Glory’s Forerunner

On my Facebook feed this morning I saw this post shared quite a bit. I don’t think I’ve ever met the Prudhommes, but I felt the commonality of our faith and hope as I read this letter from Kendra. It made me weep, but it also renewed my hope in the Living God, the one who called himself the Resurrection and the Life, the One who burst forth from the tomb and defeated that last enemy, death. To honor Ryan and Kendra, both of whom I will meet someday, and to share the hope the world so desperately needs, I quote John Donne again, this time Sonnet X:

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou thinkst thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow
And soonest our best men with thee do go
Rest of their bones and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppies or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke. Why swellst thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die!



Batter My Heart


Another poem for National Poetry month- this time from John Donne, amazing pastor-poet. This is Holy Sonnet XIV:

Batter my heart, three-person’d God; for you
As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp’d town to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv’d and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov’d fain,
But I am bethroth’d  unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me,  never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Thank you John Donne. Make it so, Lord.