Hope Has a Name

It was a chorus of chaos.

We found ourselves in a crowded room full of strangers one-by-one standing to collage with politics, relationships, traumas and desires, dreams and disappointments. I witnessed such vulnerability - such cynicism and comedy - such rawness and feeling. It was open mic poetry night at the Mercury Cafe.

Inspired by these internal wrestlings carefully crafted into a shared experience, I told my new poetic friends I met by the happenstance of open seats that I would also write a poem. But that moment was soon forgotten.

Then a few weeks later, as we discussed how to inspire or incorporate art into our Advent season, I was reminded of my failed commitment. Though provoked, the prompt failed to inspire pen to paper, idealism into action.

That was until I came across this passage today in Eugene Peterson’s The Contemplative Pastor:

“The Christian communities as a whole must rediscover poetry…

Poetry is essential because poetry is original speech. The word is creative: it brings into being what was not there before—perception, relationship, belief. Out of the silent abyss a sound is formed: people hear what was not heard before and are changed by the sound from loneliness into love. Out of the blank abyss a picture is formed by means of metaphor: people see what they did not see before and are changed by the image from anonymity into love. Words create. God’s word creates; our words can participate in the creation…

People are not comfortable with the uncertainties and risks and travail of creativity. It takes too much time. There is too much obscurity. People are more comfortable with prose. They prefer explanations of Bible history and information on God…

After a few years of speaking in prose, we become prosaic.”

As a side-note, that’s the best book I’ve read in a long time. I highly recommend it to everyone - The Contemplative Pastor.

We are afraid to write because it reveals our ignorance or impurities. We are afraid to create because it shows our weakness or inabilities. We fear shame and hide our insecurities. But somehow poetry can help break this down.

If Eugene Peterson is on to something, then I don’t think there is “bad” poetry. There are certainly bad ideas or feelings, lies and misunderstandings. But in poetry, in the simplest form, words gather to open windows into the wrestling. Perhaps that wrestling is deceived, but it’s still a window to the soul. It’s a window to belief and desire. Some words promote empathy and wonder and truth better than others, but it’s never failed.

I don’t write poetry. I’m not a “creative.” I’m probably not “good” at poetry, if good is defined as gaining an audience. But that’s not the point. I am created to create. And so are you.

Compelled this Advent season, today I begin my journey with words, quickly scratching down my first poem. The Advent themes are hope, peace, joy, and love. If you would like to join me on this journey, send me your poems - vernon@summitdenver.org.

For Hope Has a Name

Pursuing dreams
Unto vapor
Warring to victory
Of vanity

Running from failure
Into defeat
Sacrificing all
’Til empty

Christmas. Imprisoned without hope.

Still manifesting greatness
’Til forgotten
Burning for praises
Into ashes

Adoring winnings
Of losers
Idolizing power
Unto shame.

But there’s a meekness
Unto glory
Through a surrender
Of salvation

Turning hopelessness
Into yearning
And breathing Life
’Til I’m free

Advent. Now chained to Hope.

So I’m waiting
’Til I see Him
His death
Into mine

The freedom
Of dependence
Where greed dies
Unto true hope.

For Hope has a Name.