By the Rivers of Babylon

Author’s note: Ok, so I almost never post my poetry here in my blog. This is usually because when I do it is the least read and, frankly, rarely understood. Fair enough, but I’ve been thinking about this one for weeks now. I sometimes look around at my own time and my own place in it and feel maybe a little like those Israelite captives in Babylon must have felt. This place they’re in is beautiful, and majestic and amazing… but it’s all wrong. It’s not and can’t really be home. Home is the place prepared for them by a loving God. Home for them is being in the PRESENCE of a loving God.

So I witness a people and a culture that is quick to magnify itself, but I know (as Brennan Manning says) that we are all just really beggars at the door of God’s mercy. I’m surrounded by a people whose arrogance is trying to make man into gods, all the while knowing that my God choose to become a man…

I want to weep and repent for my people, but first I’m reminded of something… I’m reminded that I AM my people. All that same arrogance, and vanity and mocking rebellion I accuse them of is in myself also. At times I’m the repentant tax collector beating his breast in sorrow, and at times I’m the self-righteous Pharisee looking on the sinners with contempt and entitlement.

Yet mercy waits for me right at the edge of a prayer. It waits for us all.

In a week comes the Jewish new year of Rosh Hashanah. Ten days later comes the Jewish day of repentance and atonement called Yom Kippur where the priests traditionally leads the people in acts of repentance. Between them, however, are ten days known as the “Days of Awe”. Those are the days where the priests themselves seek their own repentance. What a powerful imagery and calling for us to look not only at the needs of our nation, but first at the needs in ourselves. We may be beggars at the door of God’s mercy, but we don’t have to beg for God’s mercy. We don’t even have to knock on that door! Jesus himself is knocking. We just have to open it. We need to come in humility to a God who embraces us like the father embraced the prodigal son.

So let us weep where we need to weep. Let us warn and be a witness where fitting. Let us humble ourselves and repent where we need to repent. And let us find that our true home is with the one who choose to take all the wrath that our own rebellion has earned. And as is usual during the Days of Awe, may I give my hearts wish and the customary greeting, “May your name be written in the book of life.”

By the rivers of Babylon, we sat down and wept…” Psalms 137:1

A wonder in an ancient mind that wanders throughout space and time A song though lips with breath departed. A song through eyes with tear stains blotted Of blessed hope like early mist on greener hillsides gently kissed And dreams too early gaining feet; sprang in mild, withered in heat

These walls of stone can tease the mind. A strength they promise. A peace of kinds These gardens of the grandest wonder claim mankind’s will o’er nature’s “blunders” But arrogance strolls down every street and haughtiness with human feet An ode of man as savior of man, becoming gods with mortal hands.

My heart echoes the colossal city of human glory and holy pity My mind holds images of power, of battlements and soaring towers Made by those who lust the great, in whom death’s not feared, who scoff at fate And minds that hold humility a fault and brokenness a beggar’s lot

At harvest they feast to praise their feats, clawing to gain the braggart’s seat And call down challenges to the sky to watch their glory days grow nigh Standing on towers that scrape the clouds and scream their praises clear and loud Knowing not their end comes soon. For Babylon now lays in ruins

By its rivers I will sit to weep, for long its secrets I fought to keep That safety was not it’s mission. It’s walls were forged to be my prison Towers not built for contemplation, but to pit itself against creation A forgery of God above, where power and pride mocks faith and love

Yet the darkest secret I seek to flee is that this Babylon is wholly me…

Gaze at the moon and truly know, that pride so great must fall so low and remember a time, yes know it well, before this city rose and fell When my young feet ran greener hills and the sound of laughter graced our ears For still the memory of Zion is strong. My lips yet still whisper its song.

It sang of promises made in faith. It spoke of peace, and not in haste It prophesied of future plans held tightly in it’s Maker’s hands And fields of death to rise above, to promises of times of love Of nail prints in a savior’s hand as God Himself became a man…