Words

Words are a gift from God. In fact, God's greatest expression of Himself to us is THE Word--Christ. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God...The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us." John 1:1, 14

And while I know this to be true, knowing also THE Word, still I marvel at our attempt to be "little Christs," using words to express the glory of God. It is simply impossible. But He gave us words with which to try, and that is a gift not to be squandered.

I wrote this back in February, but a recent discussion brought it again to mind. I decided to clean it up a bit and share it here, though I feel it still needs revising in parts... I welcome questions and/or feedback.


WORDS

They are our window to the gods, or to God;
We print them on a page but never capture them,
Ideas released into the faulty cage of man’s device.
We teach our hands the turns, the curves, the lines;
We scribble, and we call it art.

We deceive ourselves.

Our “art” is inadequate, expressionless
Of the one thing worth expressing,
Which escapes us more the more we try.
It exists in the wordless,
The silence just before the thought,
Before the scratch of lead.
Yet still we reach beyond these bars
With blackened hands; we barely brush
Its extremity. But for these moments,
At the still point of the turning world,
For these encounters, for this end it is
That we determine to be poets.
For a mere glimpse of Lucidity himself,
We are continually willing to fail.

In the beginning was the Word.
It must have been a Word spoken—
Not one that we could tame with simple hands.
In the beginning was the Word:
Before space, before time, the Word existed,
Spoke life into existence,
Not the power of plurality, but of one
Word,
The Word by which we are created, designed
To think and keep thinking,
To write and keep writing,
To make these futile attempts,
To delight in them,
Despite our weak and slippery grasp,
Despite ourselves,
Despite our inadequate tools.

We are desperate creatures.
We smear the smudges from our windows
With a dirty sleeve and peer through;
Timidly, we wave to the Word from afar.

© H.D. Feb 2007

original post date 11/17/07, 12:01 AM