Never mind the image of a holy man standing at the pulpit.
This is my church. The wild places. The empty seas.
The places God lives without men,
messing it all up.
It is my reminder of what is possible
when we simply allow God to work.
When we care less about having our way
than allowing God to be
It makes me less a preacher, than a pilgrim.
in search of just enough of God to do a bit of good
in the dark corners of the world. Enough perhaps
that I will be let in here again,
in my own heaven on earth
where my darkness do not matter, and yet
am given this gift nonetheless.
About this poem.
I have to tell you, I continue to be a bit bemused at 67 being a pastor. With the yo-yo life I have led? With the failures and darknesses and struggles? And yet here I am. Not so much trying to make up for a blurred past and simply grateful to have been given the grace to live and love and get paid a bit for it.
Grace is “the undeserved favor of God.” It is at the center of whatever ministry I offer. And I have surely experienced it. Nowhere more than when I am in my little corner of heaven, in the off-season at the ocean,
The picture was taken at Asbury Park in November a pair of years ago.