From that time on.

From that time on

That day,

when he called us together

and gave us the talk,

changed everything;

our lives included.

No going back to the easy excitement

of those earlier times, halcyons,

when the message was new,

along with the company.

We move on.

The journey becomes more determined,

the actions more considered;

the serious stuff has begun.

It was never a light thing,

but now we talk openly

of the struggles,

the suffering,

the dying.

This chosen road passes

from light to darkness,

and back to light again.

It takes us into the shadowed places,

the dim corners of a world

that waits yearningly for a coming;

for those who might bear even a glimmer,

the smallest spark

of defiant hope.

From that time on

we began to be disciples.

© Ken Rookes 2014

Stumbling blocks

My hand, my foot, my eye;

yes, from time to time

and on occasions, each of these

causes me to stumble.

Other parts too, including some

which my innate sense of decorum

precludes me mentioning.

My brain is the worst,

harbouring, as it does,

my quest for comfort,

my desire for a quiet life,

and those thoughts

which might properly be described

as lustful.

Shall I cut them off, or tear them out,

as the gospel writers suggest?

But I no longer believe in hell,

and my brain might be considered

a somewhat essential organ;

and it appears that my selfish desires

are as much a part of my core being

as any proclivities towards goodness,

love and generosity.

This latter group of worthy aspects

are, I like to think, fruits

of a discipleship choice I have made

to follow one who is truth.

These qualities I try to cultivate;

the others, I strive to keep in check.

Everything else is grace.

© Ken Rookes 2012

For I do not do the good I want.

The confessional apostle

presents us with a candid view

of his struggles; of his continuing battle

with what he calls the flesh.

Aware of his failures

to the point of despair, but not quite;

he turns his pain into a celebration

of the grace revealed in his Lord.

The apostle does what so many have done

in the two millennia that have elapsed

since he wrote his letters;

he exaggerates his depravity

in order to make larger the grace,

forgetting that his Lord’s generosity

already has no limits.

I remember, in my youth, hearing stories

of people whose alcohol-plagued

and morally-degraded lives

were miraculously turned around

in testimony to the gospel;

and momentarily wishing that I, too,

could speak of such a gutter-to-glory

transformation. But grace

is proven in many ways; our humanness

is always a number of notches less than perfect,

and each one of us depends

upon the generosity of others,

including our strange God.

It is unnecessary to imagine

that we are worse than we are,

and it is foolishness to pretend

that, of ourselves, we can do nothing right.

Grace still abounds, and we should celebrate

kind and loving acts wherever we find them,

whether or not they are done consciously

in the service of God.

© 2011 Ken Rookes