3 Haikus || An Oblation of Things

Beneath the red eaves
a spider’s-web sail unfurls
leeward, boughs bending

Moss shimmers silver
old Sol sets in the branches’
autumn silhouette

I lie under leaves
the sanctuary above
earthen priest below

It is Always Late Here

And so we dodge the rain-soaked
leaves as they fall – or we don’t;
regardless we approach the wallpaper-houses
plastered with autumn’s gore. We shed

the decay only to don this thin
skin naked to the stale heated air.
Here we sing the refrain “Amen, come
Thou long expected Jesus, come.”

December, you are the clothesline of souls
strung above the hearth. Above the fire
we drip with rain until we are clean,
dry and we with our voices are thin.

Silent night. We have no say in the matter.

I Am Passion

I am passion, not merely passionate;

I was created a god, and a muse,

inspiring the spruce to be evergreen,

the snow to fly, the swallow to sing.

It was for me that Divinity died,

and glorified my race to its proper place:

Sons and Daughters of eternal light.

This place realized, I am resolute;

I am passion because of the value

placed on me by the fact that I am,

and thus I conquer the air and command

spirits, which flee from or bow to my self.

A draught more dense than blood swells

            in my heart

into my veins and I am invincible.

I am eternal, as an enchanted

pool is eternal – forever poured into

by a cascade greater than itself.

I will go forth to the east, and the west;

the north will be unveiled; the south:

            discovered;

and thus discovered, they will be made

            whole.

In my presence they will jovially

exult, and give glory to that waterfall

by which my soul is fed, and made content.

Look, and see! Because this is me, myself,

my soul, that depth, bared in ferocity.

And so I raise my fist as I would a sword,

But far greater weapons are my knuckles

and skin, and so I shake them at the wind

and snicker in adversity’s midst –

thereby sharing in my Creator’s plight.

Underneath: a Villanelle

In a sense more real than blood and sinews,
something flows throughout my being
free of blue veins and ruddy tissues.

It streams through me at mountain views,
breaths of autumn, and the songs I sing
in a sense more real than blood and sinews.

I breathe it in whenever I see you
in frosty nights with snow falling;
free of blue veins and ruddy tissues.

It leads me to board planes and canoes
to give water and food to the needy
(in a sense more real than blood and sinews}.

Separate from me, it’s the watcher of moons;
moving across the face of the waters, being
in a sense more real than blood and sinews,
free of blue veins and ruddy tissues.

Hamartia

When the first morning beams
alight on my window panes
I feel my coarse humanity
like charcoal. Empty. Light.
I’m broken by careless hands;
malice makes an end of me:
Weakness defines my porous
frame.

The morning grows wiser,
I submerge myself
in divinity,
like streams of silver
coursing through my frail
veins, and I am whole.

The deluge lasts for the day,
during which I bask in strength.
In the frigid night,
I return to my brittle state
and again seek divinity

High Water

Tight curls of blue and green
Twirl about my toes, now
About my heels. How quickly
This playful current becomes
A raging torrent of red
Clay washed up in the flood.
I’d run to higher ground
To escape this high water
If only there were ground
To which to escape.

There is none, and still
The water rises.

Anxiety. Fear. Worry.
The water’s at my chest,
But I keep my head.
Pump my legs to keep afloat.
I grow tired; the water pulls
At my skin: down, down, down.

And still the water rises.

“Give up, let me take you.”
The torrent speaks to me –
Am I losing sanity?
All about me the voice
Echoes.

I struggle with the surface,
“Let me live!” I cry, to which
I receive no answer.
I surrender. The current
Envelopes me, embraces
Me like a child dearly missed.
I sink, I must be leaden;
Down to where I have no hope
Of ever breathing air again.

The water’s clear at depth.
Cool, crisp and clean, pleading.
Pleading with me to let go –
Release the oxygen
That I so desperately
Hold in my lungs. This is it.
I exhale.

Soon all will be darkness.
I wait until my lungs
Must inhale, by reflex –
Wait until water fills them.

“Trust me.” I hear vibrate
In every molecule of
Hydrogen and oxygen.
And thus, at last I inhale.

Water is denser than air
In the lungs; denser, yes,
And richer. I’m breathing
Deliciously, like I’ve
Never breathed before –
As if these lungs were made
To breathe water, to which
Air is a mediocre
Substitute.

Yes, I am breathing. Alive!
Deliciously, delectably
Alive! And I’ve come so deep
Now, that never will I
Have to breathe wretched air
Again! I am free!

The water is all about –
Without me and within me.
I am not the water,
But the water makes me free.

Mere Mortality

“The load, or weight, or burden of my neighbor’s glory should be laid daily on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud will be broken. It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship [ . . . ]. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal.”

– C.S. Lewis

On the Friday of Heldenwoche (Heroes’ Week), the kids’ camp in Germany of which I had the privilege to be a part this summer, I had an epiphany that the point around which our team centered the camp – the fact that everyone can be a superhero by Christ’s life within us – is exactly the point that I had planned on making during the devotion I had been asked to lead that next morning. This is what I wrote in my journal as a rough draft of sorts for that devotion.

This past year, God began teaching me a lesson about having my identity in Christ and what that means for everyone. In the midst of a bout of depression, I heard the Lord say to me: Harman, you are My brother, My coheir; and you are more than a conquerer because of my life within you. This led me to Romans 8:15-17 & 35-39 (look it up, it’s good stuff, and keep your Bible handy, you’ll need it.)

We are sons and daughters of the MOST HIGH GOD – coheirs with Christ . . . if seems that “super-hero” is too tame of a word . . . Christ calls us by a much fiercer name that I think better sums up the power that we have only through Him. When debating with the Pharisees, Christ quotes Psalms 82:6, “I said, you are gods/ you are the sons of the Most High”.

Indeed, we are the image-bearers of YHWH – the pinnacle of creation. In Ephesians, Paul tells us of the power that comes with the indwelling Holy Spirit – the power that comes with this sonship and daughtership. (Now you need to look up Ephesians 1:18-23.)

Here Paul explains that the Holy Spirit of Power that raised Christ from the dead lives within us, and thereby we have been given that selfsame power – NOT, I stress, by our own strength, but by the power of our Head – under whose feet God has placed all things.

So who is the “super-hero”?

We are. We are each super-heroes; gods in the likeness of the Most High; sons and daughters of the King whose kingdom is coming! This is our identity – we are co-heirs and more than conquerers because of the Power that lives within us.

But don’t get me wrong – we are not gods of our own making. We are nothing without our Savior God. NOTHING. Yesterday we taught the kids a memory verse. “Denn alles ist mir moeglich durch Jesus Christus, der mir die Kraft gibt, die ich brauche!” (“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”) The emphasis here is not on “I” or “all things”, as we like to think. No, it’s on “Christ, who strengthens me”. It is because of Christ that we are sons and daughters, it is by Him that we cry “Abba, Father!”

This is our hope, the blessed hope known only to those who know Christ: that He, by His death and resurrection, has redeemed us and taken our sins away. But furthermore, He has given us the Kingdom – that we may be called sons and daughters of the Most High.