| | I have never liked poetry. It didn’t have a plot, was really esoteric, and seemed, well, pathetically boring. But as I have started writing, preaching, and teaching, I have grown in curiosity for these men and women who craft words. My normal peregrination around a bookshop is starting to include a traipse down the poetry aisle.
I am struck by the poet’s ability to communicate so much with so little. I am attracted to the neat and tidiness, the succinctness, the beauty, the simplicity, the effort and focus to make each word count. It is reading a rifle shot rather than a machine gun. It seems in most media today we are overwhelmed by words and information-- bludgeoned with letters. But as one who talks about truth, justice, and Jesus, I can’t let words get in the way. If this is the calling God has given, I want to be so clear, attractive, and respectful of words that could give life to their hearer.
On the selfish, pragmatic side, I want to be better at what I do and I think a poet could be a guide that takes me there. If I immerse myself in their writing, maybe their respect, thoughtfulness, and carefulness will steep into my communication.
As a travelogue side note, I spent yesterday in Boston by myself. I was noticing that the introvert in me was roaring for a little love (seeing a lot of impatience with Macrae, general irritableness). So Laurel graciously helped me take the whole day to feed the introvert. I rode the train downtown and then walked for about 4 hours. It was incredible. I feel like I understand the city a lot better and can picture all the different parts. Boston is beautiful. There were two highlights. First a book store-- The Brattle Book Shop which is the oldest shop of its kind. There I found a third edition Robert Frost book of poetry and a Virginia Woolf for Laurel. I could have spent a lot longer than the hour I did looking around. The other most striking piece was all the churches. They are gorgeous with high steeples, ornate interiors, and rich history. Yet this is a place that is hardened to God and resistant to his winsome wooing. It surprisingly drew me to prayer. I asked Jesus to again pour out his Spirit in this place, to bring hope, to bring healing, and I began to wonder if this might be a place that He calls my family to serve.
I wonder if it would be a john 12 kernel of wheat dying that we would be called to. What would that cost my family?
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| | Posted 8/19/2004 7:02 AM - 48 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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