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Were You There?
One of my favorite Passion Week hymns is “Were You There?” I have formative memories of it being sung by a lone baritone in a darkened church, the haunting postlude to a Tenebrae service. Today, as I listened to the provocative question sung once more on a “Holy Week” Spotify playlist, I felt an answer…
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Exchanging Rest for Restlessness
Recently, I was saddened to hear of yet another professing Christian artist, Audrey Assad, renouncing the faith she formerly professed. It seems that the past year has been something a winnowing fork, by which the winds of culture have threshed the proverbial chaff from the wheat (Matthew 3:12). Indeed, rather than settling into the solidity…
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When the Race is a Relay
I love to run, often using it as a time of prayer and contemplation. (Admittedly, such prayers are sometimes something along the lines of, “Please help me catch my breath…”) Running, often used as an analogy for the Christian life, has taught me many lessons. Aside from the physical and mental benefits, much of my…
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On Coffee Table Books
When I dream of my own home, the first image that comes to mind is a steaming cup of coffee sitting cozily beside a stack of books on a rustic little table. There is something so welcoming about a well-placed mug and book on a coffee table; it seems to say to any and all…
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Starvation
I’ve written before about my past struggles with eating and body image. One of the most valuable lessons I learned through this issue, though, is this: The starving man (or woman) does not always know that he is hungry. The starving man does not always know that he is hungry. When hunger is ignored long…
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Accepting Ministry as Ministry
I have served as a church musician for as long as I can remember and, although I am passionate about this ministry for many reasons, I admit that part of why I enjoy it so much is that it provides a clear role for me during worship services. As I wrote in an early post,…
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VIII. The Demon-Possessed Boy (9:14-29)
Horrors.There is no other wordFor the things I have seen,And sat helplessly by—Useless. My own son, ripped from my armsBy a force I could not fight. But I am his father!Guilt stabs at me like a knife,But how can I defend him whenThe enemy, the invaderMakes war from within? My own flesh and blood,My beloved,…
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VII. The Blind Man (8:22-26)
Touch me, someone,That I might know you’re there! Greet me, anyone,So I am not aloneIn this dark, dark, darkness. I am begging,Begging for more than foodOr loose coins. It is light that I am starving for—The light of a presenceA light to show me outOf this eternal, internalDarkness. My heart yearnsEach morning and evening—Both are…
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VI. The Deaf Man (7:31-37)
I cannot tellWhat these gestures mean.Why do you all waveYour hands at me? I can only guess atThe words on your lipsAnd can only makeVain attemptsTo do as you do,To speak as you speak. By your wrinkled browsAnd worried looks,I know I am failing. I fail also to understand.Where are you taking me?Who is this man?…
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V. The Paralytic (2:1-12)
People just keep goingAround, across, Any way they can.Directionless,They do not notice the manWho motionless,Waits. They step over me, Their limbs stretching usefullyEven as they swarm the over-full room. But what can I do?Nothing but what I am doing:Lying here. Still, in one shattered piece,I feel the full weight of despairAnd the weight of the…
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IV. The Leper (1:40-45)
Unclean,I hide myself.Lest I am seenAnd sent away,Purged from the cityWhile dogs and rats are allowedTo stay and hide in its alleys, Infect its crevices. But they sayI am unclean.I do not argue;I am one of the twice-cursed onesWho cannot hide his sinsBeneath a cloak ofSmooth, clear skin,The whitened sepulchreOf an unblemished face. I am…
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III. Jairus’ Daughter (5:35-43)
As so often happens, life took priority over poetry. Indeed, I fear this is one of the reasons I am not destined to be the next Wordsworth or Dickinson; I am too quick to set my writing aside. Still, it is a least a little to my credit that I never abandon my writing forever!…
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Ryanne Molinari 