Poetry and Theology

I love theology. Yet, I am sure many are grateful (or would be, if they took to time to think about it) that God did not give us the Scriptures in the form of a systematic theology textbook. Instead God gave us a collection of stories and poetry and letters - and, often, it is difficult to tell the difference between them - that themselves are not the point but beckon us to Someone greater behind them.

I have been thinking about this quite a bit lately and what it means for my own theological exercises. I have come to the conclusion that essays, treatises, and systems simply do not cut it. They are good. Often necessary. But they themselves are a step to something greater (noticing a pattern?). I am convinced of the necessity (owing a great deal to the very types of essays and articles and books I am now proclaiming insufficient) of incorporating the arts into our theological work. Music (for a GREAT paper on the theological nature of music, see here) and poetry and sustained silence must be a central part of our reflection and spiritual discipline as they often say more than a whole library of the works of brilliant loquacious puffs ever could.

So, I am going to do something over my next handful of posts that is not easy for me. I am going to share the fruit (hopefully this is an appropriate metaphor) of my recent theological reflection: my poetry. I pray these are true to both appellations; that they are both theology and poetry. I also pray they will in some way be edifying to you, the blogging body of Christ.

I would love to engage in any conversation they may spark. And always remember that perhaps the point of our words is to allow us to articulate their inadequacy.

NOT ABOUT A GIRL (I had thought this would be obvious...)

Senses recalled in my head:
Your smell. It might drive me mad.
Soft touch upon my hand;
Sufficient strength to:
Stand me up,
Strangle me.

Dreams find you waiting there,
So far away, again.
I span the distant land
Reaching out to take that same

Offered pierced hand;

The thought of which grips my throat.
But it's your eyes that steal my breath,
And turn cool night to burning day.
As my skin begins to peel

I realize unrequited love will kill.


(Copyright 2008)