Author: Pastor Bryan Lowe

A repentant rascal with definite issues, but who is seeking to be authentic in his faith to Jesus Christ. An avid reader and a hopeful writer. Husband and father. A pastor and Bible teacher. A brain tumor survivor. Diagnosed with clinical depression, and now disabled. Enjoys life, such as it is, in Alask.a (Actually I have it pretty good.)

Two O’ Clock in the Morning Poetry, #6


Max Ehrmann (1872-1945)
Max Ehrmann
(1872-1945)

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble, it’s a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the shamgrass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

–Desiderata, Max Ehrmann 1927 
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Max Ehrmann (September 26, 1872 – September 9, 1945) was an American writer, poet, and attorney from Terre Haute, Indiana, widely known for his 1927 prose poem “Desiderata” (Latin: “things desired”). He often wrote on spiritual themes.

Ehrmann was awarded Doctor of Letters honorary degree from DePauw University in about 1937.[6] He was also elected to the Delta Tau Delta Distinguished Service Chapter, the fraternity’s highest alumni award.[3]

Max_Ehrmann_statueEhrmann died in 1945. He is buried in Highland Lawn Cemetery in Terre Haute, Indiana. In 2010 the city honored Ehrmann with a life-size bronze statue by sculptor Bill Wolfe. He is depicted sitting on a downtown bench, pen in hand, with a notebook in his lap. “Desiderata” is engraved on a plaque that resides next to the statue and lines from the poem are embedded in the walkway. The sculpture is in the collection of Art Spaces, Inc. – Wabash Valley Outdoor Sculpture Collection.[7]

Ehrmann returned to his hometown of Terre Haute, Indiana in 1898 to practice law. He was a deputy state’s attorney in Vigo County, Indiana for two years. Subsequently, he worked in his family’s meatpacking business and in the overalls manufacturing industry. At age 40, Ehrmann left the business to write. At age 54, he wrote Desiderata, which achieved fame only after his death. –from Wikipedia
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Two O’ Clock in the Morning Poetry, #5

Cosette-sweeping-les-miserables-albert-bellenger-1886

~Victor Hugo – Les Miserables 

“Deep hearts, wise minds, take life as God has made it. It is a long trial; An unintelligible preparation for an unknown destiny. This destiny, the true one, begins for man at the first step in the interior of the tomb.”

“There he begins to discern the definite. The definite, think of this word! The living see the infinite; the definite reveals itself only to the dead. Meantime, love and suffer, hope and contemplate. “

“Woe, alas! to him who shall have loved forms, bodies, appearances only. Death will take all from him. Try to love souls, you shall find them again.”

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Victor Marie Hugo (French pronunciation: ​[viktɔʁ maʁi yɡo]; 26 February 1802 – 22 May 1885) was a French poet, novelist, and dramatist of the Romantic movement. He is considered one of the greatest and best known French writers. In France, Hugo’s literary fame comes first from his poetry but also rests upon his novels and his dramatic achieveme’
nts. Among many volumes of poetry, Les Contemplations and La Légende des siècles stand particularly high in critical esteem. Outside France, his best-known works are the novels Les Misérables, 1862, and Notre-Dame de Paris, 1831 (known in English as The Hunchback of Notre-Dame).
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victor-hugo-author-the-human-soul-has-still-greater-need-of-the-ideal-than-of-the

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Rolling Stones Theology

I was time travelling today.  I journeyed back to Christmas, 1972.  I had told my parents that life could only have meaning, if I could have just one thing.  I held out in hope that on Christmas morning, that I would open up a “rock tumbler.”

I was an 11 year old boy, and I imagined that I could turn gravel from the driveway into polished gems.  I would make jewelry for my mom, and then I would go on to know the thrill of turning ugly stones into precious jewels.  Somehow, doing this would give me a profound purpose. I guess I wanted to become a alchemist– turning gravel into gems.

This is all I wanted.  I dreamed of having my polisher– a rock tumbler that would be all and everything I wanted.  I was fixated, and just knew this was my destiny.  I would become a lapidarist! Today, I haven’t changed, I am always looking for the right stone.

Opening up our gifts, I had eyes only for my new rock tumbler.  I ripped open my present and tore into the box.  Within 10 minutes I had it up and going.

The principle was simple:

  • Step 1— Add the stones, and the “grit.” Resist putting in too many stones.
  • Step 2— Measure out the water.  The idea is to make a “slurry.”
  • Step 3— Let the machine run, don’t open the drum every 30 minutes. This takes time, and patience.
  • Step 4— A trick– add a tablespoon of sugar to the final polishing stage. It adds an extra gleam.

The Church is a lot like a rock tumbler.  The Holy Spirit places us in a fellowship with others.  We are rough and drab, we show nothing that would suggest a polish or gleam.  There is nothing beautiful about us.  We really understand this.

We join others who have been picked up.  Different grit is then added.  There are special types– some are very coarse and others are quite fine.  Water is added.  (The whole process is to parallel what happens at the beach, but purposefully accelerating it in your drum.)

As the drum rotates, things are constantly changing as they move.  The water and grit roll between the stones.  The stones themselves move with each other, sometime counter, but they smooth out all roughness and coarseness.  Some rocks are harder, and not easily polished.  Sometimes, the grit will need to be changed to speed up the process.  Whatever happens, we need to trust Him to do the right thing.

I really don’t want to bore you with all the different details.  But each step has a connection to authentically spiritual things.  We are a mixture of stones with different shapes and angles. There are a lot of variables, and it gets tedious.  The polishing takes a lot of time. There is the need for patience.  We often bring ‘a thirst for the instant,’ and for the quick work.  Polishing a rock takes a lot of time– months.  And we take years– maybe sometimes even decades.

“And you are living stones that God is building into his spiritual temple. What’s more, you are his holy priests. Through the mediation of Jesus Christ, you offer spiritual sacrifices that please God.”  1Peter 2:5, NLT

We are all in this process, what is hidden is being revealed.  We may bounce off each other, (here comes that ‘flinty’ sister again!)  But the Spirit is the superintendent of the process.  He will change the grit, add more water, or add others to the tumbler. He knows exactly what He is doing. No one will get overlooked.

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Two O’ Clock in the Morning Poetry, #4

Frye-pic

Don’t stand beside my grave and weep,
For I’m not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye

angel-wept1“Do not stand at my grave and weep” is a Holocaust poem and elegy with a very interesting genesis, written in 1932 by Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905-2004). Although the origin of the poem was disputed for some time, Mary Frye’s authorship was confirmed in 1998 after research by Abigail Van Buren, the newspaper columnist better known as “Dear Abby.” The version above was published by The Times and The Sunday Times in Frye’s obituary on November 5, 2004.

Mary Frye wrote the poem in 1932. As far as we know, she had never written any poetry before, but the plight of a young German Jewish woman, Margaret Schwarzkopf, who was staying with her and her husband at the time, inspired the poem. Margaret Schwarzkopf had been concerned about her mother, who was ill in Germany, but she had been warned not to return because of increasing anti-Semitic unrest that was erupting into what became known as the Holocaust.

When her mother died, the heartbroken young woman told Frye that she never had the chance to “stand by my mother’s grave and shed a tear”. Frye found herself composing a piece of verse on a brown paper shopping bag. Later she said that the words “just came to her” and expressed what she felt about life and death.

Mary Frye circulated the poem privately. Because she never published or copyrighted it, there is no definitive version. She wrote other poems, but this, her first, endured. Her EwaltElizFryeobituary in The Times made it clear that she was the author of the famous poem, which has been recited at funerals and on other appropriate occasions around the world for eighty years. The poem was introduced to many Britons when it was read by the father of a young soldier, Stephen Cummins, killed by a bomb in Northern Ireland. The soldier’s father read the poem on BBC radio in 1995 in remembrance of his son, after having found it in an envelope addressed “To all my loved ones” in his son’s personal effects.

She inspired many to write
She inspired many to write
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