The Donkey by G.K. Chesterton

When forests walked and fishes flew
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood,
Then, surely, I was born.

With monstrous head and sickening bray
And ears like errant wings—
The devil’s walking parody
Of all four-footed things:

The battered outlaw of the earth
Of ancient crooked will;
Scourge, beat, deride me—I am dumb—
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour—
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout around my head
And palms about my feet.

(Poem by G.K. Chesterton)

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Juxtaposition: : the act or an instance of placing two or more things side by side.

Created we; Creator he.
Fallen we; Faithful he.
Depraved we; Divine he.
Hopeless we; Holy he.
Incorrigible we; Incarnate he.
Loveless we; Loving he.
Callous we; Crucified he.
Ruined we; Resurrected he.
Guilty we; Gracious he.
Adopted we; Ascended he.
Suffering we; Sustaining he.
Meager we; Mediating he.
Confident we; Coming he.

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Auld Lang Syne (Remix)

Old friendships should not be forgotten.

At least that’s the central point of the 18th century Scottish poem.

Robert Burns first produced the lines in written form in 1788. It has become a New Year’s Eve custom for many who sing it when the clock strikes midnight. The song begins with a rhetorical question, “Should old acquaintance be forgot?” and is followed by an argument for a negative response.

This time last year, I decided to rewrite the lyrics using the same format—but focus the song on the question of whether or not humanity should forget God in order to find ultimate liberation.  In similar fashion, the entire song is set to negatively answer the opening question. It is set to the same tune as the traditional song. The use of “loose” and “lose” is intentional, btw.

To Loose Humanity

Should men remember God no more,
And finally be free?
Should men remember God no more,
To loose humanity?

To loose humanity, my soul,
To loose humanity,
We’ll drink the dregs of bitter wrath,
And lose humanity.

You’ll surely stand before him then!
And surely so will we!
We’ll drink the dregs of bitter wrath
And lose humanity.

We too will suffer for this dream
And mar reality;
But Christ the perfect lamb has come,
To loose humanity.

And there he stands the sinner’s friend!
Victor of Calvary;
Because he drank God’s wrath fil’d cup
To loose humanity.

To loose humanity, my soul,
To loose humanity,
He drank the dregs of bitter wrath,
To loose humanity.


“Over a half century ago, while I was still a child, I recall hearing a number of old people offer the following explanation for the great disasters that had befallen Russia: ‘Men have forgotten God; that’s why all this has happened.’ Since then I have spent well-nigh 50 years working on the history of our revolution; in the process I have read hundreds of books, collected hundreds of personal testimonies, and have already contributed eight volumes of my own toward the effort of clearing away the rubble left by that upheaval. But if I were asked today to formulate as concisely as possible the main cause of the ruinous revolution that swallowed up some 60 million of our people, I could not put it more accurately than to repeat: ‘Men have forgotten God; that’s why all this has happened.'”

– Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Russian historian and Nobel Laureate (1918-2008)

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Unbroken & Unashamed

Born in sin, I knew no other way.

Condemned within, until the day.

When in grace, I was remade:

In my natural state, with hellish fate,
Unworthy was my only trait.

I was:







And unacceptable.

I was unloving and unlovely,
but never deemed unlovable.

For I have been unbroken
through his unconditional love
by the unstoppable mercy
demonstrated in the unutterable darkness
of the wrath-born cross.

And in the uncontainable power
of the bodily resurrection
of His unequaled Son,
consummated in the unending praise
of his unspotted bride
from an unmerited redemption
unto the unfathomable riches of his unmatchable glory.

And now I am unashamed.

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Death’s Obituary

This is one of the more fun writing projects I have done in recent history. This is a spoken word poem I wrote about the day that death knocked on the wrong door. I was inspired to write this after studying 1 Corinthians 15 for a sermon I preached on the resurrection.




Death’s Obituary

Death follows hard after breathing beings;
He ain’t stoppin’ ’til he freeze your feelings;
Or seize your nerves and leave you reeling.
This is no joke: you’ve been told before;
It’s too late when he’s knockin’ at your door.
But the Devil’s surprise, can’t believe his eyes;
The hinges whine, he discovers his prize;
Before him stands: an innocent Lamb.
Nailed him down, crucified I AM.
Buried him deep then locked the door.
Threw away the keys (but please) there’s more;
What God had in store, sent Death through the floor;
High King of Calvary, the prisoners set free;
Though slain, now raised, claimin’ victory.
And now we read: Death’s Obituary.


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A Ballad of Suicide

It seemed appropriate that my final lecture last week before Easter was on Nietzsche.

The only answer to nihilism is resurrection.

If man, as Kansas sang, is only “dust in the wind” then we should “eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die.” Surely, anyone who accepts this proposition should have  little problem eating or drinking. It is the being merry part most find difficult. It seems the seventeenth century philosopher Pascal was right. Nothing but God can fill the void in our hearts.

I came across this poem by literary heavy-weight G.K. Chesterton that illustrates man’s despair in contrast to his longing for joy.

“A Ballad of Suicide”

The gallows in my garden, people say,

Is new and neat and adequately tall;
I tie the noose on in a knowing way

As one that knots his necktie for a ball;
But just as all the neighbours—on the wall—
Are drawing a long breath to shout “Hurray!”

The strangest whim has seized me. . . . After all
I think I will not hang myself to-day.
To-morrow is the time I get my pay—

My uncle’s sword is hanging in the hall—
I see a little cloud all pink and grey—

Perhaps the rector’s mother will not call— I fancy that I heard from Mr. Gall
That mushrooms could be cooked another way—

I never read the works of Juvenal—
I think I will not hang myself to-day.
The world will have another washing-day;

The decadents decay; the pedants pall;
And H.G. Wells has found that children play,

And Bernard Shaw discovered that they squall,
Rationalists are growing rational—
And through thick woods one finds a stream astray

So secret that the very sky seems small—
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

I find it interesting that Chesterton makes reference to two atheists in the poem—George Bernard Shaw and H.G. Wells—which seems to me to point to the aforementioned contrast.

There is a longing deep within the human heart for meaning and purpose.

Even in our despair—the “thick woods”— we find a “stream astray.”

Herein is our hope: Christ the fount of living water.


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Eschaton: Lyrics of Longing

Longing for that day,
To my feeble heart I say,
“Christ is coming on His way.”

Come now Lord,
Come now Lord,
Come now, hasten your return.

Even so,
Even so,
Help our weary hearts to know:

You will come,
You will come,
For those hidden in the Son.

Come now Lord,
Come now Lord,
Come now, hasten your return.

Tho’ my vision now is dim,
I will fix my gaze on Him:
He who saved me from my sin.

Come now Lord,
Come now Lord,
Come now, hasten your return.

Even so,
Even so,
Help our weary hearts to know:

You will come,
You will come,
For those hidden in the Son.

Come now Lord,
Come now Lord,
Come now, hasten your return.

Tho’ my fallen heart will fail,
I know Hell cannot prevail:
For Christ has torn apart the veil.

Come now Lord,
Come now Lord,
Come now, hasten your return.

Even so,
Even so,
Help our weary hearts to know:

You will come,
You will come,
For those hidden in the Son.

Come now Lord,
Come now Lord,
Come now, hasten your return.

We are longing for that day,
Train our feeble hearts to say:
“Christ is coming on His way!”

We can sing,
We can sing,
We are waiting for our King.

Even so,
Even so,
Help our weary hearts to know:

You will come,
You will come,
For those hidden in the Son.

We can sing,
We can sing,
We are waiting for our King.

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Be a Man!

The following poem was written by Daniel Taylor and published in 1899.

Quit You Like Men

Stand up, Faint-heart; face thy foe;
Deal him many a well-aimed blow;
Let the cringing craven know,
As you can,
That thy spirit has will,
That thy soul hath metal still,
And thy arm’s not lost its skill,
Be a man!

Act! – and hindrance flees away;
Speak! – and cowards shall obey;
Make your mark as well you may, –
Rouse ye, then!
Up! – And play the hero well;
Smite the dastard powers of hell;
Strike! – and every stroke shall tell –
Be a man!

Heaven-born courage never cowers;
True hearts in this world of ours,
Scorning ease and beds of flowers,
Lead the van.
Let the timid faint hands fold;
Victory is for the bold, –
Bow to neither power nor gold:
Be a man.

Heaven helps those who themselves aid;
God is for thee, – draw thy blade;
Ne’er be faithless nor dismayed,
Once again.
If on Him ye fix your eye,
If Excelsior be thy cry,
Ye shall conquer though ye die!
Be a man!

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The Apologist’s Evening Prayer

C.S. Lewis sketched the following poem in the rise of his popularity as a spokesperson and defender of the Christian faith. His apologetic work took a toll on the man, and his poem serves as a helpful prayer for all who work to the advance the gospel in the public square:

From all my lame defeats and oh! much more
From all the victories that I seemed to score;
From cleverness shot forth on Thy behalf
At which, while angels weep, the audience laugh;
From all my proofs of Thy divinity,

Thou, who wouldst give no sign, deliver me.
Thoughts are but coins. Let me not trust, instead
Of Thee, their thin-worn image of Thy head.
From all my thoughts, even from my thoughts of Thee,
O thou fair Silence, fall, and set me free.
Lord of the narrow gate and the needle’s eye,
Take me from all my trumpery lest I die.

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