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The Gospel has to be the norm.

quote by Hans Kung
Added by Lucian Velea
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Ancient Banner

In boundless mercy, the Redeemer left,
The bosom of his Father, and assumed
A servant's form, though he had reigned a king,
In realms of glory, ere the worlds were made,
Or the creating words, 'Let there be light'
In heaven were uttered. But though veiled in flesh,
His Deity and his Omnipotence,
Were manifest in miracles. Disease
Fled at his bidding, and the buried dead
Rose from the sepulchre, reanimate,
At his command, or, on the passing bier
Sat upright, when he touched it. But he came,
Not for this only, but to introduce
A glorious dispensation, in the place
Of types and shadows of the Jewish code.
Upon the mount, and round Jerusalem,
He taught a purer, and a holier law,—
His everlasting Gospel, which is yet
To fill the earth with gladness; for all climes
Shall feel its influence, and shall own its power.
He came to suffer, as a sacrifice
Acceptable to God. The sins of all
Were laid upon Him, when in agony
He bowed upon the cross. The temple's veil
Was rent asunder, and the mighty rocks,
Trembled, as the incarnate Deity,
By his atoning blood, opened that door,
Through which the soul, can have communion with
Its great Creator; and when purified,
From all defilements, find acceptance too,
Where it can finally partake of all
The joys of His salvation.
But the pure Church he planted,—the pure Church
Which his apostles watered,—and for which,
The blood of countless martyrs freely flowed,
In Roman Amphitheatres,—on racks,—
And in the dungeon's gloom,—this blessed Church,
Which grew in suffering, when it overspread
Surrounding nations, lost its purity.
Its truth was hidden, and its light obscured
By gross corruption, and idolatry.
As things of worship, it had images,
And even painted canvas was adored.
It had a head and bishop, but this head
Was not the Saviour, but the Pope of Rome.
Religion was a traffic. Men defiled,
Professed to pardon sin, and even sell,
The joys of heaven for money,—and to raise
Souls out of darkness to eternal light,
For paltry silver lavished upon them.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto II

THE ARGUMENT

The Saints engage in fierce Contests
About their Carnal interests;
To share their sacrilegious Preys,
According to their Rates of Grace;
Their various Frenzies to reform,
When Cromwel left them in a Storm
Till, in th' Effigy of Rumps, the Rabble
Burns all their Grandees of the Cabal.

THE learned write, an insect breeze
Is but a mungrel prince of bees,
That falls before a storm on cows,
And stings the founders of his house;
From whose corrupted flesh that breed
Of vermin did at first proceed.
So e're the storm of war broke out,
Religion spawn'd a various rout
Of petulant Capricious sects,
The maggots of corrupted texts,
That first run all religion down,
And after ev'ry swarm its own.
For as the Persian Magi once
Upon their mothers got their sons,
That were incapable t' enjoy
That empire any other way;
So PRESBYTER begot the other
Upon the good old Cause, his mother,
Then bore then like the Devil's dam,
Whose son and husband are the same.
And yet no nat'ral tie of blood
Nor int'rest for the common good
Cou'd, when their profits interfer'd,
Get quarter for each other's beard.
For when they thriv'd, they never fadg'd,
But only by the ears engag'd:
Like dogs that snarl about a bone,
And play together when they've none,
As by their truest characters,
Their constant actions, plainly appears.
Rebellion now began, for lack
Of zeal and plunders to grow slack;
The Cause and covenant to lessen,
And Providence to b' out of season:
For now there was no more to purchase
O' th' King's Revenue, and the Churches,
But all divided, shar'd, and gone,
That us'd to urge the Brethren on;
Which forc'd the stubborn'st for the Cause,

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Butler
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All Are Precious

Every child’s, a precious one!
Every spouse, a precious one;
Every sibling, a precious one;
For, most have small, a family norm!

Every parent’s, a precious one!
Every student’s, a precious one!
Every teacher, a precious one;
For, most have small, a family norm!

Every worker’s, a precious one!
Every inmate, a precious one;
Every colleague, a precious one;
For, most have small, a family norm!

Every person’s, a precious one!
Every life, a precious one;
Every soul, a precious one;
For, most have small, a family norm!

So, take all care of every life,
And don’t take undue risks at all;
Life’s most precious thing on earth;
For, most have small, a family norm!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 24-10-2010

poem by John Celes
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VIII. Dominus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, Pauperum Procurator

Ah, my Giacinto, he's no ruddy rogue,
Is not Cinone? What, to-day we're eight?
Seven and one's eight, I hope, old curly-pate!
—Branches me out his verb-tree on the slate,
Amo-as-avi-atum-are-ans,
Up to -aturus, person, tense, and mood,
Quies me cum subjunctivo (I could cry)
And chews Corderius with his morning crust!
Look eight years onward, and he's perched, he's perched
Dapper and deft on stool beside this chair,
Cinozzo, Cinoncello, who but he?
—Trying his milk-teeth on some crusty case
Like this, papa shall triturate full soon
To smooth Papinianian pulp!

It trots
Already through my head, though noon be now,
Does supper-time and what belongs to eve.
Dispose, O Don, o' the day, first work then play!
—The proverb bids. And "then" means, won't we hold
Our little yearly lovesome frolic feast,
Cinuolo's birth-night, Cinicello's own,
That makes gruff January grin perforce!
For too contagious grows the mirth, the warmth
Escaping from so many hearts at once—
When the good wife, buxom and bonny yet,
Jokes the hale grandsire,—such are just the sort
To go off suddenly,—he who hides the key
O' the box beneath his pillow every night,—
Which box may hold a parchment (someone thinks)
Will show a scribbled something like a name
"Cinino, Ciniccino," near the end,
"To whom I give and I bequeath my lands,
"Estates, tenements, hereditaments,
"When I decease as honest grandsire ought."
Wherefore—yet this one time again perhaps—
Shan't my Orvieto fuddle his old nose!
Then, uncles, one or the other, well i' the world,
May—drop in, merely?—trudge through rain and wind,
Rather! The smell-feasts rouse them at the hint
There's cookery in a certain dwelling-place!
Gossips, too, each with keepsake in his poke,
Will pick the way, thrid lane by lantern-light,
And so find door, put galligaskin off
At entry of a decent domicile
Cornered in snug Condotti,—all for love,
All to crush cup with Cinucciatolo!

Well,
Let others climb the heights o' the court, the camp!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Poetry And Reality

THE worldly minded, cast in common mould,
With all his might pursuing fame or gold,
And towards that goal too vehemently hurled
To waste a thought about another world,
Has one advantage which yon lofty host,
His intellectual betters, may not boast :
Neither deceiving nor deceived, he knows
He and religion are inveterate foes ;
He loves it not, and making no pretence,
He shows his honesty, if not his sense.

But we have seen a high-flown, mental thing,
As fine and fragile as libella's wing,
All soul and intellect, the ethereal mind
Scarcely within its earthly house confined,
On heaven oft casting an enraptured eye,
And paying compliments to the Most High ;
And yet, though harsh the judgment seem to be,
As far from Heaven, as far from God, as he :
Yes, might the bold assertion be forgiven,
A poet's soul may miss the road to Heaven !

--'Tis Sabbath morning, and at early hour,
The poet seeks his own sequestered bower :
The shining landscape stretches full in view ;
All heaven is glowing with unclouded blue ;
The hills lie basking in the sunny beams,
Enriched with sprinkled hamlets, woods, and streams :
And hark ! from tower and steeple, here and there,
The cheerful chime bespeaks the hour of prayer.
The poet's inmost soul responsive swells
To every change of those religious bells ;
His fine eye ranging o'er the spacious scene,
With ecstacy unutterably keen ;
His mind exalted, melted, soothed, and free
From earthly tumult, all tranquillity ;--
If this is not devotion, what can be ?

But, gentle poet, wherefore not repair
To yonder temple ? God is worshipped there.
Nay, wherefore should he ?--wherefore not address
The God of nature in that green recess,
Surrounded by His works, and not confined
To rites adapted to the vulgar mind ?
There he can sit, and thence his soul may rise,
Caught up in contemplation, to the skies,
And worship nature's God on reason's plan :
--It is delusion, self-applauding man !
The God of nature is the God of grace ;
The contrite spirit is his dwelling-place ;

[...] Read more

poem by Jane Taylor
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Gnostic Texts

Described as snobbish and elite
by Garry Wills,
what the Church wished to delete
provides me thrills.
I’m thinking of the Gnostic text
that, somewhat rude, is
opposed to those disciples vexed
by deeds of Judas,
proposing that he was opposed
to martyrdom,
which Christians have so long supposed
to be the bomb
that made so popular the myth
this text explodes.
Like Pagels, I am happy with
such Gnostic codes.

Inspired by “Reading Judas: The Gospel of Judas and the Shaping of Christianity, ” by Elaine Pagels and Karen L. King (New York: Penguin,2007) , and Gary Wills’s description of second century Gnostic texts such as “The Gospel of Juddas” as “elite and snobbish” in his book “What The Gospels Meant, ” reviewed by David Gibson (“What Jesus Really Did, ” NYT, March 2,2008) :
“What the Gospels Meant” starts straightforwardly with a helpful explanation of just what a Gospel is: “a meditation on the meaning of Jesus in the light of sacred history as recorded in the sacred writings.” Wills then parses the Gospel of Mark, the earliest account, as a “report from the suffering body of Jesus, ” written to comfort early Christians facing persecution. Matthew’s is the teaching Gospel, recounting many of Christianity’s most familiar sermons. The erudite Luke presents “the reconciling body of Jesus, ” a Gospel of poignant stories like the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan that display the humanity of Jesus and the universality of his message. John is, as ever, the theologian, a prophetic voice from “the mystical body of Jesus.” Yet the paradox of modern Christianity is that the growth of biblical scholarship, and the fervor of believers in sola Scriptura (Scripture alone) , has done so little to affect the mass of biblical illiterates who proclaim their convictions about what Jesus would do while knowing precious little about what he actually did or, more important, what he meant. Neo-atheists aren’t much better, sneering at Christians but displaying ignorance about Christianity. And neo-Gnostics — academics and acolytes who claim to channel the rebel spirit of various early Christian offshoots — routinely confer on “elite and snobbish” (Wills’s phrase) second-century texts an authority they rarely grant to the canon. Such literalism sustains a fragile faith.
In this sense, Wills is a dangerous man. He does not create a foolish consistency out of differing Gospels, but underscores the attributes of each narrative to highlight truths more crucial than whether there were four discrete Evangelists, or whether three wise men actually followed a star in the East. The credulous will be shocked by his rationality, while skeptics will be scandalized by his respect for the faith. To be sure, Wills includes asides that will win few points with Rome, like his claim that the virgin birth “is not a gynecological or obstetric teaching, but a theological one.” And he throws in facts that can be mischievously tossed out at family gatherings or, worse, to the pastor after Sunday services — for example, that the crown of thorns was probably a wreath of acanthus leaves. (Wills also provides his own translations of the original “marketplace” Greek, though I’m not sure that killing the “pampered” calf or hearing that the Word became flesh and “bivouacked with us” will catch on.)

12/28/09

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Ghetto Gospel

Uh..
Hit 'em with a little ghetto gospel
[Chorus: Elton John]
Those who wish to follow me (My ghetto gospel)
I welcome with my hands
and the red sun sinks at last
into the hills of gold
And peace to this young warrior
Without the sounds of guns
[Verse 1]
If I could recollect before my hood days
I'd sit and reminisce thinkin of bliss of the good days
I stop and stare at the younger my heart goes to em
AIDS tested, it was stress that they under
And nowadays things change
Everyone's ashamed of the youth, cuz the truth look strange
And for me it's reversed, we left them a world that's cursed and it hurts
Cuz any day they'll push the button
And all good men like Malcolm X and Bobby Hutton died for nothin
Told em they could get teary, the world looks dreary
When you wipe your eyes see it clearly
There's no need for you to fear me
If you take your time to hear me, maybe you can learn to cheer me
It aint about black or white, cuz we're human
I hope we see the light before it's ruined
My Ghetto Gopsel
[Chorus]
Those who wish to follow me (Ghetto gospel)
I welcome with my hands
and the red sun sinks at last
into the hills of gold
And peace to this young warrior
Without the sounds of guns
[Verse 2]
Tell me do you see that old lady, aint it sad?
Livin outta bags, but she's glad for the little things she has
And over there there's a lady
Crack got her crazy, yet she's givin birth to a baby
I don't trip and let it fade me
From outta the frying pan we jump into another form of slavery
Even now I get discouraged
Wonder if they take it all back, will I still keep the courage?
I refuse to be a role model
I set goals, stay in control, drink out my own bottles
I made mistakes but learned from every one
And when it's said and done
I bet this brother be a better one
If I upset you don't stress
Never forget, that God isn't finished with me yet
I feel his hand on my brain

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song performed by 2 Pac
Added by Lucian Velea
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Gospel Changes

The Prodigal Son, he'd been away a while
he was working his way back home now
over many a ragged mile
When he finally crossed the river
and his father saw him near
there was a joyful sound, for all the world to hear
I listened to what the Good Book said
and it made good sense to me
talkin' about reapin' what you're sowin'
people trying to be free.
Now we've got new names and faces, this time around
Gospel changes, Lord, Still goin' down.
Jesus, He did not doubt His gifts
though He knew that He had not long to live
He took care of the bus'ness
of teaching us how to fly
then He bowed His head and laid down to die
I listened to what the Good Book said
and it made good sense to me
talkin' about reapin' what you're sowin'
people trying to be free.
Now we've got new names and faces, this time around
Gospel changes, Lord, Still goin' down.
Jerusalem I see you standing high
but if you lose your salvation
there'll be no tears left to cry
Now some men worship a Golden Calf
while others are bought and sold
and if we live like that brother we pay the toll
I listened to what the Good Book said
and it made good sense to me
talkin' about reapin' what you're sowin'
people trying to be free.
Now we've got new names and faces, this time around
Gospel changes, Lord, Still goin' down.
Gospel changes, Lord, Still goin' down,
Still Goin' Down
Gospel changes, Lord, Still goin' down.

song performed by John Denver
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Gospel Accordin To John

(kinky friedman, roger friedman)
He was just an old-time preacher on the ol time radio
But they never learn to listen till they lived enough to know.
I used to walk out on that porch when mamad turn the durn thing on
To the gospel accordin to john.
Her mail-order prayer shawl fell across her silver hair,
Her sad eyes saw a better world when john came on the air.
Mama had someone to turn to she was rockin all night long
To the gospel accordin to john.
You see, she was a blind believer in johns Bible beatin game.
Hed heal em, wheel em, deal em, bless em in heavens name.
Onward christian soldiers, just a dollar and a half
Buys a photo of jesus with an autograph.
And jesus was a-watching from the table by the door
When that rockin chair grew silent and that shawl fell to the floor.
I walked out on that porch because I couldnt find a prayer
When a kindly voice come a-cracklin cross the air.
Said, folks, them righteous times are comin, I say, theyre comin right on back.
You can hop that gospel train, he said, from both sides of the track.
Some people prayin, keep a-listenin, keep a-helpin out the show,
cause ol johns with you anywhere you go.
Now some folks claim the scriptures are the only living truth,
Others swear by peter, paul or matthew, mark or luke,
Ah but there aint a nicer passage just to sail a dream upon
Than the gospel accordin to john.
He was just an old-time preacher but he answered mamas call,
His words may never save a soul, but his faith could heal us all.
cause lifes a sacred pilgrimage whatever trip youre on
And thats the gospel accordin to john.
Recitation:
God bless you, john you ol devil ...

song performed by Kinky Friedman
Added by Lucian Velea
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Abandoning God’s Gospel

Today many gospels may go around, but, many are just not sound,
Many men preach a gospelly goop, with little Truth in religious soup,
As there’s no meat in their broth, for men who feed from that trough,
Those pulpits of the broader way, as they lead men spiritually astray.

They say in God, that they believe, but, His Truth, they don’t receive,
While they recognize philosophy, and man’s watered down theology,
As they don’t teach from God’s Word, although, His Truth is inferred,
But, only for the appearance of good, as His Truth is misunderstood.

Their gospel is for a social cause, as they put God’s Word on pause,
As they reach to man’s social need, Eternal Truths, they do not heed,
And the real Gospel is ultimately lost, as they avoid the bloody cross,
While avoiding the very reason why, upon that cross Christ had to die.

In their gospel there is no trace, of every man’s need for God’s Grace,
As their gospel ignores sin and Hell, omitting God’s Truth they will tell,
All their listeners, they go to Heaven, which is purely, religious leaven,
And their pews may be very full, but, what’s missing is God’s Gospel.

Many of these men may even muse, about Truth, we call Good News,
But, they need the bad news first, if they’re to have any spiritual thirst,
That being all men deserve to perish, apart from The Lord, we cherish,
And that all only find Eternal Life, in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

(Copyright ©08/2010)

poem by Bob Gotti
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University Of Central Florida Volleyball

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poem by Caasder Fronds
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Bible in Poetry: 1 Corinthians 9

The Rights of an Apostle:

1Am I not free, an apostle?
Have I not seen Jesus, our Lord?
Aren’t you the fruit of my labor,
For Jesus Christ, my savior, Lord?
2 Although to others not, may be
I am an apostle to you!
You’re seal of my apostleship.
3 This is my one defense to those
Who sit in judgment upon me.
4Don’t we have right to food and drink?
5Do not we have the right to take
A wife believing, that’s with us,
As do the other apostles,
The Lord's brothers and Cephas too?
6 Or only I and Barnabas
Must have to work for a living?
7Who serves as soldier without pay?
Who plants a vineyard on his own
And not ingest its luscious grapes?
Who tends a flock, drink not the milk?
8Do I say this merely from just
A human point of view, tell me?
Does not the Law say just the same?
9For, it is writ in Mosaic Law:
'Do not muzzle an ox while ’tis
Still treading out the grain for you.'
Is it of oxen only that
Then, God is so concerned about?
10 He says this for us, does not He?
Yes, this was written just for us,
Because when plough-man ploughs the field,
And thresher threshes, they do so
With hope, of share in harvest too.
11If we’ve sown seed in you spiritual,
Is it too much if we then reap
A material harvest from you?
12 If others have this right from you,
Shouldn’t we have it, then all the more?
But we didn’t use this right at all.
And on the contrary, we put
Up with all things rather than to
Hinder gospel of Jesus Christ.
13Do you not know that those who work
In temples get their food from them,
And those who serve at altars share
Whatev’r is offered upon them?
14 Similarly, the Lord commands
That those who preach the gospel should

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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apj Indonesia’s Torturous Democracy?

Indonesia is a sprawling
archipelago nation
of 237 million people.

Indonesia emerged
from decades
of dictatorship
as recently as 1998.

Indonesia continues
to make
strides toward democracy...

however a weak
limp legal system
continues to be
a hot black spot.

torturing suspects
'the norm' in Indonesia
routine police perks

routine law enforcement
torture suspects convicts
extract corrupt confessions

“Indonesian law enforcers
routinely torture suspects
and convicts to extract
confessions or obtain

information... beatings,
intimidation and rape are
so commonplace they are
considered the norm.”

Jakarta-based Legal Aid Foundation Report

Restaria Hutabarat said the group's report
found police beatings intimidation rape
are commonplace considered routine norm

“few victims believe
they have the right
to lodge complaints”

police intimidation beatings raping suspects
few terrorized victims lodge complaints
Boy Rafli Amar will make changes if necessary

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Deeds And Relationships

Deeds that you perform have life
like living beings. Every action
is virtually the deed’s midwife
whose job is to prevent retraction
of something that may either lead
to benefit or punishment,
the punishment part of the deed,
like an investment, spent
long after it has been performed.

We reap from deeds what we have sown
not as a measure made for measure,
but because the deed has grown,
and finally provides displeasure
if the deed was wrong, and when
correct and virtuous can provide
a benefit like interest men
deserve––and God does not deride.

Relationships are forms of deeds––
we reap what’s sown in them, the joy
or pain that they provide not seeds
but capital that we enjoy.
For what is wrong in them we must
not judge, but must remember they
are built with tendencies to bust,
like people whom God built from clay.

Inspired by Klaus Koch’s explanation of retribution (“Is there a Doctrine of Retribution on the Old Testament? ” in James L. Crenshaw, ed. Theodicy in the Old Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress Press,1983) ,57–87, p.59, cited in Vince Endris, “Yahweh versus Baal: A Narrative-Critical Reading of the Gideon-Abimelech Narrative, ” JSOT 33(2008) : 173–95, p.187. Endris writes:

While modern views tend to believe that actions are judged (by Yahweh) either good or bad according to a previously established norm, in the Israelite understanding there was no ‘norm’ and actions were not judged. Rather, there was a built-in and inherent connection between an action and its consequences’. Yahweh’s role, then, is not as a judge who ‘deals out reward and punishment on the basis of an established norm, but rather somewhat like a “mid-wife who assists at birth” by facilitating the completion of something which previous human action had already set into action’.

1/21/09

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Other Gospels

There are many ways, you know, preached by many, on how to go,
To Heaven to be with Eternal God, preached with a convincing nod,
There are many ways we’re told, for sheep to reach the eternal fold,
To then dwell forever in God’s Love, in the Shepherd’s Fold above.

Some men teach a gospel of works, with a list of man-made perks,
With salvation contingent upon, works ordered by a spiritual liaison.
Some tout a universal salvation, that includes every man and nation,
Suggesting whatever you believe, eternal life above you will receive.

Some even abandon The Cross, believing there’ll be no eternal loss,
Not needing the work of Calvary, as a god lives in both you and me.
All other gospels many proclaim, still pointing to the Savior’s Name,
Have been devised by only man, and are not of God’s Eternal Plan.

Satan’s deceiving many my friend, as Christ warned, during the end,
For many will come claiming to be, Christ, returning for you and me.
But Christ’s sheep know His voice, so won’t make the wrong choice,
As a strange voice they’ll run from, knowing it’s not from God’s Son.

Paul went on to say all men, of another gospel, God must condemn,
For there’s only one Christ to reach, only one Gospel we can preach,
The only Gospel from Christ Jesus, is the only message we can trust,
And only as we accept this Truth, will we avoid God’s eternal reproof.

(Copyright ©06/2008)

poem by Bob Gotti
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Salvation Is Believing

There are many apostate preachers
in the world today
by perverting the pure gospel of Jesus
to change it to their own way
They twist the scriptures around
to make up their own plan of salvation
instead of leaving the bible the way it is
and let it do the work of regeneration
The gospel is not a way to live,
it’s good news to be believed, not to do
Believing with all your heart
that Jesus shed his blood on the cross for you

John 3: 16 For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life.

Galations 1: 6 I marvel that ye are so soon removed from him that calleth you into the grace of Christ unto another gospel:
1: 7 Which is not another; but there be some that trouble you, and would pervert the gospel of Christ.

poem by Cindy Wyatt
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Distributing Invaluable Knowledge As You Observe

To think, a Christian Gospel tract
Can help to save a soul...
And yet, in truth, it's proved a fact,
For God's love makes us whole...
Anointed by our Saviour's prayers,
The Holy Bible stands
A witness just how much God cares,
Wherever Scripture lands!

She chose her spot where most folks were
And gave out tracts that day...
A miracle just might occur,
As she went on her way...
She prayed that God would open eyes,
As well as hearts and minds,
So that lost souls would realise
God's wonders and God's signs!

The tracts were just like promises
God had prepared before...
All His people know what bliss is,
At times, thrilled to the core!
The day when Bible verses rule
And Satan's lies all lose!
The day that he can't cheat or fool!
The day that sinners choose...

Disciples spread God's Holy Word,
His Good News far and wide...
Our eyes observe, no longer blurred,
Our hearts are warmed inside!
For God so loved the World He gave
His one and only Son
And in Christ's death, God wants to save
From all the sins we've done...

To think, a Christian Gospel tract
Can help to save a soul...
And yet, in truth, it's proved a fact,
For God's love makes us whole...
Anointed by our Saviour's prayers,
The Holy Bible stands
A witness just how much God cares,
Wherever Scripture lands!

Denis Martindale, copyright, August 2012.

Shortcut info: tinyurl-dot-com/dikayo-poem

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poem by Denis Martindale
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The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part II.

“Dame,” said the Panther, “times are mended well,
Since late among the Philistines you fell.
The toils were pitched, a spacious tract of ground
With expert huntsmen was encompassed round;
The inclosure narrowed; the sagacious power
Of hounds and death drew nearer every hour.
'Tis true, the younger lion 'scaped the snare,
But all your priestly calves lay struggling there,
As sacrifices on their altars laid;
While you, their careful mother, wisely fled,
Not trusting destiny to save your head.
For, whate'er promises you have applied
To your unfailing Church, the surer side
Is four fair legs in danger to provide;
And whate'er tales of Peter's chair you tell,
Yet, saving reverence of the miracle,
The better luck was yours to 'scape so well.”
“As I remember,” said the sober Hind,
“Those toils were for your own dear self designed,
As well as me; and with the selfsame throw,
To catch the quarry and the vermin too,—
Forgive the slanderous tongues that called you so.
Howe'er you take it now, the common cry
Then ran you down for your rank loyalty.
Besides, in Popery they thought you nurst,
As evil tongues will ever speak the worst,
Because some forms, and ceremonies some
You kept, and stood in the main question dumb.
Dumb you were born indeed; but, thinking long,
The test, it seems, at last has loosed your tongue:
And to explain what your forefathers meant,
By real presence in the sacrament,
After long fencing pushed against a wall,
Your salvo comes, that he's not there at all:
There changed your faith, and what may change may fall.
Who can believe what varies every day,
Nor ever was, nor will be at a stay?”
“Tortures may force the tongue untruths to tell,
And I ne'er owned myself infallible,”
Replied the Panther: “grant such presence were,
Yet in your sense I never owned it there.
A real virtue we by faith receive,
And that we in the sacrament believe.”
“Then,” said the Hind, “as you the matter state,
Not only Jesuits can equivocate;
For real, as you now the word expound,
From solid substance dwindles to a sound.
Methinks, an Æsop's fable you repeat;
You know who took the shadow for the meat:
Your Church's substance thus you change at will,

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poem by John Dryden
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Satan Absolved

(In the antechamber of Heaven. Satan walks alone. Angels in groups conversing.)
Satan. To--day is the Lord's ``day.'' Once more on His good pleasure
I, the Heresiarch, wait and pace these halls at leisure
Among the Orthodox, the unfallen Sons of God.
How sweet in truth Heaven is, its floors of sandal wood,
Its old--world furniture, its linen long in press,
Its incense, mummeries, flowers, its scent of holiness!
Each house has its own smell. The smell of Heaven to me
Intoxicates and haunts,--and hurts. Who would not be
God's liveried servant here, the slave of His behest,
Rather than reign outside? I like good things the best,
Fair things, things innocent; and gladly, if He willed,
Would enter His Saints' kingdom--even as a little child.

[Laughs. I have come to make my peace, to crave a full amaun,
Peace, pardon, reconcilement, truce to our daggers--drawn,
Which have so long distraught the fair wise Universe,
An end to my rebellion and the mortal curse
Of always evil--doing. He will mayhap agree
I was less wholly wrong about Humanity
The day I dared to warn His wisdom of that flaw.
It was at least the truth, the whole truth, I foresaw
When He must needs create that simian ``in His own
Image and likeness.'' Faugh! the unseemly carrion!
I claim a new revision and with proofs in hand,
No Job now in my path to foil me and withstand.
Oh, I will serve Him well!
[Certain Angels approach. But who are these that come
With their grieved faces pale and eyes of martyrdom?
Not our good Sons of God? They stop, gesticulate,
Argue apart, some weep,--weep, here within Heaven's gate!
Sob almost in God's sight! ay, real salt human tears,
Such as no Spirit wept these thrice three thousand years.
The last shed were my own, that night of reprobation
When I unsheathed my sword and headed the lost nation.
Since then not one of them has spoken above his breath
Or whispered in these courts one word of life or death
Displeasing to the Lord. No Seraph of them all,
Save I this day each year, has dared to cross Heaven's hall
And give voice to ill news, an unwelcome truth to Him.
Not Michael's self hath dared, prince of the Seraphim.
Yet all now wail aloud.--What ails ye, brethren? Speak!
Are ye too in rebellion? Angels. Satan, no. But weak
With our long earthly toil, the unthankful care of Man.

Satan. Ye have in truth good cause.

Angels. And we would know God's plan,
His true thought for the world, the wherefore and the why
Of His long patience mocked, His name in jeopardy.

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poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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