In Between Words

For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago. — Ephesians 2:10

If you’ll allow me to nerd out on you for a few sentences. Various translations of this verse use words like “masterpiece” or “workmanship” to describe how God forms the story, which makes up the book that is titled “Your Life.” While this is helpful imagery, it actually misses what Paul is driving at. The Greek word he uses here is “poiema” from where we get our English word poem.

Now it may just be my artistic bent, but to me, this verse came to mean so much after I understood this a few years ago. You should know that I love a good poem and even more so if it's written by a poet I’m particularly fond of. A few examples would be Malcolm Guite, Mary Oliver, or Wendall Berry. These writers have a way of seeing the world that deeply moves me to various forms of action; not just creatively but all throughout my life. From how I notice the sunrise on my commute in the morning, to observing nature if I’m out walking, to taking the time to truly see and hear the person I’m with at any given moment. Poetry, if done well, helps us appreciate the world around us. Giving us eyes to see the beauty that we take for granted more often than not. A trademark of any good poet is their ability to pay attention. In doing so, and by putting that into verse, they hope to direct our eyes to see the same. The common phrase holds some truth, “the eyes are the window to the soul.” Good poetry makes sure those eyes aren’t shut.

An important thing about a poem is the spacing of the words. This helps the one reading easily distinguish things like a change of thought, or if the poem is heading off in a new direction midway through. Why does this matter? Glad you were wondering! I think Walt Wangerin Jr. sums it up best when he says:

We artists, we writers — we come upon the stuff of our crafty attentions already there. But we find it a mess. Hopeless. A meaningless chaos. Our job is to organize. To order. To heap certain things with certain things over here, and to pile other things over there. To declare associations and differences and relationships. To make of this chaos a cosmos, which we do by translating things into language, and language into character and episode, and episodes into whole stories.

— Walt Wangerin, Jr., “Story and History, Shaping the Day”

God is the Great Author of the poem of our lives. Taking our meaningless chaos and writing something beautiful. This doesn't make it easier but perhaps can help us bear the sorrow better. A great example of this gospel truth is found in Tolkien’s book The Silmarillion. I confess I haven't ever made it all the way through the book but I think the first chapter is all you need. Here we find the great being Iluvatar, which is Tolkien's character for God, singing along with the Ainur (angels) as they create the world of Middle Earth. All of the sudden another being starts singing, his name is Melkor (the satan.) Melkors’ song begins to greatly disrupt and twist the world that Iluvatar and the Ainur are creating. Two songs are being sung. The first is slow and blended with sorrow, from which its beauty chiefly came. The second is loud and endlessly repetitive (sounds like some modern worship music…) Eventually it all stops and Iluvatar speaks.

Mighty are the Ainur, and mightiest among them is Melkor; but that he may know, and all the Ainur, that I am Iluvatar, those things that you have sung, I will show them forth, that you may see what you have done, and you, Melkor, will see that no theme may be played that has not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite. For he that attempts this will prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself could not imagine.

This reality can be hard to hold in clear view when we find ourselves, as the title of this post reads, in between words. Those moments when depending on where we are at, we are waiting on the next word to be written. For some, it’s the next life stage, next job, next church, next opportunity, next hope, or next tragedy. These times of waiting can feel like a barren wasteland where nothing grows and we begin to question if we can trust the Authors’ pen at all. At times it feels like nothing can rouse us from the sheer emptiness in our lives but more so, in our hearts. Mending these things takes time and patience. Digging through the snow to find the Spring underneath.

I never feel the need for hope and healing more than when I am living in the gulf between what I wish could be and what actually exists in this strained and shattered world of people who sin and misunderstand and grieve. Not every mistake can be mended with tape and glue. Sin and interpersonal struggle often force me to wait for God in the broken and voided places of the world. The feeling of loss, the gap between what I want to be and what I am, the heart-stopping struggle of loving people and being loved by them in return outside the gates of Eden, can leave me at times begging for a better poem to be written.

Recently I heard a song titled “Poetry” by one of my favorite artists, Taylor Leonhardt. I’ll leave you with one of my favorite lines.

I will not hang my head / His banner is over me / He said I am his poetry / He won’t waste a word.