us allow Him access
to each chamber of our hearts,
For flowers fully flourish---
sweetest blooms of loving joys---
Where He who plants is granted
ministrations of those arts
That gently loose each blossom
and position it with poise.

O Joy of my salvation!
not a closet would I keep
Unopened to Your presence,
for its flowers soon would fade. . .
O Jesus, gentle, joyful---
tranquil Spring so sure and deep---
You have free reign within me,
'til new Eden You have made!


MNA
June 30, 1995

Someone Else's Slave

Pond’ring pathways in my brain,

Finding phantoms I cannot explain,

Quite assured that I must be

So much more than I can see,

More than earthly life and limb contain…

Wond’ring why I choose to go

Far beyond the reasoned roads I know,

Reaching past forbidden doors,

Tasting fruit with poisoned cores,

Planting furrows that refuse to grow…

Wildly straining to be free,

There’s a chain that shackles me,

Binding conscience with how I behave.

Resignation fills my eyes,

For I’ve come to realize

Everybody is somebody’s slave.

We are precious merchandise,

Purchased once, created twice;

Carried off by cosmic lies,

Who could pay so high a price?

From the land where bonds are free,

To the home where foes are brave,

Jesus came to ransom me

To be Someone else’s slave!

Deathly sure of my repose,

Living for the gods I thought I chose,

Playing fast and loose with fate,

Hoping I’ll pass Heaven’s gate

By some clever logic I’d propose…

Laughing lightly at the laws,

Unseen hands effecting ev’ry cause,

Never noticing their scars

As they feed me through the bars,

Poised to snatch me from hell’s gaping jaws…

They say, “Check the lost and found;

Freedom’s train runs underground!

Angels told us that He came to save…

Child, you ought to know by now,

Let your mind conceive somehow;

Everybody is somebody’s slave.

Brother, fortify your nerve,

Bracing for the final choice.

Choose this day whom you will serve

And discern your shepherd’s voice.

Death’s defenses bursting through

From a resurrection grave,

Jesus came to ransom you

To be Someone else’s slave!”

MNA

12/4/1992

More Than Bread

He entered the earthy Jordan

   and for sinners was immersed.

He carried a fleshly burden,

   though by evil never cursed.

He faced our fiendish warden

   who dealt out his wicked worst.

Now, let every soul adore Him---

   love the One who loved us first.

Through the waters of decision let us follow

To the wilderness of trial let us tread.

Through the Word and in His Spirit let us answer,

"Lord, Your children live by more than bread."

More than by bread alone:

That's what our Savior said.

To Him our hearts have flown.

We live, who once were dead!

Orphans are now His own,

By Him our souls are fed,

For Jesus left His throne

To live by more than bread.

He entered the mount of Zion,

   unimpressed by their applause.

He earned the power to strive on,

   for He kept His heavenly cause.

He faced death, bold as a lion,

   letting captors bind His paws.

He then bore the cross we die on,

   locking fast the dragon's jaws.

To the hill of crucifixion let us follow.

Joyful news of resurrection let us spread.

In the barracks and the battle both we answer:

"Lord, Your soldiers live by more than bread!"

More than by bread alone:

That's what our Captain said.

By guiltless blood made one,

Our praises crown His head!

While enemies might groan,

By His sure Word we're led,

For Jesus left His throne

To live by more than bread.

He entered the gates of glory,

   forever reclaimed His right.

His good pleasure now implore we

   as He calls us through the night.

His pattern fleshed out the story

   of the war He bids us fight,

He pilots through oceans stormy

   those who keep His face in sight.

Through the challenges ahead we gladly follow,

Feeding on each faithful Word our King has said.

Whether living or by dying may we answer:

"Your disciples live by more than bread!"

More than by bread alone:

That's what our Teacher said.

He'll never "give a stone"---

His love is clearly read

In pages, flesh and bone;

To us His mercy sped,

For Jesus left His throne

To live by more than bread.

MNA

3/18/1996

Seventy Times Seven

Judgment and forgiveness in weeks of years contained...

Love combined with justice...rejection and pursuit...

God's prophetic pages with godly tears are stained,

Wept to wet a garden full of immortal fruit.

Seventy times seven, since Ephraim returned

To a land now rested from stolen Sabbaths all...

Seventy times seven, save one, since Christ was spurned,

One dread final "seven" awaits the Master's call.

At His joyful entry the nation could have knelt:

Childlike folk acclaimed Him while fathers turned aside...

Vast angelic wonder: His prayer when death was dealt!

"Father, please forgive them. They're blinded by their pride."

Seventy times seven, a pattern Jesus set

For a true disciple by world or brother hurt...

Seventy times seven: we have not suffered yet

As our Savior suffered; His way we can't desert.

Likely hailed and hated through our three-score and ten.

Our supreme Forgiver, His strength cut off halfway,

Grants renewal, redemption, raised up with Him again...

Present both in sufferings and in the debts we pay.

Seventy times seven, to thankful, godly hearts,

Seems no cost for patience, no pain for perfect love.

Seventy times seven. Among all human arts,

Glad forgiveness pictures the grace of life above.

MNA

1993(?)