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Category Archives: Poetry

Guest blog post: “Dead… and yet I see”

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Article copyright by Brian A. Williamson

(Brian A. Williamson is a hospital chaplain and former pastor in Mississippi. He shares the following reflection on a funeral and on a hospital visit he made with a dying patient, which I found thought-provoking. He follows the reflection with a poem. Feel free to share your comments below.)

 

I recently attended the funeral of my dear friend Jack’s beloved wife of more than 30 years—Paula. Paula, too, was a close friend of mine, but not like Jack. I’ve told people many times about Jack’s faithful service as a devoted deacon of the first church I served as pastor. Being with Jack in this setting was different… Many times before Jack and I sat with others in a funeral setting, but usually he was the one walking around and ministering to others in the room. He was clearly uncomfortable on this occasion with all the attention he was receiving by those coming to pay their respects and offer condolences—a mark of an incredibly humble man. On this day, I saw no tears fall from his eyes while I marveled at his faith—he clearly knew that his wife’s final hope was realized.

Paula’s casket was beautiful; the drape of orchids, hydrangea, and white with light blue roses was the prettiest I’d ever seen on a casket. The colors of the flowers provided the eyes with a visual symphony in perfect pitch…and all of this matched the colors of the sanctuary of that little country church beautifully; and I thought, “Paula would smile if she could see all of this…” And then it hit me—I wonder, “what if she can?”       I looked to and fro amongst all us mourners and supporters, contemplating this thought with a different curiosity than ever before. I thought, she’d cry at her own funeral—there were people everywhere sitting with this family, to support them and mourn with them over the loss of “the Queen of Banana Pudding” as she is known in the church. Paula isn’t used to this much attention, and I imagine she’d be uncomfortable with all this, too. Hmmm… I wonder, “What do dead people see?”

 

Flashback—I visited a terminal cancer patient in the hospital months ago who told me her only prayer request since being given a terminal diagnosis was to ask God to let her live long enough to see her first grandchild being born. Tearfully, she acknowledged the looming reality that she was dying faster than her daughter’s pregnancy was progressing. Several family members sat somberly with this woman as she lamented her death and God’s flat denial of her request. “Why would God take this from me?” she asked, seeming to genuinely hope that I had a great answer… But, I didn’t. Then she asked, “Do you think God will let me see my granddaughter’s birth even though I’m dead?”

I’d never considered a question the likes of this one before. Is it answerable? I pondered what it might be like once dead; is there Scripture to support such a notion? As I pondered the question further, her family began to offer her spiritual condolences… “Everything’s gonna be ok, why you won’t even care about us…things will be so beautiful in heaven that you won’t even think about us” said one man in a wheelchair. Another chimed in, “That’s right—you’ll just be worshipping the Lord, and you’ll be so consumed by his majesty that you’ll forget about us altogether…” Still another, “When you get to heaven, your sense of time will be like a warp or something; you won’t even think of being in a different place cause when you blink, we’ll all be there with you.” (Really? I thought…you gotta be kiddin’ me!) I thought more about the woman’s question…it was simple…yes or no…no other explanation needed.

YES” I said; and the room fell quiet instantly, as if someone had thrown open the hatch in space and the vacuum sucked all the wind and words out of the room. My eyes were locked into the dying woman’s eyes as I had come to this conclusion, communicating my sincere faith in my response. She locked her eyes on mine as seconds passed in slow motion—she was processing. She looked interested and hopeful, and I repeated, “Yes. I do think that God will allow you to see the birth of your granddaughter even though you are dead.”

The others in the room leaned back as if lightning was about to strike me as God “took me out” for such heresy. I continued with my thoughts out loud: “It seems to me that God understands the beauty of birth, for God created it; and, God knows the love you have for your daughter as well as your love for the unborn child. If God formed this life and longs for her to spring from her mother’s womb, and I believe that you believe it is so; then, I’m certain that his love for you would not deny you the joy of such an anticipated event that is overflowing with hope and love from you. Because of his love, I believe he will allow you to see what He will see on that blessed day. Even though you will be dead, you will be alive by faith. You’re death won’t make you blind—you will still see. I don’t know how it will work, but I believe it will be so. You and your family will celebrate your granddaughter’s birth together—of this, I have no doubt.”

She held her breath for in silence; then, she believed and exhaled. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted off the woman’s shoulders. Her mourning tears became happy tears, and the anticipation of the new birth again gave her hope. No one had ever considered the possibility that God had already granted this grieving woman’s prayer request because she continued to die; but, God had.

Though “in Adam” we all die; yet, “in Christ” we all live! In Christ we live and move [and hope] and have our being! In Christ, this woman will live to see the birth of her prized and much-anticipated grandchild! “Dead, and yet I see!” will be her anthem on that day. I can’t explain how it will work or what it will be like, I only know that is the truth.

Dead and yet I see

By: Chaplain Brian Williamson

 

I’m dead and yet I see, having crossed over to Promised Land,

‘Tis my home now, though it’s hard for you to understand.

Am I dead? Yes…and yet I see, for by my faith I’ve moved along,

Joyfully straining to be happy in life, while longing what lies beyond.

Now more than ever, by my hope in Christ, I see

That painful things in life make sense in eternity.

 

Dead, but now I see. I know you don’t understand,

But my life isn’t over, and I still see you from Glory Land.

God knew my love for you; and though we now live separately,

I’m closer than you think, beloved; for though I’m dead, yet I see.

 

Our God gives us hope through the promises contained in Scripture, and by faith in Him, I believe that he would never remove our love for others—if he did, He doesn’t understand.

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Poem: “Awake in Bed”

Copyright 2014 by Bob Rogers

Note: I wrote this poem originally as a teenager in 1975, but to this day, I continue to struggle with the same feeling that it expresses.

AwakeInBed

When I plop wearily into bed

Lights out at the end of the day

I suddenly begin to remember

All of the things I forgot to say

All of the things I forgot to do, too.

The simple reason for my every view

I remembered I had left unsaid

What later popped into my head.

These thoughts come slowly, like

the gradual approach of a far-off light.

And they always manage to come to me

in the midst of the night.

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(If you see an ad below this post, please be aware that I have no control over these ads, and that I do not necessarily endorse the product.)

Poem: “Pinned and Wriggling”

Copyright 2014 by Bob Rogers

“I am pinned and wriggling on the wall.” – T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

PrayJAlfredPrufrock

Oh! Beastly burdened groan

Piercing pain in my side

Blood dribbling from my mouth.

 

I shot the arrow and missed the mark

Boomerang cutting back at me

I am pinned and wriggling on the wall.

 

Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?

 

The incomprehensible creature comes

To pull our arrows out

But what will it be like?

I have grown accustomed to chopped flesh

No! I will keep my arrow

How else can I keep close contact with the wall?

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(If you see a video ad below this post, please understand that I have no control over these ads, and that I do not necessarily endorse the product.)

Poem: “Going Away”

Copyright 2014 by Bob Rogers

MoonTreeRed leaves

falling

in the silver moonlight.

I saw your face

in the moon.

Descending

from the limb

drifting

through black-stained clouds

flat

onto the damp brown earth.

Easter light

chasing the moon.

Still

I know your silver rays

will return another hour.

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(If you see a video ad below this post, please understand that I have no control over these ads, and that I do not necessarily endorse the product.)

Poem: “Glory”

Copyright 2014 by Bob Rogers

SunsetBrunswick

Glory

Things from nothing

Man from dust

Sin from perfection

Evil from innocence

Promise from faith

Hope from belief

Laws from above

Commands from Him

Failure from obedience

Despair from hope

Love for hate

Blood for anyone

Light in darkness

Peace in war

Crying to joy

Death to life

Glory

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(If you see a video ad below this post, please understand that I have no control over these ads, and that I do not necessarily endorse the product.)

The shotgun house on Desire Street

Copyright 2014 by Bob Rogers

DesireStreet

Lillie Mae Lanier leaned on her wall

In her shotgun house on Desire Street.

Missing her husband, afraid of it all

In her shotgun house on Desire Street.

Her heart hurt, her head broke

Open the truth that she spoke

To her wall– as it wondered if it could stay still

When such painful emotions were written on the wall

In the shotgun house on Desire Street.

Katrina had come, Katrina had gone

To the shotgun house on Desire Street.

Waters had risen, families washed away

But Lillie Mae Lanier never wandered away

From the faith she had on Desire Street

Why? You may ask. Why lean on that wall

In your shotgun house on Desire Street?

Lillie Mae still leans day after day

In her shotgun house on Desire Street

For she knows the wall will never give way

And one day will take her heart far away

From her shotgun house on Desire Street.

When all that you have has melted away

And Monday’s food must last till Friday

You need a wall to lean on

You need a foundation to stand on

Lillie read the words written on her wall

That keeps her faith strong

That moves her along

She knows that one day He will take her away

And she’ll never again live on Desire Street.

For she’s a princess in hiding

And she’s waiting for her King

To smile on her heart on the day she departs

From her shotgun house on Desire Street.

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(If you see a video ad below this post, please understand that I have no control over these ads, and that I do not necessarily endorse the product.)

Juggling Sunday

Juggling Copyright by Bob Rogers

A hymnal in my left hand, a Bible in my right

Tossing a communion cup on a one-foot hop.

Cascading with a committee on Sunday night

Spinning a budget, now what will I drop?

 

A juice-stained Bible by my foot on the floor

Heart cut on the cup, fingers shut in the door

I thought diabolo was a juggler’s trick

But I ended up falling on the devil’s stick.

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(If you see a video ad below this post, please understand that I have no control over these ads, and that I do not necessarily endorse the product.)

 

The Closet of Mirrors

Mirrors

Copyright 2014 by Bob Rogers

I was comfortable in a dark closet

Thinking dark thoughts

Doing dark deeds.

Then a brilliant burst of light revealed

That I’m in a closet of mirrors

I see my ugly, naked body everywhere

I cannot escape in any direction

Every wall is a mirror.

Outsiders can see me through the mirror

But I cannot see them

I wonder what they think and what they see

But I can only see me—

The one person I do not want to see.

I want to cover myself

But I have nothing.

I want to drive a nail through the mirror

But I have nothing.

I fall to my knees, curl into a tiny ball

Wailing, whining, whimpering.

Oh, God, kill me! I have nothing! I need you!

Ting…ping…ping…ting…

Softly a nail falls by my side, skipping on the glass

Then two…three…ten…fifty…a hundred…

Nails crash down, crack open

Cutting me — and covering me.

But now I have something

I have a covering—a covering of rusty nails.

And the mirror is broken at last.

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(If you see a video ad below this post, please understand that I have no control over these ads, and that I do not necessarily endorse the product. If you see an inappropriate ad, you can email me at BobRogersThD@gmail.com.)