A Sonnet for Sodom {gn19}

This is the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were proud, had plenty to eat, and enjoyed peace and prosperity; but she didn't help the poor and the needy. They became haughty and did detestable things in front of me, and I turned away from them as soon as I saw it. —Ezekiel 16:49-50

Sodom was destined to go up in smoke.
Wickedness was its perpetual clime.
Evil, like tinder, was ripe for a stoke:
It would ignite in a matter of time.

Greed ripened into perversion untold.
Townsfolk adopted the tricks of the shrike,
Burning with passions and lust uncontrolled,
Raping the wallet and person alike.

Lot was not righteous, not even a lick,
But he was willing to run for his life—
Run from the evil that threatened to stick.
Will we be like him, or more like his wife?

Greed dug its claws in and caused her to halt,
Turning her into a pillar of salt.

Sonnet: A poem consisting of 14 lines with a particular rhyming scheme.

Duologue {gn18}

Photo © Unsplash/shttefan

When God mentioned circumcision to his friend,
Abraham didn't think twice
or question once.
Not a single word on the tip of his tongue
about removing the tip of his—
well, you know.

Perhaps it was the finality of
bearing heaven's mark forever in his flesh
that made Abraham bold enough
to dicker with God.

After all,
you'd have to be bold to question
The Judge Of All The Earth
about his morality
and offer suggested improvements
to his strategy.

To be fair, though, it was
The Judge Of All The Earth
who invited himself over for dinner
and initiated the whole conversation.

He knew there weren't any righteous people left in Sodom,
so why even bring it up?

Maybe
The Judge Of All The Earth
wants more
than a burnt offering in his gut
and a pat on his back.

Maybe
The Judge Of All The Earth
craves
genuine
unabashed
face-to-face
friend-to-friend
toe-to-toe
duologue.

Foreshadow of Faith {gn17:10-11}

Forefather Abraham must have been filled with
such foreboding as the appointed blade drew near.

He could never have foreseen God's circumscriptive request...
nor foregone its fulfillment once it had been proposed.

After all, he was God's foremost friend on the planet.
Mostly, though, he didn't want God to foreclose on the covenant—

Ishmael had turned out to be the forerunner of the promise,
just a foretaste of the legitimate heir.

God was still forecasting Isaac's arrival,
so obedience was forefront on Abraham's mind.

He cut a deal, therefore, skin and all.

A Patient's Impatience {gn16}

Photo © Unsplash/Ricardo Viana

Abram couldn't wait on God,
but listened to his wife,
who suggested a surrogate with a working womb,
and together, they foisted Plan B on the Almighty.

That's how Hagar became
the mistress of her mistress' husband,
and that never has a happy ending.
Hagar was destined for a rock and a hard place—
punishment if she refused,
punishment because she obeyed.

Hagar could stomach the morning sickness,
but she'd had it with the abuse
and ran away, determined to die in the desert
rather than spend one more day
as a pawn in a power play.

God could have let Plan B die right along with her
and the unsanctioned baby hiding inside.
Instead, he gave birth to Plan C,
and it's been hard labor ever since.

Abram couldn't wait on God,
but God has enough forbearance
to deal with all our impatient messes—
even if it takes an eternity to clean them up.

Righteousness By Faith {gn15:6}

Photo © Unsplash/Mohamed Nohassi

Abram was regarded as perfect because he
believed what God had said. He trusted in
the unbelievable promises the
Lord had made to him,
and he was set right with God
that very moment. The Creator who
made us wants only this: for us to know
him and to trust that he will always do
right by us. If we have that sort of friendship
with him, there's nothing our miracle-working
God can't accomplish in us.

The Sin of Sodom {gn14:20}

Photo © Unsplash/Peter Hershey

I am progressing along the path of life in my ordinary contentedly fallen and godless condition... when suddenly a stab of abdominal pain that threatens serious disease, or a headline in the newspapers that threatens us all with destruction, sends this whole pack of cards tumbling down. At first I am overwhelmed, and all my little happinesses look like broken toys.

Then, slowly and reluctantly, bit by bit, I try to bring myself into the frame of mind that I should be in at all times. I remind myself that all these toys were never intended to possess my heart, that my true good is in another world and my only real treasure is Christ. And perhaps, by God’s grace, I succeed, and for a day or two become a creature consciously dependent on God and drawing its strength from the right sources.

But the moment the threat is withdrawn, my whole nature leaps back to the toys... And that is why tribulations will not cease until God either sees us remade or sees that our remaking is hopeless.  —C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain, p106

---

In a culture where
being gay
is a big deal,
Sodom has become a familiar word.

Even if you don't know anything else about the Bible
you've probably heard
the story of Sodom.

Some folks say
Sodom's sin was homosexuality.
Other folks say
it wasn't.

I say
the real shame is
nobody knows the other story of Sodom:

the one where they were
sodomized by a gang of neighboring kings
attacked and invaded and clobbered
overpowered and crushed and defiled—

the one where they were left
naked and helpless and defenseless
victimized and paralyzed and weak—

until God
rescued them
recovered their possessions
rebuilt their cities
and restored their fortunes.

Sodom's first encounter with God
did not end in
smoking ruin
but
stunning rescue.

In their calamity
(when all their broken toys were
momentarily swept aside
to reveal the One
on whom they unconsciously depended)
they met
a God who delivers, not destroys,
a God who heals, not hates.

Nice to meet you, they said
then quickly leapt back to the toys,
stubbornly clinging
till even their hearts were bound.

Cruel {gn13:16}

It's sort of cruel
to make such an outrageous promise—
innumerable children
for a man who doesn't even have one

for a man who feels the relentless beat
of a childless father's heart in his chest
to promise more daughters than dust is cruel.

It's sort of cruel
to make such an outrageous promise—
dirty diapers and sloppy kisses and giggles
for a woman whose body long ago
stopped reminding her like clockwork
of her power to deliver new life

for a woman who has felt the monthly sting of bitterness
diffuse into the dull ache of perpetual barrenness
to promise more sons than sand is cruel.

Who makes such outrageous promises, anyway?
Who messes with people like that?
And once you're settled so squarely in the realm of the inconceivable,
where does it stop?

You might as well claim the power
to muzzle hurricanes
to disembowel suffering
to dissolve brickish hearts
to bring back the dead
   AS IF
   the grave had a revolving door

What on earth would drive you
to guarantee the one thing that could
answer the lonely echo of a desperate soul?

What in heaven's name would possess you
to make such an outrageous promise?

It's sort of cruel, you know—
   that is . . .
   unless you can deliver.

On Not Controlling Outcomes {gn12:11-13}

Photo © Unsplash/Denys Nevozhai

You promised Abraham blessings galore,
Progeny more than the sand on the shore.
Still, he was worried he might come across
Someone with power to turn gain to loss.
So he embarked on a self-serving plan:
Impersonating an unmarried man.

I know I'm prone to a similar skew,
Trying to pull off what you said you'd do.
It shouldn't matter if life remains rough.
All of your promises should be enough.
I should be willing to stay on my knees
And let you work out your plan as you please.

Help me to trust you beyond what I see
And not to fear what the outcome will be.

Sonnet: A poem consisting of 14 lines with a particular rhyming scheme.

Conversation at a Construction Site in Babel {gn11:7}

Photo © Wikimedia Commons

I just wanted to say
من خیلی خوشحال هستم ما ساخت این برج
damit wir uns nie darum Sorgen machen, dass eine weitere Flut . . .
Đợi đã, cái gì thế?
Quel est le problème?
Я не понимаю!
Olen sanot kieli . . . hei!
อะไรคือคุณกล่าว
A, bestraga.

I just wanted to say
I'm glad we're building this tower
so we never have to worry about another flood . . .
Wait, what?
What's the matter?
I can't understand you!
I'm speaking your language . . . hellooooo!
What are you saying?!
Aw, hell.

Triolet on a Genealogy of Philanderers {gn10:6-20}

Photo © shutterstock.com/Nomad Soul

From long ago, I've known your name
and prize it— though you won't speak Mine.
(I held your breath till you became.)

From long ago, I've known your name
and that you'd leave me. All the same,
I'll love you past the thin red line:

From long ago, I've known your name
and prize it— though you won't speak Mine.

*Triolet: A poetic form consisting of 8 lines, where the 1st, 4th, and 7th lines repeat, and the 2nd and 8th lines do as well. The rhyme scheme is simple: ABaAabAB, capital letters representing the repeated lines.

Promise {gn9:17}

Photo © Unsplash/Abigail Keenan

a rainbow always appears
where the storm
meets the sun

a defiant reminder
that

pain can be beautiful
heartache can shine
suffering can glisten
sorrow can be radiant
grief can be stunning

after all
there'd be no rainbow
if there was no storm

and in this world there's never a storm without one

that's how we know
we're never alone
when we face
the howling winds

for

a rainbow always appears
where the storm
meets the Son

A Cinquain on Ark Life {gen8}

Photo © Unsplash/Tim Marshall

A year
in close(d) quarters
must feel like forever.
What if you saved your life but lost
your mind?

Cinquain: A short, usually unrhymed poem consisting of twenty-two syllables distributed as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2, in five lines.

A Quatern on the Deluge {gn7:19-20}

Photo © Unsplash/Eutah Mizushima

the rain has been falling    how long i don't know
the last time i saw land was so long ago
the trees have all drowned and the mountains are gone
the water obscures every trace of the dawn

within me    the rivers of doubt overflow
the rain has been falling    how long i don't know
alone on this ocean    i bobble    afloat
i must have been crazy to get in this boat

it would have been better to die with the world
and not have to see what's familiar unfurled
the rain has been falling    how long i don't know
i wonder how far down the flood waters go

this sea-weary vessel will anchor at last
but life as i've known it will be in the past
until then    i'll wonder what's lurking below
the rain has been falling    how long i don't know

Quatern: A sixteen-line French form composed of four quatrains, with a refrain that is in a different place in each quatrain. The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fourth line of stanza four.

Eight {gn6:5-6}

Photo © Unsplash/Tim Marshall

There was no ark
to save God's heart
when grief crashed in like a flood.

            when
regret raindrops
            became
pain puddles
            that joined up into
remorse rivers
            that pooled into
lament lakes
            that merged into
sorrow seas
            and eventually yielded a
deep blue deluge
            over our terminal condition

No—
there was no ark
to save God's heart
when grief crashed in like a flood:

the grief of knowing
the ark he would send us
required room
for no more than
eight.

Noah {gen5:29}

Photo © CreationSwap/Pierce Brantley

Narrowest passage
Of humanity's river.
Ark of the
Human race.

A Septolet on Sin {gen4:7}

Photo © Unsplash/Aurelien-Dare Pixel

Crouching tiger
waits to
kill
or be killed.

Hidden dragon,
that serpent
of old.

Septolet: A poem consisting of seven lines containing fourteen words with a break in between the two parts. Both parts deal with the same thought and create a picture.

A Sonnet on the Fall {gen3}

Photo © Unsplash/Johann Siemens

As soon as eyes were opened, there was shame,
And fig's-leaf clothing could not quell the fear.
In bushes, hiding, fear gave way to blame
That promised to unravel all things dear.

To lose our paradise would be our gain,
Since sin destroys if it is left unchecked.
But we could not perceive the gift in pain:
God drove us out in order to protect,

While promising we'd one day see that Tree
Within a heav'nly garden where we'd thrive.
And this, his brilliant plan to make us free:
Another firstborn Adam would arrive

To fight the snake—to love, to bleed, to cry,
So we could be reclaimed and never die.

Sonnet: A poem consisting of 14 lines with a particular rhyming scheme.

Dirt {gn2:7}

Photo © shutterstock.com/Petar Paunchev

"I feel like dirt."

These words we use to confess
regret
worthlessness
despair

When they should forecast
expectation
possibility
hope

Or have we forgotten what
God Almighty
does with dirt

A Creation Prayer {gn1:1}

Photo © CreationSwap/kevin carden

God with no beginning—
who attends every other beginning
(or it wouldn't be)

God with no ending—
who brings us to the end of ourselves
(or we wouldn't be)

God who begins us always,
always in the middle of the story
(the story that will forever be)

Begin
Me
Again

you, the genesis
you, the finale

and me (always,
always) centered in you