“Poignantly Poetic” is the section of the blog devoted to the promotion and curation of poetry. Anglicanism has a long, rich history of poetry, far beyond the development of the Psalter and Book of Common Prayer. This new series seeks to offer a platform for Christian poets interested in sharing their work.

A poem by Jacob Graudin

The sun already risen, still I wait towards the east,
My mouth mumbles a liturgy mixed up with other forms.
In retrograde, my memory anticipates the feast.

My eyes have trouble focusing; I could have used more sleep.
My knees are quickly soring on the rigid kneeler-board.
The sun already risen, still I wait towards the east.

Again, I hear the beckon, ‘in remembrance of me,’
And in a mass I see the broken cup, the bread outpoured.
In retrograde, my memory anticipates the feast.

Then I remember forward, joined to those surrounding me:
All history sinistroversely read, Semitic lore.
The sun already risen, still we wait towards the east.

This world resounds: the elements converge upon one Priest,
Whose cupping hands communicate these gifts to be reborn.
In retrograde, our memory anticipates the feast.

Real presence of the grape and grain, we taste and then we see.
Our hopes renewed, our ears unstopped, we listen for the door.
The sun already risen, still we wait towards the east,
In retrograde, our memory anticipates the feast.

Jacob Graudin is a layman in the Anglican Church of North America and worships with his wife at Christ Church Anglican in South Bend, Indiana. Originally hailing from Charleston, SC, where he grew up and worked in the Episcopal Diocese, he is dedicated to discovering and expressing the fullness of beauty in the doctrine, liturgy, and art of the Anglican tradition.

“Poignantly Poetic” is the section of the blog devoted to the promotion and curation of poetry. Anglicanism has a long, rich history of poetry, far beyond the development of the Psalter and Book of Common Prayer. This new series seeks to offer a platform for Christian poets interested in sharing their work.

Poem by Chad Bird

Good Friday
 
That head, which angels with ceaseless praise adorn,
            Is pierced with crowded thorns.
That face, which our God with grace and beauty lit,
            Is marred by sinners’ spit.
Those eyes, outshining the sun’s most piercing light,
            Are dull as sable night.
Those ears, accustomed to praise from heaven’s host,
            Must hear his haters boast.
That mouth, whose wisdom the wisest could enthrall,
            Tastes vinegar and gall.
Those feet, whose footstool is this terrestrial sphere,
            To bloody wood adhere.
Those hands, which stretched out the heavens like a tent,
            By spikes in twain are rent.
That tongue, uninjured, shall cry from that cursed tree,
            A prayer of love for me.
 
*Based on “An Exercise of Repentance from our Lord’s Passion”
in the Sacred Meditations of Johann Gerhard.

Chad Bird holds master’s degrees from Concordia Theological Seminary and Hebrew Union College. He draws upon his expertise as a former professor of OT and Hebrew to cohost the podcast, “40 Minutes in the OT.” Chad has authored several books, including his latest, Upside-Down Spirituality: The 9 Essential Failures of a Faithful Life. He has written for Christianity Today, The Gospel Coalition, and elsewhere. He and his wife, Stacy, have four children and two grandchildren.

A poem by Chad Bird. “Poignantly Poetic” is the section of the blog devoted to the promotion and curation of poetry. Anglicanism has a long, rich history of poetry, far beyond the development of the Psalter and Book of Common Prayer. This new series seeks to offer a platform for Christian poets interested in sharing their work.

Lord, Thee I Love with Half My Heart
 
Lord, Thee I love with half my heart.
The world has claimed the other part.
I pray Thy name be hallowed, Lord,
But want my name to be adored.
Thy kingdom come, Thy reign extend,
And rain on me wealth without end.
Thy will be done, my lips shall pray
And curse when I don’t get my way.
I thank Thee for my daily bread,
But cakes and steaks I crave instead.
My million sins forgive, forget,
While I collect a one-cent debt.
From tempting evils keep us free
Unless I find they pleasure me.
Lord, Thee I love with half my heart.
Destroy, reclaim, the other part.

Chad Bird holds master’s degrees from Concordia Theological Seminary and Hebrew Union College. He draws upon his expertise as a former professor of OT and Hebrew to cohost the podcast, “40 Minutes in the OT.” Chad has authored several books, including his latest, Upside-Down Spirituality: The 9 Essential Failures of a Faithful Life. He has written for Christianity Today, The Gospel Coalition, and elsewhere. He and his wife, Stacy, have four children and two grandchildren.

“Poignantly Poetic” is the section of the blog devoted to the promotion and curation of poetry. Anglicanism has a long, rich history of poetry, far beyond the development of the Psalter and Book of Common Prayer. This new series seeks to offer a platform for Christian poets interested in sharing their work.

A poem by Clinton Collister.

“The Gospel According to Mary Magdalene”

“I see you’re reading Origen,” he said, 
And asked me to go out with him for lunch. 
A coder in ball cap, who spoke in blocks, 
He told the tale of when his grandma kept
Him Cooped up in her home for three long months. 
“I loathed her wooden cross and her old prayers, 
So I sought out the ghosts on my same side.”
They possessed me like light and cosmic truth
And when they left, I never felt the same.”
The pool balls cracked as Neil confessed and drank,
And my thumb moved from knot to knot in shock. 
“I could not make them speak to me again,
But I now felt the need for death or joy.
You call men like us players or artists.
Well, it’s a numbers game, and I asked hundreds.”
I sipped my beer and schemed to leave the hall.
“Yes, if there is lead in the air, you’re dangerous.”
I offered, paraphrasing my uncle’s
Go to advice for hunters and for basement
Dwellers. Then I put down cash and escaped
Outside into the cool September breeze. 

Clinton Collister studies theology and poetry at the Institute for Theology, Imagination, and the Arts at The University of St. Andrews and edits the Poets’ Corner at The North American Anglican. His articles have appeared at Forward in Christ, Front Porch Republic, and Solidarity Hall. He and Sarah live in Guardbridge and attend All Saints. You can hear them share their love of poetry on their podcast, Poetry for the People.

“Poignantly Poetic” is the section of the blog devoted to the promotion and curation of poetry. Anglicanism has a long, rich history of poetry, far beyond the development of the Psalter and Book of Common Prayer. This new series seeks to offer a platform for Christian poets interested in sharing their work.

Poems by Chad Bird

Hope Unveiled

As sure as the sun’s rise dispels sable night,
With plow-like rays, unearthing dawn’s light,
When yesterday’s darkness enshrouds today’s face,
Hope shall unveil tomorrow’s bright grace.

O Swaddled God

O swaddled God within a manger throne,
Blood of my heart and marrow of my bone,
Suffuse all you are in all that is me,
That I become what you’ve made me to be.

Chad Bird holds master’s degrees from Concordia Theological Seminary and Hebrew Union College. He draws upon his expertise as a former professor of OT and Hebrew to cohost the podcast, “40 Minutes in the OT.” Chad has authored several books, including his latest, Upside-Down Spirituality: The 9 Essential Failures of a Faithful Life. He has written for Christianity Today, The Gospel Coalition, and elsewhere. He and his wife, Stacy, have four children and two grandchildren.

“Poignantly Poetic” is the section of the blog devoted to the promotion and curation of poetry. Anglicanism has a long, rich history of poetry, far beyond the development of the Psalter and Book of Common Prayer. This new series seeks to offer a platform for Christian poets interested in sharing their work.

The five of us intended to commune.
Shoulder to shoulder in my godson’s car,
We rolled down Jefferson and swerved around
A grey haired man jaywalking, eyes far off.
We hung a left into the view of guards.
The long haired one alarmed the men with guns.
Under storm clouds, beside the tunnel, we stood,
As bells rung out from Mariners’ Cathedral.
They frisked us in case we were doing drugs,
And searched the car for weapons and for guns.
The crooked nosed guard gave us back our papers.
We felt suspicious eyes as we walked late
Between choir members in white robes and I lost
Excuses to refuse the weight of glory.

Clinton Collister studies theology and poetry at the Institute for Theology, Imagination, and the Arts at The University of St. Andrews and edits the Poets’ Corner at The North American Anglican. His articles have appeared at Forward in Christ, Front Porch Republic, and Solidarity Hall. He and Sarah live in Guardbridge and attend All Saints. You can hear them share their love of poetry on their podcast, Poetry for the People.