Category: Poems & Songs

“Give me Words to speak 
Don’t let my Spirit sleep 
Cause I can’t think of anything worth saying…”
-Aaron Shust

I don’t know what to say
That hasn’t already been said
I don’t know what to write
That hasn’t already been read
I don’t know what to play
That You haven’t already heard
So here’s my song, You write the words
-FFH

What should I say to them?
What if I’m failing them?
What should i tell the tonight?
-Shaun Groves

These three Christian musicians seemed to be having difficulty figuring out something to say. It seems to happen often, though some might wish it happened more often to Phillips, Craig, and Dean. From both ends, I’m fascinated by the mini-epidemic of feeling a strong need to say something.

I think this comes from the fact that we come from a sermon- and biblo-centric tradition. We think that our lives come from words (though Christ tried to disabuse us of this notion). We assume that if we have an opportunity to speak, we should. If there is a chance for words, it ought to be taken. We ignore St. Francis’s suggestion that we use words in our preaching only if necessary. Perhaps this comes from a sort of narcissism that we have the answers and we need to share them. Especially if we have an audience, we should say something.

Silence wouldn’t do well on the radio. We dislike silence. We surround ourselves with music and words and television. I struggle to bike to work without the radio on. Perhaps it is that terror of silence that provokes desires in our musicians to speak words, to write songs, even if they have nothing whatsoever to say. Maybe it’s primal instinct that silence means danger. Maybe it’s fear of feeling alone.

I avoid writing things when I have nothing to say, but that has rarely stopped me from writing them anyway.  But I will pat myself on the back because at least I don’t write about how I don’t have anything to say. Not usually, anyway.

Then there comes the moment where (hopefully) we realize that we don’t have anything whatsoever to say, or that we had things to say and that the only thing that was reasonable to say was nothing at all. I had that moment almost ten years ago late one night in a Subway restaurant talking to a coworker who had lost someone close to her. The only words that were right to speak were no words at all.

The world is big
and scary
and filled with things
that we can’t
understand.

We are small
and weak
and at the end of the day
scared of things
that we can’t
understand.

Worship is our exit.
We have to believe
that good will conquer evil
that somehow in the end,
we will be
safe.

Our songs of praise
of the greatness of our deity
are just as much for us
as for our deity.
We need our God to be great.
And not just great, the
Greatest.

Even after Jesus
we look for a God
who gives us an exit
from pain and suffering
surrounds us
with a hedge of protection
a wall of fire about us.

A God who protects us from
the fiery furnace
the lion’s mouths
our enemies
We’re terrified
that he might let us go through
the worst.

death.

This is the power of God
Resurrection.

God.
Maker of heaven and earth
most often
steadfastly refuses divine intervention
when we need it most.

Leaves us with just resurrection
words of kindness
occasional parking spaces
money in an envelope
when we need it most
mini miracles
signs, not proofs
Not the sort of things God would do
if he really existed.

God engages in
a steadfast refusal to be
the God us doubters
wish for

while the certain sing their songs
of how that’s exactly who he is
and make excuses for why
God doesn’t
step into our sky blue
and say that’s quite enough.

There once was a man named Tom Kimbelroy Fittens
and he was a man who had many opinions
on things ranging widely, from love to religion
and politics, music, but least of all, kittens.
Tom Kimbelroy thought (it was barely a whim)
That kittens were better than puppies, to him.

Now one day, as it happened, Tom Kimbelroy stumbled
on a newspaper article that said dogs were jumbled
They stank and they peed anywhere that they pleased
and their rolling in poop would soon lead to disease.
So then, without thinking, Tom Kimbelroy turned
and posted on Facebook the things that he’d learned.

He knew that his friends who knew kittens were best
would all like his status, be pleased – but the rest
his crazy old friends, who still liked their puppies
would realize that they had been mindless old guppies.
They’d soon see the light, they’d soon give up dogs
– but what’s this? A comment, from Tumbleton Cogs.

Old Tumbleton lived on the outskirts of town
he too had opinions, enough to go ‘round
the world at the equator six times, that Cogs
but the problem was, Tumbleton really liked dogs.
He was quick to reply, and to point out the flaw:
Tom’s article scratched only the tip of the paw.

“The problem is, kittens turn into old cats
They can’t be controlled, and they grow up so fast
They scratch up the furniture, pee on the rug
They take over your home – just like some old thug!
But the worst thing about cats,” said old Tumbleton firmly,
“Is cats do not see you as owner, or family.”

Tumbleton turned from his keyboard with glee
He knew that Tom Fittens would soon come to see
He was right about Kittens, and Kimbelroy, wrong
And Tom would be glad he’d corrected his long
and rambling (and patently false) bit of thinking
Oh come now, Tom Fittens, what have you been drinking?

But pleasure was not what Tom Kimbelroy Fittens
felt when he read what Cogs said about kittens.
Now remember I said right away, at the start
that kittens were not in first place in Tom’s heart?
Well what Tumbleton said made them first in his brain
and Tom Kimbelroy started
toward going
insane.

“Your facts are all lies!” Fittens practically shouted.
“You got them from sources that all have been outed
as cat-hating dog-loving, biased resources
I wouldn’t believe them if they said that horses
were four-legged creatures with tails and a mane
You should be receiving “The Cat On The Plain.”

Tom Kimbelroy Fittens now smiled with delight:
Tumbleton would know he would not win this fight
for though Kimbelroy’s sources were biased as well
he knew “The Dog Daily” was biased as heck.
As little as he’d cared before this debate
His interest was growing, sealing his fate.

Tumbleton didn’t like that Tom called him a liar
For Tom was the one whose pants were on fire.
“‘The Cat On The Plain’ is all nonsense, and it
really only is good for cleaning up poop.”
His self-esteem lifted, he clicked on “reply”
and waited to see his old friend’s next new lie.

Somehow in the fight, Old Tumbleton Cogs
had forgotten that he didn’t care much for dogs
But it was too late, as it was for Tom Fittens
Who was trapped in this fight, of all things, about kittens.
And now, I am sure, unless one has been killed,
for all that I know, they argue there still.