Poetry

My Misunderstanding

/ joethewaller / Leave a comment

Note: This poem is satirical in nature. Psalm 46:10 challenged me lately. I realized that I live all too often as if ministry depends upon my efforts rather than recognizing that God brings the growth. I also realized that I can all too easily sacrifice time with the Lord when school and ministry get demanding. That’s not the right option at all. I need to spend time with God first, and live and work in his strength. This poem, then, is an exaggeration; I don’t actually pray this. But I often live as if I don’t need God for the work he’s called me to do. This poem, in a way, is a confession that I need to learn to “be still” and know that he is God.

“Be still,” you say, “and know that I am God.”
But know ye not, my Lord, that I must move?
I dare not halt or tarry as I trod,
That daily I might my devotion prove.
I have no time to sit and talk with thee
For there are souls who do not know your love.
You simply need to grant my ev’ry plea,
That I might win more souls for heav’n above.
I, Lord, like Martha, see the work to do,
And I, to honor you, would give my all.
I would be known by men as ever true.
I need no other quest, no further call.
You justified me, Lord, by thy good will.
I need naught else, so you can now be still.

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Untitled, 4-8-16

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We bar and barricade the doors
In our attempts to gain control
Over the monster of the moors
Whose presence takes a deathly toll.
Among our fellow men we place
A visage of maturity,
And wear a smile upon the face
That none might our true nature see.
And all the while we waste away
As day by day the monster kills.
We fall defeated in the fray,
Forsaken by our fallen wills.
We will forever lose the fight,
For our desires are much too strong.
Unless we fall before the Light,
We soon will sing our final song.
The only answer to the curse
Is in the God-man crucified.
In death was opened heaven’s purse.
His payment poured from pierced side
That we poor sinners could be cleared
From wages that were well deserved.
He saved us from the fate we feared,
And humbly our Creator served.
So do not tarry in this time
And risk eternity in strife,
But heed the reason for this rhyme
And turn to Christ the Lord for life!

Hope, My Soul, In God

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Hope, my soul, in God.
Lift your head and have no fear.
Know, O heart, that he is here.
To this promise, tune your ear.
See his staff and rod.

Hope in his good reign.
Sov’reign over ev’ry sin,
His, the earth and all therein.
Ev’ry battle, he will win.
Trust him through the rain.

“Hope: the best of things.”
Devil, demons, try your might;
You’ve already lost the fight.
Darkness cannot kill the Light.
Peace and joy, he brings.

Creation

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The Lord has spoken to the void
And brought about a great expanse.
Into a world of life devoid,
He called creation up to dance.
He formed the fabric of this time,
And light was his divine decree.
No language can his glory rhyme;
He rules o’er all in sov’reignty.
He is the Author of all love,
All pleasure too, his gift of grace,
All wonder at the stars above,
And ev’ry wonder of this space.
O magnify the grace of God,
And praise the perfect Lord of all,
And join with all, the sky and sod,
Resounding his all glorious call.

The Humble Ruler

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The humble ruler born to die did come
Desiring not the trappings of a king.
Far greater than all earthly glory’s sum,
He entered his own world through suffering.
Presuming not to take the place of prince,
He lived instead a life of sacrifice.
His poverty did make the wealthy wince,
Yet he was fit to pay the ransom price.
So well acquainted was he with our grief,
Afflicted by the wrath of God above.
The silent, slaughtered lamb has won relief,
And, by his wounds, he heals our hearts in love.
In service did the Master live and die
And rise to rescue lost ones from the lie.

Who Is A God Like You?

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Who is a God like you
That you should hear our cries,
And pardon our iniquity,
And never speak in lies?
Who is a God like you
That we are not too small
For you to stoop and seek and save
Our souls from our great fall?
Who is a God like you
That you should suffer loss,
And leave your throne to bear the curse
Of sin upon that cross?
Who is a God like you
Who overcomes our death
Who makes the broken heart to beat
And gives us saving breath?

Salvation

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O God, I humbly must confess
My love for all unrighteousness.
My love for you, I know, is less
Than my desire for filthiness.
And I, by my own might, cannot
Erase the blemish, ban the blot
Of sin. This wound I cannot clot.
Apart from help, this life will rot.
So come before this heart of dross
That festers underneath the gloss
Makes of this man a total loss.
O God, how I deserve that cross.
I know there is no good in me.
Your son, I could not hope to be,
For by your Word, I better see:
My only hope must come from Thee.
And though I cannot earn your peace,
By grace you do from sin release
My soul, and cause my death to cease.
Your holy blood has washed my fleece.
Depravity cannot repel
The Savior snatching souls from hell.
And though we wear this dying shell,
Our ears will hear the wedding bell.
So let me never now lose sight
Of your great glory, grace, and might,
And let your holy, saving light
Shine through and make me ever bright.

O Heart Like That of Jonah

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Is anger justified in you
Who sees your plans frustrated?
Who feels your life berated?
Whose choices are debated?
Do you do well to take the hue
Of anger in your manner?
Of squalor as your banner?
And rage against the Planner?
Are there no better fights to fight
That you should mourn the passing
Of selfishly amassing
These treasures unsurpassing?
Are you so blinded by the night
That fleeting follies fill you?
That Jesus does not imbue?
That you forget your rescue?

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Sharpening

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How can I comfort those who mourn
Unless I learn to mourn myself?
For fellowship with those forlorn,
I must be taken from the shelf.
For there I sat so safe and calm,
But there I also gathered dust.
If this, my life, would be a balm,
Then I must learn that God is just
Not just in times of peace and rest,
But in my sorrow, sickness, strife.
If I would follow heaven’s best,
I will not have an easy life.
But through my broken heart, he speaks,
And through my suff’ring, Christ is seen.
If soon, with death, my body reeks,
My soul, by grace through faith, is clean.
So why would I avoid the pain
If, through the turmoil, faith is grown?
The struggle leads to priceless gain
As man’s despair is overthrown.
All things do work together for
The good of those He called in love,
And though we walk the road of war,
God reigns in sov’reignty above.

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To Worship and to Fight

/ joethewaller / 2 Comments

I feel temptation’s throes around me now.
My heart is being beaten by the brute.
This flesh would see me finished with my vow.
Cry vengeance, God, and cut it at the root.
Too long have I now struggled just to breathe.
Too long have I imagined life is jest.
The holy Sword of God I must unsheathe,
And drive the blade into my very chest.
Cut out the heart of stone, O Lord of hosts,
And bring the dead to life by sacrifice,
For Christ has come to walk among the ghosts.
He paid with his own blood the ransom price.
O resurrected Warrior of light,
Raise me now up to worship and to fight.

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