March 2018
Chris Anderson
anderson7715@msn.com
anderson7715@msn.com
I’m a Catholic deacon—I’m also an English professor at Oregon State—but I’m a deacon, too, and one of the things deacons do is preach. What’s interesting for me—essential for me—is how poetry and preaching overlap. This is a very informal little poem I wrote, in fact, to preach as a short homily at a daily mass during this past Advent. That’s why the Biblical citations are there. I usually don’t write this explicitly or in a sense conventionally about faith when I write poems, as poems—certainly don’t often write poems in the form of prayers--so it really surprises and pleases me that Firestone was interested in publishing this. Thank you!
Chris, You are most welcome. It's my pleasure to publish your poetry. -FF
Editor's Note: I saw this poem in Chris's email-publication The Imperfect Catholic and asked him if I could publish it. Then synchronicity stepped in; Dick Allen passed away and Lori Allen wrote this: Poetry was meditation for Dick, even prayer.
Chris, You are most welcome. It's my pleasure to publish your poetry. -FF
Editor's Note: I saw this poem in Chris's email-publication The Imperfect Catholic and asked him if I could publish it. Then synchronicity stepped in; Dick Allen passed away and Lori Allen wrote this: Poetry was meditation for Dick, even prayer.
Plowshares
Isaiah 2:1-5; Matthew 8:5-11
O Lord, beat my sword into a plowshare:
my anger into acceptance,
my pride into humility,
my impatience into patience,
my doubt into faith,
my selfishness into compassion.
O Lord, beat my spear into a pruning hook:
that I may cut out all that is unnecessary
in my life,
and all that is distracting in my life,
and all that is sinful
and especially all that is subtly sinful,
that slowly dulls and deadens me
so that I no longer see you
and hear you;
may I clear away all that chokes the good
and holy and clean
and free my true self, my self in You.
Lord,
help me to know my unworthiness,
my smallness,
my ordinariness,
my limitation and my need;
help me to admit
how little I understand
and how little I can do,
so that you can enter into me.
O Lord,
enter under my roof:
break through my thick skull,
break through my useless thoughts,
break through my anxiety
and my obsessiveness and my fear.
O Lord,
come into the secret of my heart
and never leave me,
make of my heart a home
for your spirit and your love,
make of my heart a fire so bright
it will light my way
through the darkness to come.
Isaiah 2:1-5; Matthew 8:5-11
O Lord, beat my sword into a plowshare:
my anger into acceptance,
my pride into humility,
my impatience into patience,
my doubt into faith,
my selfishness into compassion.
O Lord, beat my spear into a pruning hook:
that I may cut out all that is unnecessary
in my life,
and all that is distracting in my life,
and all that is sinful
and especially all that is subtly sinful,
that slowly dulls and deadens me
so that I no longer see you
and hear you;
may I clear away all that chokes the good
and holy and clean
and free my true self, my self in You.
Lord,
help me to know my unworthiness,
my smallness,
my ordinariness,
my limitation and my need;
help me to admit
how little I understand
and how little I can do,
so that you can enter into me.
O Lord,
enter under my roof:
break through my thick skull,
break through my useless thoughts,
break through my anxiety
and my obsessiveness and my fear.
O Lord,
come into the secret of my heart
and never leave me,
make of my heart a home
for your spirit and your love,
make of my heart a fire so bright
it will light my way
through the darkness to come.
© 2018 Chris Anderson
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell him or her. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is the beginning of community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -FF