Come on. Let’s go.
Where? Out of all you know? Why? Because it’s over? Why? I don’t know. But I have bills to pay. I know. And a mortgage, A career, and dreams, And people who rely on me To negotiate our little piece of hell. I know. But it’s over. Let’s go.
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Because He came
We do not need to fight about it. Because He’s here, We can have peace. And it’s ok that some May be wrong about it. We will not resist evil, As he said. But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. Matthew 5:39 If you count on books to quench your thirst for truth
You will be always panting after something That is just beyond your reach. And the books will pile high. And you will grow old And die As you turn the leaf Of yet another volume. And it’s because the thing you seek is hiding. And only an unseen hand Can turn the key, Unlock the mystery, Open the door to the thing you seek. And once it does, you’ll finally stop seeking it Where it cannot be found. And it will well up inside of you A fountain of living water. And you will no longer thirst, No longer think that it is just around the next corner Or behind the next page as the case may be. The hermit who hides himself in God
Knows that what he does in silence Is very important. The world will never become whole
So long as we pray for what we want. We must learn to pray for that which hurts. “O my Father, if it be possible, Let this cup pass from me: Nevertheless not as I will, But as thou wilt.” It appears that this is the example. And why? Because, while veiled in flesh, We do not know what is good for us or for the world. We have but two eyes, one life, one brain. And so we seek the will that is on high. And trust the eye that sees us all And the mind that knows What we can’t know. And this kind of prayer, the prayer of sacrifice Will change the world and turn it ‘round Into a thing that looks like heaven. The deeper I grow, the quieter it is,
And the closer I am to home. I will dig, dig, down deep Toward the silent place And there, draw nourishment With unnumbered tentacles To feed the leafy branches Light years away. And little will they know that it was me, That fed their best dreams of all that’s real. And I will sleep in silence As they praise the light And say, Oh God, How great! Oh God, How perfectly sublime, The message of our life That unfolds day by day! And so I say to myself and God Dig, dig, down deep beneath it all. And let me disappear. That they may know You better. Let go of everything you know
And everything you think. There are no formulas Except to Hear Him. The railroad man goes on and on,
On and on goes the railroad man, From place to place And on and on He goes Without stopping. And without a home goes the railroad man The railroad man goes on without a home, Because his home is every place. Yes, every place is home to the railroad man. Can you understand it? Probably not. Because you’re not like that, Are you? But that doesn’t matter. Because the heart of the railroad man Is broad like every place. And in his heart Is a home. Will you choose the home that’s in his heart? And let your heart travel far and wide Upon the beating heart of the railroad man? If so, then truly you will travel far. And you’ll have a home In every place. A home in the heart of the railroad man. It rained and rained last night,
Great sheets of rain, nonstop. I am from the west, I am not used to that. But I’ll adjust. I love how wet it is, and wonder, Will that last? The love of wetness, For a while at least. But for now It is so nice after so many years Of the mountain desert. There is a little town and wholesome
Where they’ve sworn off technology, And people love each other and God. I like it there. And if it weren’t for the call to wander, I might just stay. All the same, I wonder If I might just make it my home base, For a while at least, until it moves. Sure. Why not. I cannot find a better place, And though I have not forsaken my cell phone, I doubt that I will find a people so in keeping With the simplicity of my soul. Reputation is nothing,
For it is almost always tarnished In the service of transcendent good. So let them drag it through the mud, And content yourself With the approval of immortals. The factory man goes to work each day
To spite the fact that he knows it’s not enough, For the factory man is a family man. He wasn’t “smart enough” To refrain. And so he’s rich at home And poor when it comes to the bank. All the same, he keeps on going to work each day. And one by one the bottles pass his way. And he counts them and checks for mistakes, Day by day. The factory man. And that’s the story. There’s not that much to say. And yet, I cannot help But sing his refrain, for he is the mass of men, not the exception, To spite the fact that the movies don’t make it look that way. The Giant of the Great Rock Face
Sits nestled in between the tribes of the North And the tribes of the South As an ever-present reminder That war is not the way. And of a Sunday, The people of the surrounding towns Come and picnic in his shade. I am stopped along my path - a place to wait.
A place to organize and ponder, to reflect. And the rain beats down. And I wonder, What will the summer bring? I once thought that I could plan my life. But, more and more, I relinquish my hold. I surrender to the road, to the path that leads my soul From place to place. And I don’t know what it means or where it goes. But somehow I trust the thing that’s coming Even though I have no idea what it is. There are potted flowers at the entrance of the supermarket
An early sign of hopeful spring. And someone Is asked whether she still breeds the kind of pups That he once bought many years ago. She does not, “But call me,” she says. “Alexander has a dog that he’s thought of giving up.” And he says he will. And all along the upper half of the wall, there runs, Like a ribbon, the route of old Highway 66, With the cities listed one by one. And right in the middle of the line Sits Tucumcari, the almost proud little town Nestled nearly halfway along The once-famous highway leading down From the windy city to the sandy beach of Santa Monica. And would you guess, that the people there are just like us? That’s how it seems anyhow. And I am grateful to have stopped. Two things seem disconnected
But are inseparably bound, Your creative work And your means of livelihood. The first is the way you serve the world, And the second is the way The world repays you For your generosity. He walks away in silence.
He does not say a word at leaving. And ruin follows in His wake, Precious ruin. And it will claim all those Who wanted Him in the first place. He’s going away to war
And I am walking away from war. And that’s ok. Good men go to war. Me too. I war within myself For the principles That will free me from the need to go to war. It is the last frontier, It is the war That, when men, finally, are willing to fight it, Will end all wars. He’s going away to war
And I am walking away from war. And that’s ok. Good men go to war. Me too. I war within myself For the principles That will free me from the need to go to war. It is the last frontier, It is the war That, when men, finally, are willing to fight it, Will end all wars. I stop for the night and park
In the middle of a grassy field Beside a stream. And nobody sees. Or at least nobody notices. And it feels as if it was made just for me, Just for this night. I am amazed at the way The world opens up for heaven When we believe and keep moving on Toward the thing we know is right. I wrote a poem the other day
That was full of worldly wisdom. It was advice for how to prosper In this world so wily and unpredictable. But after I did, I felt discouraged and tired. I put the poem away and broke with my own advice. I decided that perhaps better advice Would be to follow Jesus Out of the world And into the road of sacrifice That leads to renunciation. And I know that many of you, Perhaps the very ones That I want to reach Will turn away upon hearing that Because you think I mean to get the old religion. But that’s not the case at all. Christ, just like Silence and Truth,
Is available to each irrespective Of religion or lack thereof. So that He can be had For the reach. Christ may be the only way that the world will change.
It is not the idea of Christ, but the very Spirit of Christ that changes. It enters into the heart and offers new choices When it appears that war is the only way. And it seems to me that it is found most readily In the experience of total silence And the hearing of genuine praise. I took home a baby bird that I found on the ground.
Because I forgot all of the things they told me When I was a boy at school, Like don’t take home baby birds. Look for a nest. It’s mother can take care of it better than you can. Oops. But now it’s here. It cheeps in my living quarters. Tried to feed it. No luck yet. And I think to myself, I am not good at this. I should have remembered what I learned. Later today, I’ll go back and look for a nest In the hopes that the mother is not far away. And I don’t know what to say about it Now that I’m the one in charge, Other than, I’ll remember next time. When Christ reigns, it makes things personal.
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