Of Psalms and Singers
Alright. So I've been reading poetry lately, upon the prescription of my English prof. Of course, however unfortunately for someone like me, reading poetry inevitably turns into writing poetry and descending into a mushy pile of romantic, whimsical sappiness. It's a tragedy, really. But it's true.
So I've decided that if I must go, you all must go there with me! Don't worry guys, it's doubtful that I'll subject you to any of my own poetic endeavors; that might be just a bit too painful for all of us involved, and just when I've gotten my readership to an all-time high, hovering somewhere above 2...
Self-deprecation aside, I was struck again today by the profound loveliness of these lyrics to a song entitled Healed by Nichole Nordeman. If you've ever heard it, it's truly poetry set to song.
So I've decided that if I must go, you all must go there with me! Don't worry guys, it's doubtful that I'll subject you to any of my own poetic endeavors; that might be just a bit too painful for all of us involved, and just when I've gotten my readership to an all-time high, hovering somewhere above 2...
Self-deprecation aside, I was struck again today by the profound loveliness of these lyrics to a song entitled Healed by Nichole Nordeman. If you've ever heard it, it's truly poetry set to song.
We stutter and we stammer till You say us
A symphony of chaos till You play us
Phrases on the pages of unknown
Till You read us into poetry and prose
We are kept, and we are captive till You free us
Vaguely unimagined till You dream us
Aimlessly unguided till You lead us home
By Your voice, we speak; by Your strength, no longer weak.
By Your wounds we are healed
(Tell me, what kind of Love is this?)
By Your wounds we are healed
Passed over and passed by until You claim us
Orphaned and abandoned till You name us
Hidden; undisclosed till You expose our hearts
By Your death we live; It is by Your gift that we might give.
By Your wounds we are healed
(Tell me, what kind of Love is this?)
By Your wounds we are healed
What kind of Love would take your shame and spill His blood for you -
And save us by His wounds?
A symphony of chaos till You play us
Phrases on the pages of unknown
Till You read us into poetry and prose
We are kept, and we are captive till You free us
Vaguely unimagined till You dream us
Aimlessly unguided till You lead us home
By Your voice, we speak; by Your strength, no longer weak.
By Your wounds we are healed
(Tell me, what kind of Love is this?)
By Your wounds we are healed
Passed over and passed by until You claim us
Orphaned and abandoned till You name us
Hidden; undisclosed till You expose our hearts
By Your death we live; It is by Your gift that we might give.
By Your wounds we are healed
(Tell me, what kind of Love is this?)
By Your wounds we are healed
What kind of Love would take your shame and spill His blood for you -
And save us by His wounds?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Obviously, much of the striking beauty of this song is lost without its elegant piano strains, Nordeman's lilting, nimble voice, sometimes forceful and breath-taking, sometimes trembling with an ever-controlled frailty. However, to my mind the song still speaks, even while silent, a living epitaph to the Source of all life, and gives tribute to our Creator and Sustainer, our Beginning and End.
Take a few moments, if you will, to curl up with your Bible somewhere (perhaps with a little Nichole Nordeman playing in the background, if you should be so fortunate?) and read through this passage by David, in which he spends page after page, and line after line, exalting and acknowledging the sovereignty, the goodness, the graciousness, and the rightness of the Lord our God. Psalm 119 is inspired, and carries on at length. Read whatever the Lord reveals to you, and meditate on it in prayer. You will not emerge empty-handed.
Take a few moments, if you will, to curl up with your Bible somewhere (perhaps with a little Nichole Nordeman playing in the background, if you should be so fortunate?) and read through this passage by David, in which he spends page after page, and line after line, exalting and acknowledging the sovereignty, the goodness, the graciousness, and the rightness of the Lord our God. Psalm 119 is inspired, and carries on at length. Read whatever the Lord reveals to you, and meditate on it in prayer. You will not emerge empty-handed.
Labels: music, on writing, spirituality
11:43 PM
When those moments of inspiration come, take them. Write. Create. Soliloquize. At worst, you're expressing your inner thoughts and emotions. At best, you're doing that while adding to the collective body of beautifully written poetry that might touch another person, as Nichole Nordeman's has touched you.
I'll leave it to you to decide which scenario each of your poems fits into (though you're probably wrong -- and I mean that as someone who is familiar with the self-deprecating nature of creative types), but keep doing it -- it's a creative outlet that can have deep personal value, if not wider value as well. top