Reality Check–Cyber Psalm 15

Our friend, Dan, had a heart attack this week.  Scary.  So that made it doubly cool to get a perspective challenging email from him this morning with this Cyber Psalm from a blog he likes by David Ker, a Wcliffe Bible Translator in Mozambique.   

Cyber-Psalm 15

 NOVEMBER 23, 2007                                                                   by David Ker

What would heaven be like

if books of theology 
were written by children not men?

And what if sermons were delivered by the poor. 


And devotional books were written by the hungry. 


And hymns were composed by the sick and the old.

The Sermon on the Mount requires no interpretation, 


unless you are fat and happy.

If our hope of heaven were colored 


with children’s crayons and felt tip markers.

And our theology of hell were tempered 


by the dying breath of those who suffer.

The hair-splitting and hand-wringing 


of over-educated men in ivory towers 


goes largely unnoticed by grandmothers in their kitchens 


and office workers in their cubicles.

They go on putting silly magnets on their fridge 


And trading forwarded e-mails about heaven. 


Two thousand years of systematic theology 


Disturbs them not a bit!

God is honored and praised  

Hoped for and prayed to 


By myriads who never learned Greek.

Their revelation is not a scroll  

But a hope vaguely imprinted 


On a soul made by God.

The sick and the blind and the poor  

Receive Jesus with gladness. 


The Gospels require no spiritualized application.

Feed us, friend Jesus. 
  

Our stomachs are empty.


You are the one our hearts hope for.

Heal us who are sick. 
    

We ache and we suffer.

Save us in death. 
    

We are dying in darkness. 


Savior Jesus, our hope at life’s end.

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One thought on “Reality Check–Cyber Psalm 15

  1. Hi Teresa, I like your blog very much, all is well, I figured if you liked that last poem I would send you one of the ‘Odes of Solomon’ I was reading that seemed to resonate with me, i think it is Ode 15, obliged, daniel

    My heart was split, and a flower
    Appeared: and grace sprang up;
    You split me, tore my heart
    Open, filled me with love.
    You poured your spirit into me;
    I knew you as I know myself.
    Speaking waters touched me
    From your fountain, the source of life.
    I swallowed them and was drunk
    With the water that never dies.
    And my drunkenness was insights,
    Intimacy with your spirit.
     
    And you have made all things new;
    You have showed me all things shining.
    You have granted me perfect ease;
    I have become like Paradise,
    A garden whose fruit is joy;
    And you are the sun upon me.
    My eyes are radiant with your spirit;
    My nostrils fill with your fragrance.
    My ears delight in your music,
    And my face is covered with your dew.
     
    Blessed are the men and women
    Who are planted on your earth, in your garden,
    Who grow as your trees and flowers grow,
    Who transform their darkness to light.
    Their roots plunge into darkness;
    Their faces turn toward the light.
     
    All those who love you are beautiful;
    They overflow with your presence
    So that they can do nothing but good.
    There is infinite space in your garden;
    All men, all women are welcome here;
    All they need do is enter.
        – the Odes of  Solomon

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