Apr 08
Andrew J. NicewanderReading Death, Dying, Gospel, Hope, iMonk, Jesus, Michael Spencer
The ultimate apologetic is to a dying man….
The are a lot of different kinds of Good News, but there is little good news in “My argument scored more points than you argument.” But the news that “Christ is risen!” really is Good News for one kind of person: The person who is dying.
If Christianity is not a dying word to dying men, it is not the message of the Bible that gives hope now.
What is your apologetic? Make it the full and complete announcement of the Life Giving news about Jesus.
- Michael Spencer (the Internet Monk)
Feb 13
Andrew J. NicewanderPhotographic Poetry Death, Glendalough, Graves, Ireland, Lament, Mountains, Praise, Rocks
|
|
For eons long I’ve seen the stewards of the world live cruel, rebellious lives
The irony’s not lost on my as still I stand while all of they with good, divine responsibility have felt the weight of their rebellion claim the life that they were granted by their kind, Creator King
For me and all my brethren tall are groaning quite majestically as we experience effects of sins of little men although we try with all our given strength to sing the praise of He who fashioned us when life was young, before the birth of all humanity
But in the death of He who my Creator sent, the little men, my stewards small, have found the only hope to live for all eternity, when sky and ground are made anew, when wickedness has disappeared and they are free from sin’s effects, in sweet communion with my Good, Creator King |
Feb 09
Andrew J. NicewanderPhotographic Poetry Death, Ireland, Rock of Cashel, Time, Worship
|
|
The gnarled ravages of time have worked their foul and terrifying magic, most insidiously thorough in their deconstructing work
Where once were Keeps and Bastions tall and fiercely bright now meekly stand defiant stones in dying rest, poor serfs of time, that cruel exacting lord
I long have lain upon this Rock, though once I lived upon the peak of warm, inviting halls, where members of humanity brought worship to their God above, where Kings and Monarchs once ruled o’er all the green, pastoral lands near round about, where now a recollection floats in time and space, remembering the golden days of mirthful joy gone softly, slowly by
And still that cold, unfeeling lord is marching on with I myself a slave unto its cruel and hateful work |
Nov 20
Andrew J. NicewanderSermon Poems Blood, Christ, Death, Grace, Suffering
Sermon Poetry, 8 November 2009
Sermon Text – John 18:1-13
Preacher – Pastor Mike Tardive
Kind Jesus, Your people are suffering life
With sadness and sickness and poverty strong
They’re crying with voices of weakness and sorrow
With quavering lips they are singing their song
You’ve given us cups with a drink hard to swallow
We haven’t the strength to survive Sovereign Will
We’re crying with voices of frailty and mourning
Come calm with Your mercy and make our hearts still
We suffer as people who worship our Savior
We follow our Jesus, our Suffering Lord
He drank from His chalice, prepared by the Father
Fulfilling the Scriptures, God’s beautiful Word
Our Father is Sovereign, with Providence Holy
His will is accomplished, no matter how sad
So as Jesus swallowed, our sins were forgiven
We’re bathed in His blood, and our mourning is glad
We’re washed in His mercy, we’re cleansed by His blood
Through death are we living, through blood made alive
In Him is salvation, we’ve access to Yahweh
Once sinners of darkness, now Children of Light
Oct 26
Andrew J. NicewanderPhotographic Poetry Comedy, Death, Irony, Lettuce, Reptiles, Sadness
I can’t feel my veins
My skin is ripped and tattered
The green is slowly rushing from my cold and dying frame
Goodbye, ye harsh and feral world …
Oct 17
Andrew J. NicewanderPhotographic Poetry Dark Comedy, Death, Fish, Humor
In damp and ragged sheets my quaking lungs do thoroughly exhale
My skin is covered in raging torrents of terse and icy frigidity
With photographic precision my life runs long before me, engulfing my seeing sense and overwhelming my thinking eyes
A bright reality tears asunder the encroaching blackness and baths me in a glorious essence. I float before it.
Why, oh why, did I eat that dead and rotting fish?
Older Entries
RSS
