beatitudes

Blessed in poverty and grief,
Blessed my will to set aside,
Blessed in hunger and in thirst

At Your table satisfied.

Blessed Your mercy to impart,

Blessed with sight, now pure in heart.

Blessed the lost to reconcile,

Blessed to be refined in trial.

Blessed, because you loved me first –
You, who were yourself accursed,
You who bore my guilt and shame,         
Who for me a curse became.

You, though cursed (how can this be?)

Speak your blessing over me.

j. wilkin

9.23.08

a meditation for the inner room

One of the things I dreaded most about moving back to North Texas four years ago was tornado season. Since my childhood I have held a healthy respect (okay, paralyzing phobia) of high winds and swirling clouds - in 1979 a mile-wide tornado tore through my hometown. I still remember the howling, clattering roar of it. Since then, if the sirens are sounding you'll find me in the closet under the stairs.

Of course, Houston boasted its own scary brand of weather: the hurricane. Last night as I was sitting in my Dallas home (in the closet under the stairs, listening to the sirens) I remembered this poem that I had written a few years back during a Houston hurricane season. On re-reading it I found it to be a good reminder for the fearful and the doubtful, of whom I have certainly been both.

We are literally thunderstruck by the display of God's power in the elements. But are we adequately amazed at the deeper truth they point to? Sometimes I need my eyes reopened to the greatest display of God's power I have ever witnessed. So here's what I'll meditate on as I "enter into my closet" each spring.

reflections on a hurricane

A churning vortex, reeling unconfined -

In wind and water, terror finds its form.
“Behold,” Derision croons into my mind,
“Believest thou His finger stirs the storm?”

“Is it His voice that thunders in the gale,
That roars above the rising of each swell?
Is it His breath that spews the rain and hail?
Speak, little fool, and own thy folly well. “

Believest thou His finger stirs the storm?

A vastly deeper foolishness I own:
Not only doth He sky and sea transform,
More wondrous still, He stirs the heart of stone.

Job 26: 14

And these are but the outer fringe of his works;
       how faint the whisper we hear of him!
       Who then can understand the thunder of his power?"

of wicket gates and wider ways

'...thou hast forsaken the way that is good, to tread in forbidden paths; yet will the man at the (wicket) gate receive thee, for he has goodwill for men.' - John Bunyan, The Pilgrim's Progress


Hate not the narrow road
Its path is strong and sure
And safety for the soul
Of him who would endure

Despise thee not the gate
Though entry may cost all
For mercy doth await
Once through that portal small

Though other roads run broad
And other gates stand wide
Esteem the narrow way
That spans a vast divide

Pass not the narrow gate
But seek to enter through
It bars the way to none
But shows itself to few

And hast thou seen this gate?
Pray, run to it this day
For Christ doth beckon thee –
He is both Gate and Way

j. wilkin 11.9.08

Matthew 7:13-14, John 10:7-9, John 14:5-6

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two trees

Last night at the end of the teaching on Genesis 3 we talked about how the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil was a shadow of the cross. I shared a poem that I had written as I was preparing the study, and I am posting it now for those of you who have asked. People tend to either love poetry or loathe it. If you are the latter, feel free to skip this post!

I love words and seem to have been born with the Dr. Seuss gene (curse?), so when a truth hits me hard it sometimes comes out in verse. It is hard to share poetry - I think it is the most intensely personal form of writing someone can do. It makes me feel about as exposed as Adam and Eve with their flimsy figleaf ensembles. But I have found that sometimes the hardest things to share are the very things we should offer up for consideration, so here we go...

Two Trees

There is a tree set broad and high,
Partake of it, if you would die.
There, on its branches, plain to see
A feast for thee.


“Take and eat”, O hear the Lie
I live still, and yet I die
Good and evil now I see
O cursed me.


But, see –


There is a tree set broad and high,
Partake of it, if you would die.
There, on its branches, plain to see
A feast for thee.


“Take and eat - my flesh I give”
Die I do, and yet, I live
Shattered curse by Thy decree,
O blessed Tree.


j. wilkin 8.18.10