Drawn from many waters

 (2 Samuel 22:7, 17)

Hark! Is there a rising from the tumult of hell? 

A sweet silence overcoming the howl of offence

Bursting open the gates that guard that broad entrance

A strong calm pushing thru the clamour of rancour and strife

Reaping the peaceful fruit of eternal life.

Listen! Do you hear? 

Drawn from mankind's foul waters dark with filth and fear, 

silencing the mockers, the fruit of that piercing spear

Behold! Who's this emerging thru the black darkness of arrogance?

Clothed in white robes, glorious extravagance!

Is it not He! Striding forth in strength

His love having conquered the height, breadth and length

Amazing! Who is this coming with Him? Lord, help me believe

Behold! It is Adam!, and is that Eve?!

And who is this multitude steadfastly behind? 

A cloud of many witnesses glorified, refined

 

The holy hand of the Father, forever faithful and strong, 

reaching down and raising this washed, firstborn-throng.

Who will stand praising forever with their brethren

The courts of Jerusalem resounding with holy amen

MDC 2019

Lamentations 3:22 - 23

The hiss of the gas hot-water system firing up outside my bedroom window tells me my 86-year old father is up. His daily rituals are as certain as the dawn.

The thump of a kitchen drawer tells me that my mother is up; her movements around the house as precise as the pendulum clock on the living room wall.

Old age has ushered in many variations but the habits of a lifetime will not be denied. Even the certitude of memory is not convinced by evidence that things are not in their normal place.

They look forward to each day, the new mercies that come with each rising sun all the proof they need that God looks down on them and smiles.

Simple pleasures like the matins of birds and their antics in the bird bath bring a delight that is eagerly anticipated and shared; flowers appearing in or out of season still a rewarding sight.

The difficulties of old age have become a secondary consideration. When their time has come they will not remember the hardships, for the humble joys of righteousness remain forever.

MDC

April 2021

Troubling Favour

(Luke 1:30)

Under the taut swell of her belly He moved.

She knew He was eager. 

She felt alone although He had two fathers.

She knew she would never fully understand.

The enormity of the decision was a weight that grew with each dawn.

The gold, frankincense and myrrh were acknowledgement of what she knew to be true

but they did nothing to diminish her concerns.

The first and only one in her position, only Elizabeth could give scant counsel

She also knew that what was given was holy and, though darkness raged at her door, she would be obedient.

MDC

March 2021

The Natural, The Spiritual

Tree

A tree is a silent sentinel, privy to secrets forever held

Providing respite from the sun, fruit in season. Hewn down, 

fed to the flames, turned into furniture and scented boxes, 

asking for nothing in return but a little rain and adequate 

soil. Passes on its knowledge to little birds.

Snake

A snake is a wild creation, moving with mystery upon a rock

Moving on ribbons of light, tasting the morning and evening air

Separating itself from its own shadow, seeing the darkness in things

Unable to be tamed, never able to be known

Its forked tongue as safe as Satan’s promises

Wind

The wind blows from who knows where, rushing to who knows 

where. Bringing clouds, rain, storm and tempest. Smoke, fire, 

hail and snow. Blows insect hordes and destruction in; chaff, 

topsoil, homes and lives out. Only the anointed of God 

can ride upon its wings. Grasping for it is vanity.

Bird

Insignificant creature, teller of secrets, easily ensnared

No raven knows the path of the just. The hawk screams 

its woeful message. They are all given into man’s hand 

yet a man wandering from his place is like a bird that’s 

wandered from its nest.

Fire

A fire is an enfolding entity. It has its own gravity.

Like a small sun, it draws people into its embrace

Holding them close, thinking they can leave 

whenever they like but the flame demands its dues

be paid in reluctance and regret

Man

Man thinks he is a supreme being, due to intelligence and 

self-awareness - a higher order above all other animals. But 

arrogantly ignores the self-evident truth that love and humility 

provide the only path back home to a loving Father thus forming 

the most ancient dilemma known

MDC

March 2021

Looking through a glass darkly

My wife says, You look dreadful.

I look in the mirror and see the same me as always. You need to eat, she says.

My brother says Your pain is written all over your face.

I look in the mirror but can find no signs that indicate the truth of his assertion.

I walk daily looking through a glass darkly, illumination only coming after those around 

me testify of what they know is true in me.

I eat and feel better.

(1 Corinthians 13:12)

MDC

April 2021

Fourteen times

You have been brought to this hospital fourteen times 

in the last eleven years. What’s going on with you? 

The nurse clearly suspicious of my motivations.

What’s there to say? What excuses could I give that 

satisfies a suspicious mind? Do I dodge the question and 

tell her how demoralising it is that this statistic blows 

any sporting Personal Best into oblivion?

Is a wry smile enough to ward off further enquiry? I know 

from experience that it won’t garner any further sympathy.

Am I accident prone, or just plain careless? It’s not as if I 

go looking for the chance to become injured or maimed. 

Hot metal from a grinder getting past my safety glasses.

Bitten by an Eastern Brown in my own back yard. A branch 

from a gum tree falling onto my head. I look remarkably 

normal and healthy for someone so intent on self-destruction.

Do I continue living as I have hoping the trend of accidents 

diminishes with age, or do I cover myself in bubble wrap 

and step into armour each time I venture from the relative 

safety (until recently) of my own dwelling?

The neurologist is delighted to see me. He now knows he 

will learn something new about the human body - but not 

enough to cure me. Not enough to stop or slow the 

incessant journeys under flashing lights and sirens.

Oh, wretched man that I am! 

Who will save me from this body of death!

MDC

April 2021

Praise

 

Praise the day, for it has dawned

And His mercy it has spawned

Praise the sparrow wheeling on its wing

Praise the joy in each flitting thing

Praise the night past,  moribund

Its nocturnal choir many-tongued

Praise the sun for shining light

Praise the light that brings sight

Praise the day that has been christened

Preordained with full provision

Praise Him for His given acts

With their mysteries of parallax

Praise the strength of given faith

Strong enough to stand stress and scaith 

Praise the enabling of given grace

That empowers to run your race

And praise the joy that He has given

When you are blessed and forgiven

MDC 

April 2021

Eleven Ways of Looking at the Wind

1

I was like a tree

In which the wind dwells.

 

2

Over all the earth,

The only thing that never ceases

Are the eyes of the wind.

 

3

Many things may dance in the wind

But it is the wind that is the major part of the pantomime.

 

4

A husband and a wife

Are one.

A husband and a wife and the wind

Can be one.

 

5

The movement of grasses like oceans

The swaying of trees like dancers

The whirl of dust and cloud like dervishes

All of which the wind is involved in

 

6

There are tidal patterns and magnetic lines

Circadian rhythms and lunar seasons

Domains of electricity, magnetism and gravity

All of which the wind is involved in

 

7

There are many beauties in this world

Inflection, innuendo, nuance,

grace in a child, mercy from an enemy

The wind gives it all.

 

7

It goes where no one knows, 

Having come from who knows where.

It criss-crosses the earth in obtuse fashions

Carrying enigmatic ciphers whose importance is unfathomable

 

8

Striving after the wind is like grasping for wisdom

Yet wisdom is gained by His word whispered into the ear.

 

9

O wise men of Behistun,

Why do you imagine a golden child?

Do you not understand the gold, frankincense, and myrrh you present

Is given to you by the wind?

 

10

The wind is strong. 

It may not be withstood

Yet it can be commanded to cease

By His word.

 

11

It is clear that the wind belongs to Him

The snorting of His nostrils, His breath, His life.

O that I would know the wind

And He would know me.

 

MDC August 2021

The View from the Cross

For though He faces a difficult death

He looks now back at long history

And casts His eye to the future soon

As He makes a way free, opportune

Hanging patiently on that tree

He will gladly give up His last breath

For though the pit looks sordid, grim,

He does not fear the dark, the pain

Shrinking not from the cruelty of its awful kiss

He enters into the fastness of that abyss

Knowing that love will raise Him up again

For no predatory embrace can hold Him

And there will be a victory undiminished

No more crying, no more doubt

On our behalf the Father to entreat

A perfect work full and complete

Angels rejoicing with a shout

When at last He says, “It is finished!”

MDC July 2021

Trees are like people

The sound of an axe as it hits a tree trunk tells

a story about the life of the tree; its genealogy, 

its history, its personality. 

An old callistemon or bottle brush will groan with 

a thick wet thunk as an axe blade splits its flesh, 

biting into the resistant phylum, sinews skewed

by the keen whet edge of foreign metal, matter as 

strange to it as alien life will be to humankind.

A dry tone coupled with strong vibrations coming back 

up the axe handle will tell you it's a gum, maybe an 

ironbark of indeterminate age until such times as its 

rings are exposed

The paper bark will catch you by surprise, looking like

a fluffy winter cardigan, its soft skin curling and inviting 

but its resistance to sharp blows can come as a shock.

Take stock - all is not as it seems.

The camphor laurel will greet your attack by scenting 

the air with its perfume, rewarding you with the incense 

of its death long after it is gone.

As we do with one another - we often decide if we like 

a tree from a distance because we like its shape or 

colour, or we know it will do something for us like 

provide shade, fruit, safe harbour or a hiding place

Often, we don’t realise how much we depended on a 

tree until it is cut down; its amenity something we took

for granted until it is lost. My uncle treated people like 

trees - severe pruning being his favourite garden activity

His adage was if a tree doesn’t do what you want, then 

get one that will. Oh, he would graft and prune and 

trim and shape regardless of whether the tree was 

suitable for the ground, the location or the climate.

Sometimes I wonder if we realise that producing sturdy 

fruit requires sturdy boughs. Some people need to be 

handled with tenderness and care, and even then they 

will never produce sturdy fruit. 

Don’t plant an apple tree if you want a dainty flowering 

hedge. Go ahead and plant an orchard of apples but 

don’t be sorry if there is no delicate beauty to soften 

the landscape, or to hand to your spouse after an argument.

Every time I chop wood for the fireplace I wonder at the life 

of a tree. I am so practiced with an axe that sometimes,

before awareness comes, I have one in my mouth,

readying myself to make a deep incision into the 

flesh of an argument that needs to be felled quickly.

Those occasions never end well.

MDC July 2021

Pay cheque

The garbage truck lumbers up the street, its injured-

beetle crawl slowly moving it along a path 

it knows so well it can do it without thinking

Like my neighbours, I wheel my bins to the curb

the evening before, leaving my cyclic offering on the 

sidewalk altar to feed the returning beast

I pass along its route on my way to work so 

I know the driver must be getting up well before dawn

I wonder if the early rising makes up for the stupefying mundanity

I wonder if the certainty of weekly rubbish provides 

a security of employment for him, and does the

regular pay check make up for the lack of job satisfaction

I have worked white-collar and blue, self-employed 

and shift work. I prefer the certainty of a small regular 

pay cheque than the feast and famine of self-employment

There’s something to be said for the monotony of small 

regular payments - routine to take care of life's banal essentials

providing space for a precision not possible without regularity.

MDC July 2021

A Plumber's View of Light (for Neville)

Light is a beautiful thing; not only does it bring beauty to everything it touches, it is beautiful in and of itself.

It ushers in every day, washing the dawn with the fresh mercies of God. And in the long days of an Indian summer it's fading light warms the world with its tender touch.

I go to work each day, sometimes eagerly, 

sometimes reluctantly, 

sometimes with determination and purpose, 

sometimes with drudgery dogging my steps, but I go always looking for light.

In particular, I look for the light that is mine alone. A gift from Him who is thinking of me in every moment. I have been the recipient of illumination that has been created only for me. I know this because some things that I have been shown in moments have been so personal as to only be for me. Not that I am any more special than anyone else; I don't put myself up on a pedestal. I don't stand on a stage, I don't yearn for the treacherous light of public adoration, but I understand that the Lord throws light on my path so I can know where to place my steps. I know this specific individual light is available to every person, and it's unique application is not diminished by its universal availability, but the light He gives me is not seen by anyone else.

Sometimes light comes in the strangest places; when my hands are covered in the refuse of humanity's existence; when a co-worker is venting over a perceived injustice; particularly when I am engrossed in a task - suddenly the penny drops.

Much of my work is conducted in tight spaces, dim corners, under buildings, in muddy trenches, in rain, in heat, in awkward positions, in drudgery, in discomfort - it is at these times that light often comes.

Light is particularly beautiful in the times when offence has been hard to resist, and the Lord is merciful to me and reminds me that I am capable of being offensive too. And there are times when light is so abundant that I am dazzled by its liberality and I am amazed at how I missed such obvious knowledge.

I am not a wealthy man but there are days when the light has been so lavish that I luxuriate in its glow. The gift of light is such a broad endowment that I cannot specifically remember every happenstance. Yet, I remember some divine sanctions with such clarity that I am more certain of their veracity than I am of the law of physics.

I'm never going to be a lightning rod for popular opinion, I'm not going to grace the cover of any magazine. There is nothing you can read into my preference for wines heavy with tannin or my deep appreciation for prog rock. I give no thought to wishing everyone approved of my preferences. But, I do think about how I may, in my own way, bring a little of this light to others. It will be without fanfare, often without witness except for the recipient, without benefit to me, without my knowing even.

My likes and dislikes do not form a commentary on the veracity of my faith. But one thing I know with the certainty of a rising sun, the effectiveness of my conduct as a man living among men is how my behaviour is informed and directed by light.

And so I go out, each day, looking for light.

MDC 20/04/2021