A God Desperate To Be Loved Read online

  heaving

  with your dear Son’s

  ineffable love!

  Silent, abandoned God!

  Can you find no new

  Elijah to unleash

  your livid fire,

  vindicate your honor,

  confirm your Presence,

  your sovereignty?

  Shall your people forever lick

  pilgrim dust,

  yet never recline

  in the glistening glades

  of Carmel?

  Oh, Yahweh!

  Why do you not march

  today with our armies

  like yesterday?

  Is there not one person

  unkempt enough

  to topple self-sufficiency?

  Stretch forth your staff!

  Part seas!

  Hallow your Name!

  Shall what our ancestors

  witnessed and inscribed

  on old scrolls

  we not see?

  Is your Name

  not still

  Today?

  O Today!

  What is your intention?

  Is this my dogged gloom--

  yours or another’s invention?

  But,oh, the darkening slopes

  of Carmel sigh,

  as ‘mid the gathering gloom

  they spy, rising from the crimson

  core of your deft,

  your deathless purpose,

  new vistas

  dazzling in the sky!

  “No! It is not over--

  the plan I have in place!

  For when all dreams dissolve

  in dust and hearts wane

  heavy and Samsons cower,

  when new moons flee, birds start

  as at the coming, fearsome towers

  of a mounting storm-

  the tomb yet stirs.

  But did I not I tell you that

  at the first?

  How fragile

  is your memory!”

  But now, you dogs, bark,

  and you birds, chirp!

  All is peaceful along the street;

  and you, my chosen,

  have peace and know:

  I am still in charge.

  My plan grows brighter!

  “One thing I ask of the Lord; / this I seek: [...] to gaze on the Lord’s beauty

  Psalm 27: 4

  YOUR OWN PSALM

  Tonight,

  each servant, write

  your own psalm, sing

  in your own space

  out of your own

  silence, weave

  your own destiny.

  You,

  every servant of the

  blazing Sun-King,

  deftly weave the mystic silver

  beams that dart

  the pale, hallowed halls of your heart,

  unique as each

  the hermit of a

  primal freshness.

  Yes,

  each of you--

  whether deed sit or

  seethe, whether you

  pray, paint, or lead--

  each

  the hermit of your

  own quest,

  prophet

  of your singular

  star-fire of the one

  All.

  “... I sing to you, all alone, yet not alone--with you. I sing

  so sweetly and so long my solitary sparrow song.”

  “A Sparrow’s Song”

  A SPARROW’S SONG

  1

  I, a sparrow, singing in the trees,

  a song so dear

  so haunting, so familiar

  to Christian hearts--yet, I,

  captive of your reckless jealousy, Lord,

  sit, your spouse,

  far

  from common gatherings.

  The streams of people,

  deep in silence,

  flow far, far below.

  But I sing to you, I alone--

  yet not alone--with you.

  I sing so sweetly and so long

  my solitary sparrow’s song

  ‘though none suspect my bright

  secret: God Alone.

  2

  Oh, how the forests

  in their haunting beauty

  remember all their now-

  faded pasts! How they love my song!

  Poets sang here, painters, prophets,

  psalmists--all the centuries’

  heart-wrenched lovers.

  And the forests smile today

  as I sit beneath this sun-swept tree

  refreshed by the soft breeze

  of forever--

  a solitary sparrow, child

  of creation, so graced--

  but, oh, so wildly ruffled

  in winds of self-hatred!

  Am I so out of the passing scene--

  I, feverishly ripped from common

  assurances, able to delight

  only, only in you, my God,

  always an enigma to myself?

  The streams of people, deep in silence,

  flow far, far below.

  But I sing to you, I alone--

  yet not alone--with you.

  I sing so sweetly and so long

  my solitary sparrow’s song

  ‘though none suspect my bright

  secret: God Alone’

  3

  Oh, how I have longed to savor

  common seasons of romance--

  holding hands, tender enamored looks.

  Yet, no! You taught me another song.

  “None of this for you!” you said.

  “My love alone is your prize.

  I, the Master Painter, you my work.

  Do not look back at me like that

  and ask, ‘But why?

  Why sigh for me?”’

  “For all that you grieve, thank me,

  little sparrow--for the guilt,

  the reddened, adoring eyes

  forever weeping for her,

  for I have made you to be

  wholly mine, my spouse. Let

  your grief-bleeding tears

  sing for joy,”God made it so.”

  “Why? To bring you home to myself,

  to rejoice fully in my love,

  free of guilt, free of regret,

  free of bitter tears--

  free, a solitary sparrow in the trees.”

  So, even through my scalding tears

  I sing. I sing, my God, your sparrow.

  O my sunbright, eternal king!

  The streams of people, deep in silence, flow far, far below. But I sing to you, I alone-- yet not alone--with you. I sing so sweetly and so long my solitary sparrow’s song ‘though none suspect my bright secret: God Alone.

  “Set me as a seal on your heart [...] for stern as death is love, devotion relentless as the netherworld

  Song of Songs 8: 6

  III BETROTHAL

  “...I have betrothed you

  to one husband

  to present you as

  a chaste virgin to Christ.”

  2 Corinthians ll: 2

  “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth! Your love is more delightful than wine!”

  Song of Songs 1: 2

  EMBRACE

  Shimmering before the sun,

>   we, two silhouettes,

  embrace.

  Spreading before us,

  the sea,

  unsheathing slips of

  shivering quicksilver,

  sounds the seductive bells

  of first love.

  Sirens sing in mystic harmony,

  “This love is much more

  than mere passing fancy!”

  “Oh, yes, much more,”

  chimes a sunlit gull,

  as a heaven of stars,

  dizzy with amazement,

  springs alive

  and, all calming,

  like the stilling whisper

  of ancient ages past,

  a flair from the frail

  heart of air

  appears,

  revealing

  unsullied eternity.

  Myriads of silken sirens

  cheer and chant

  with joy as we, my love,

  beneath solemn pine steeples,

  kiss and become the prize

  of a far fairer shore.

  “[...] we escaped like a bird from the fowler’s snare.Our help is from the Lord, the maker of heaven

  and earth.”

  Psalm 123: 7, 8

  WING

  Cloyed of heart and unsheathed

  as the first wan wing

  of morning, I slip

  dream-sly

  into the slick

  silkway of limitless azure--

  winging so wistful-

  ly, all enchanting

  over billowing salt breasts

  sailing,

  blissbright and full of dream.

  Oh, rue not my right to wing so,

  you who gaze so wistfully on, so

  wide-eyed and full of wonder

  at my freedom, so full of desire

  also to be

  so.

  It’s o.k., though.

  You also may be

  so

  when sunbright sings for you,

  fearless in her grasp

  at last, and free.

  So,

  look not wistfully on my flight,

  no, not so,

  like a barren strumpet.

  “The wind blows where it wills, and you can hear the sound it makes, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes; so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit

  John 3: 8

  THE IRREPRESSIBLE WING

  Signs of decomposition

  and of life, life’s

  never tiring translation--

  a pile of black, dead branches

  pocked with defecation--

  yet also, the persistence

  of movement, the recurrent sun,

  the enamored dog-wood bud

  by the weed-run granite fountain.

  Here I sit this April morning

  alone in the garden,

  resting under this cool,

  mellow guardian of past presents

  which yesterday was here

  as today I am;.

  and, yes, even here

  again is shining,

  over the fresh sunlit green,

  the unfettered, irrepressible wing.

  ABDUCTION

  Deep is the twilight,

  yet somehow brilliant!

  I keep vigil alone

  at a desperate heaven;

  a dim shadow

  in the sea of eternity,

  a solitary lover

  before infinity.

  Wrapped in your stillness,

  invisible Lover,

  I am filled with your fullness,

  an empty laver.

  I cannot speak:

  there is no wisdom.

  I cannot hear:

  there is no voice.

  I can only sit

  still as forever,

  for you are silence

  and in your presence

  my heart is cloyed.

  Peace!

  Creation folds,

  packs his scenes

  and walks away.

  Purpose has fled

  into it’s essence,

  far from fanfare’s

  flippant ray.

  Here I have all.

  I am all.

  I and you, my Beloved,

  are one,

  resting in your orchard,

  ripe for dawn--

  as time claps

  its thunders,

  it’s tenure done.

  Peace.

  Oh, the twilight’s

  scented air

  by this pale,

  lapping stream

  ruffles so gently

  to a deaf piper’s dream--

  as you draw me into

  your strong arms,

  O my ever-primping,

  my ever abiding King.

  Oh, I begin to faint

  as magic crickets sing.

  Alone let us stay,

  alone until day

  peal forever

  its ultimate arrival:

  a crackling fire

  rising into infinity,

  a peerless tune,

  the definitive answer

  to a dying June.

  “Mortals are a mere breath

  Psalm 62: 10

  IV EXILE

  “I opened to my lover--

  but my lover had gone.

  I sought him

  but I did not find him.

  I called to him

  but he did not answer me.”

  Song of Songs 5: 6

  “Because you ... ate from the tree of which I forbade you to eat... in toil shall you eat its yield [...]. So, the Lord God banished them from the Garden of Eden....“

  Genesis 3: 17, 23

  WHY?

  Tonight a full moon lights

  the broad grassy field

  by the round lake

  in Overton Park.

  I stand alone gazing

  at the Art Academy,

  bright and bustling with guests,

  and--I seem a world away.

  I think about her--so

  achingly lovely, smiling, laughing,

  and my restless heart

  here--so

  captive

  of a lonely God.

  I can not see why!

  Why?

  Why, God, do you

  hold me jealously?

  Why?

  That question underlies

  all questions,

  and all my thoughts

  flail, fallacies

  at the realization,

  the stark intimation

  of all my dogmatisms,

  the ideas my mind formulates

  and agrees to believe.

  I feel so

  alone.

  I am

  adrift

  in existence.

  Existence--

  that word is so cold.

  Too cold.

  My fur-lined jacket

  is warmer.

  I must rest.

  I’ve got it!

  I’ll go to sleep--

  and wake up happy.

  But that, I know,

  is impossible.

  I can’t stop thinking--

  for I see you, love,
<
br />   my elusive passion,

  your soft lips, your graceful

  beguiling form

  gazing, ‘mid silver rivulets,

  at me in the moonlit water;

  but, seized by God,

  my trenchant Lover,

  I obey myself

  and humbly kiss his

  sacred earth.

  Oh, my rapacious God!

  I can not be warm enough!

  I can not be comforted enough

  in my heart’s restless center.

  Why is my heart so torn

  between my maker,

  a jealous, omnipotent Lover,

  and--her?

  Why?

  Why not?

  Oh, I shall wander here and there,

  see the scenes of many years,

  but, someday

  maybe, the question,

  the intrepid question,

  Why?

  will disappear.

  Maybe, my love,

  you and the Academy will

  disappear

  and I,

  I shall finally understand

  this God who holds

  me jealously in his hand.

  But now I hear

  the crickets wake

  and, though you

  are forever there,

  and I, I am here--

  God wills it,

  so I cannot fight it.

  That, at least, is good,

  a partial answer to my heart-

  wrenching cry,

  Why?’

  “Behold, I stand at the door and knock.”

  Revelation 3:20

  WHAT IS A DOOR BUT A WAY

  What is a door but a way

  to another here