POEM: The Loan

While I was young and foolish yet,
My Lord, in His compassion let
Me hold one, precious to His heart,
Through whom he wanted to impart
His truths, His depths of love to me,
And I, in awkward infancy
Received His gift as just a toy,
A thing to please me, give me joy
And with my plenty store away,
Assured that since my Lord delay
He surely would not come to claim
What I possessed--but oh! He came
To ask of me the cherished prize,
The one beloved in His eyes
And now in mine as well; and I
In anguished vanity did cry
Aloud, and pull away to clutch
The treasure close; my jealous touch
Compressed to shattered fragments more
Than human hands can e'er restore.
Yet what forgiveness mingled in
My Lord's sad gaze upon my sin.

(Unpublished)

POEM: The Love of God

There is no fear but love will someday conquer,
There is no fear love cannot cast away
For God is love and if we truly trust Him,
He leads us safely in His chosen way.

Love can forgive what nothing else can pardon,
Embrace what seems impossible to bear;
Love's joyful task is trust and patient waiting
With open hearts to suffer, give, and care.

Herein is love: not that we loved our Maker
But that we sinners were of Him beloved
So perfectly that He for us submitted
To die our death and saving, rise above.

Shall persecution, human will or peril
Divide us from the precious love of Christ?
In Him we live and move and have our being--
How can we from His side e're be enticed?

For us, completely undeserving,
Our Lord gave all to bear the cross of shame.
Beloved, let us love as Christ has loved us;
Let us rejoice and glorify His name.

(Unpublished, written about March, 1964)

POEM: Psalm 139

Jesus, how can words describe You?
Now can poems sing Your praise?
What can love do but surrender
To Your gentle, knowing gaze.

Though I flee from earth to heaven,
Though to depths of hell descend,
Even there Your presence waits me
and Your Spirit mine does tend.

Borne on tinted wings of morning,
Dwelling far on life's vast sea--
Surely there Your love shall beckon
And Your hands encompass me.

Neither eyes nor ears imagine
Nor can human hearts enfold
All the good things You have promised
To your saints; nor one withhold.

One by one You've taken from us
All on earth we've cherished dear,
Yet we are complete in Jesus
Now and when He shall appear.

(Unpublished)     
                      

POEM: The Footwashing

Older woman, Titus 2 woman,
You taught me to feed little ones
God's Word
in bites their size.
You showed me how to lead them
to their Father's arms.

I look up to you, wise friend, godly friend.
So why, looking down, do I see you
kneeling before me
washing my feet?
There must be some mistake!
This isn't right.
I should be serving you.

In my own embarrassment
I hear echoes of Peter's protest
as his Lord knelt before him.
And the Lord is saying to us both,
"Even the Son of Man did not come
to be served but to serve
and to give His life a ransom for many."

Jesus Christ, before Whom every knee will bow,
bowed before me?
He, Whom I have pierced and wounded,
tenderly touching my feet?
How far down He is willing to stoop
as He kneels to offer me His love!


(Published in Time of Singing, July, 1990)

POEM: His song

Mum, I love you dearly
but you can't carry a tune.
We stand side by side in church,
both loving God,
both making a joyful noise to Him.
Piano and choir director lead the way.
I hear their clear notes, right on pitch
and I also hear your heartfelt approximation.
Though we sing together
I choose to follow the director's voice,
not yours,
lest in following you
we both go astray.
So, too, you must not pattern yourself after me.
With all good intentions,
I could derail us both.
If we respond only to our Director,
though our voices wander and waver,
we will each produce His melody for us.

(Published in Time of Singing, July, 1990)

POEM: A Skeptic at Communion

THE AMBER BEAD

I saw a fly within a bead
Of amber cleanly buried;
The urn was little, but the room
More rich than Cleopatra's tomb.
                      --Robert Herrick


     A SKEPTIC AT COMMUNION
after Robert Herrick's "The Amber Bead"

I saw a fly within a dose
Of grape juice, clearly comatose;
The host was Welch's, but the sense
The mystery of immanence.

I saw him floating in the cup
As soon as I had picked it up--
And smiled: thus God prevented me
From drinking Him unworthily.
                       --Jessica Shaver


(Published in South Coast Poetry Journal,
January 1995)

POEM: Tomb break

                         (First published in Purpose, April 15, 1990)