New Orleans Trip is a post from: justin brock

One of my test questions was, “What was in the Ark of the Covenant?”

The answer: “This ark contained the gold jar of manna, Aaron’s staff that had budded, and the stone tablets of the covenant.”

Most of them knew what manna was. ¹ Some already knew that the tablets of the covenant in the Ark were the 2nd edition – Moses having smashed his original copy upon finding the Israelites in an orgy around a calf the first time he descended the mount. ² But what was Aaron’s staff that budded?

The answer can be found in Numbers 17:

The Budding of Aaron’s Staff

Numbers 17

1 The LORD said to Moses, 2 “Speak to the Israelites and get twelve staffs from them, one from the leader of each of their ancestral tribes. Write the name of each man on his staff. 3 On the staff of Levi write Aaron’s name, for there must be one staff for the head of each ancestral tribe. 4 Place them in the Tent of Meeting in front of the Testimony, where I meet with you. 5 The staff belonging to the man I choose will sprout, and I will rid myself of this constant grumbling against you by the Israelites.”

6 So Moses spoke to the Israelites, and their leaders gave him twelve staffs, one for the leader of each of their ancestral tribes, and Aaron’s staff was among them. 7 Moses placed the staffs before the LORD in the Tent of the Testimony.

8 The next day Moses entered the Tent of the Testimony and saw that Aaron’s staff, which represented the house of Levi, had not only sprouted but had budded, blossomed and produced almonds. 9 Then Moses brought out all the staffs from the LORD’s presence to all the Israelites. They looked at them, and each man took his own staff.

10 The LORD said to Moses, “Put back Aaron’s staff in front of the Testimony, to be kept as a sign to the rebellious. This will put an end to their grumbling against me, so that they will not die.” 11 Moses did just as the LORD commanded him.

12 The Israelites said to Moses, “We will die! We are lost, we are all lost! 13 Anyone who even comes near the tabernacle of the LORD will die. Are we all going to die?”

And so class proceeded that way as we studied the book. We were studying the literary elements of the book, but I Samuel references so much of the rest of the Old Testament that most days we found ourselves doing inductive Bible studies. I noticed two things during this time:

1. The students – especially the boys – learned more about literature from the Bible than any other book we did. [And it was a desultory year – Animal Farm, Beowulf, Once and Future King, Lord of the Flies, etc.]
2. I had few discipline issues during and after the study of that book.

Then one day, as I was wiping tables and mopping floors in the lunch room before heading to the restrooms with some Clorox – the proper after-class occupation for teachers, apparently – this line popped into my head, “Oh, that passing by You to this offering would nod –
You Who called forth blooms to break on Aaron’s rod.”

That was it. Not until Monday and Tuesday of this week did the rest of it come together. The whole time while publishing a techdoc on BlackBerry support and updating a guide on our API [application programming interface], I’ve been hearing a tune in my head.³ I’ve called and left messages on my voice mail so I won’t forget it, and I’ll have it all worked out on the guitar by this Sunday for the special music section at Redeemer.

It seems to me an odd writing process. I find a small stone, put it in my pocket and keep it there for years. Then one day my hand passes over it, I say, “What’s this?” I take it out, set it on a sheet of paper, go about my business and come back the next day to find it’s gathered other pieces and assembled itself into a completed altar.

Writing is beginning to feel inevitable to me now. Songs are discoveries, not creations. I just have to wait.

Aaron’s Rod

You have puzzled me. You have puzzled me.
I was shattered into pieces in valleys dry as bones⁴ –
You have made me whole.
Though You’ve puzzled me, still I come undone.
I hold on to Your promise that you see me through Your son,
and one day should and are will be as one.

You have covered me. You have covered me.
Forsaken and abandoned I was cowering in shame,
You’ve drawn me near and given me Your Name.⁵
Though You’ve covered me, at times I seek the cold.
Shepherd of my soul gather me back into Your arms –
when I want to run hold on.

You have watered me. You have watered me.
The valley of my Baca You have made a place of springs
and greened me in the desert. My soul sings!⁶
Though you’ve watered me, little fruit I see.
Oh, that passing by You to this offering would nod –
You Who called forth blooms to break on Aaron’s rod.⁷

Aaron’s Rod is a post from: justin brock

1. Exodus 16 http://www.biblegateway.com/resources/commentaries/Matthew-Henry/Exod/God-Sends-Quails-Manna
2. Exodus 32 http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Exodus%2032&version=ESV
3. Of course, the original line came with a tune, but I’ve chosen not to use it.
4. Ezekiel 37: The hand of the LORD was upon me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the LORD and set me in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me back and forth among them, and I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. He asked me, “Son of man, can these bones live?”
   I said, “O Sovereign LORD, you alone know.”

   Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the LORD! This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD.’”

   So I prophesied as I was commanded. And as I was prophesying, there was a noise, a rattling sound, and the bones came together, bone to bone. I looked, and tendons and flesh appeared on them and skin covered them, but there was no breath in them.

   Then he said to me, “Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, son of man, and say to it, ‘This is what the Sovereign LORD says: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe into these slain, that they may live.’ “So I prophesied as he commanded me, and breath entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet—a vast army.

   Then he said to me: “Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up and our hope is gone; we are cut off.’ Therefore prophesy and say to them: ‘This is what the Sovereign LORD says: O my people, I am going to open your graves and bring you up from them; I will bring you back to the land of Israel. Then you, my people, will know that I am the LORD, when I open your graves and bring you up from them. I will put my Spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land. Then you will know that I the LORD have spoken, and I have done it, declares the LORD.’ “

5. Ezekiel 16: “Then I passed by and saw you kicking about in your blood, and as you lay there in your blood I said to you, “Live!” I made you grow like a plant of the field. You grew up and developed and became the most beautiful of jewels. Your breasts were formed and your hair grew, you who were naked and bare. Later I passed by, and when I looked at you and saw that you were old enough for love, I spread the corner of my garment over you and covered your nakedness. I gave you my solemn oath and entered into a covenant with you, declares the Sovereign LORD, and you became mine.”
6. Psalm 84: Blessed are those whose strength is in you,
   in whose heart are the highways to Zion.
   As they go through the Valley of Baca
   they make it a place of springs;
   the early rain also covers it with pools.
   They go from strength to strength;
   each one appears before God in Zion.
7. Numbers 17

What to play Sunday at Redeemer? is a post from: justin brock

Click here to view the embedded video.

Anesthesia

Perhaps your way is rougher than you hoped for
and Lonely is the only person knocking at your door.
If you open to his call, you’ll find you’re not alone at all
and see him blaze a trail before you.

You don’t need no anesthesia –
you lose the pain, you lose your mind –
but I’ll be here till I see you
leave those thorns and nails behind.

Perhaps your cross is bigger than your sought for
and the mountain rises more each time you climb.
Do not faint beneath the weight of all these borrowed burdens –
He never lets you carry just your own.

You don’t need no anesthesia –
you lose the pain, you lose your mind –
but I’ll be here till I see you
leave those thorns and nails behind.

Don’t lie to me.
I see beneath a burning -
Your eyes are shadows of the light behind.
Don’t lie to me
when I know you are hurting;
I could help you lift the cross you hang on.

Anesthesia is a post from: justin brock

Download audio file (3I4LUGBDE.mp3)

Idea I Had Last Night is a post from: justin brock

Click here to view the embedded video.

Not All the Blood of Beasts

Not all the blood of beasts
On Jewish altars slain
Could give the guilty conscience peace
Or wash away the stain.

But Christ, the heav’nly Lamb,
Takes all our sins away;
A sacrifice of nobler name
And richer blood than they.

My faith would lay her hand
On that dear head of Thine,
While, like a penitent, I stand,
And there confess my sin.

My soul looks back to see
The burdens Thou didst bear
When hanging on the cursèd tree,
And hopes her guilt was there.

Believing, we rejoice
To see the curse remove;
We bless the Lamb with cheerful voice,
And sing His bleeding love.

Not All the Blood is a post from: justin brock

In 1997, I returned to Scandinavia for the second time. For part of the trip, I stayed with David, a friend from college who lives in Siljansnäs, Sweden, south of Mora on Lake Siljan¹.

We spent most of the time memorizing the Westminster Shorter Catechism, discussing ancient red buildings and walking in silence. It was a bright week in an otherwise dark trip.

David’s father is a pilot. When we visited the air field, his dad took me up in a prop plane to see if he could make me pass out from the spins and dives. He almost succeeded.

Back on Ground, David told me about the gliders. How the thermal currents off the lake make Siljansnäs a perfect place for flying them, how the prop planes pull them up to the sky and how they drop their water ballasts when they dip in silently to land, leaving trails of rainbows in the mist behind them. His idiomatic English made the description more poetic to me.

I never got to see them, but the images have stayed with me. I hope to see them one day.

The song that resulted has been in my head for years. Recently, I decided to learn how to play the arrangement so I could perform it at my “How to Make Fun of Sufjan Stevens” talk at Belhaven. Here’s the video of me playing it very badly.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Gliders

Lake Siljan in summer shines like a Silmaril,
the far shore wavers through heat visible.
It’s perfect for bathing, it’s perfect for love,
And oh it’s perfect for gliding.

An umbilical cord on an old prop plane
will bear you up into heaven
and birth you on winds of invisible waves
where white sails unfurl in the sun.

And I hope to see the gliders!
Rising on thermals in effortless flight,
wings white as egrets stretching their span,
rainbows that fall in the mist as they land,
slow, silent dreams passing by -
I hope to see the gliders!

Like gulls in the throes of a sea-salty wind,
like vultures in weaving their intricate rounds,
like conifer seeds that spin from the heat to the ground …

I hope to see the gliders!
Rising on thermals in effortless flight,
wings white as egrets stretching their span,
rainbows that fall in the mist as they land,
slow, silent dreams passing by -
I hope to see the gliders!

Soon the breaking of dawn will run like a peach²
and long-grounded wings will wake to the east -
bright angels will raise up cruciform souls to the sun!

And I hope to see the gliders!
Rising on thermals in effortless flight,
wings white as egrets stretching their span,
rainbows that fall in the mist as they land,
slow, silent dreams passing by -
I hope to see the gliders!

Written on 5/26/05

Gliders is a post from: justin brock

1. Siljansnäs, Sweden
2. Take a few bites out of a ripe peach, then set it on a white paper towel. The juice will seep into the paper, dying it a pale orange. At one point, probably in childhood, I saw this and thought the peach was the sun and the paper the brightening sky. At any rate, this is a horticultural image for the fullness of time.

Scott Simon, of NPR’s Weekend Edition, was onto something in 2005 when he interviewed The Innocence Mission [Karen Peris, Don Peris, Mike Bitts] about their album, Now the Day Is Over. My kids fall asleep to it almost every night. I’ll sing the songs to them often, too. I even heard my son singing “Stay Awake” last night without accompaniment … pretty much on key!

Their music is lovely and mystical. I recommend it to you.

The Innocence Mission

The Innocence Mission NPR Interview is a post from: justin brock

Map of Humanity is a post from: justin brock

Bullfight

i was fine till you pulled that curtain down
now i’m blind to the beauty in the world around
there’s a fire in my eyes and i’m seeing red
charging in when i should have fled
because you’re lovely

horns and blades in a bloody dance
we pound this ring in a raging trance
a warm embrace – that’s what i want the most
you never give me what i want you just want me close
because i’m lovely

death never was an unwelcomed guest
no, we draw him in with an opened breast
all his enducements wrapped so fine
we want them even though we know what lies behind
because they’re lovely

Bullfight is a post from: justin brock

From that height which knows no measure,
As a gracious shower descend;
Bringing down the richest treasure
Man can wish or God can send.
Heavenly Glory, shining down
From the Father and the Son,
Grant us your illumination;
Rest upon this congregation.

Come, O best of all donations
God can give or we implore;
Having your sweet consolations
We need wish for nothing more.
Come with unction and with power,
On our souls your graces shower;
Author of the new creation,
Make our hearts your habitation.¹

Holy Ghost, Dispel Our Sadness is a post from: justin brock

1. Words by Paul Gerhardt 1607-1676

Create my nature pure within,
And form my soul averse to sin:
Let Thy good Spirit ne’er depart,
Nor hide Thy presence from my heart.

I cannot live without Thy light
Cast out and banished from Thy sight:
Thine holy joys, my God, restore,
And guard me that I fall no more.

A broken heart, my God, my King,
Is all the sacrifice I bring;
The God of grace will ne’er despise
A broken heart for sacrifice.

My soul lies humbled in the dust,
And owns Thy dreadful sentence just:
Look down, O Lord, with pitying eye,
And save the soul condemned to die.

Then will I teach the world Thy ways;
Sinners shall learn Thy sovereign grace;
I’ll lead them to my Savior’s blood,
And they shall praise a pard’ning God.¹

O Thou That Hearest When Sinners Cry is a post from: justin brock

1. Words: Isaac Watts, 1719

The song played at the end – “How You Love Me” – is one of my own. I wrote it my freshman year at Belhaven College when I was 18.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Rich Mullins Covers at a Choctaw Church is a post from: justin brock

Click here to view the embedded video.

I hope to posts the notes in separate blog posts if I ever get the chance to transcribe them. The basic gist of the talk was this:

1. Be Christian. Every nation and tribe will ultimately come under the obedient submission of a Jewish man, Jesus of Nazareth. So be Christian means to follow Him now.
2. Be Choctaw. Choctaw Christians do not need to abandon their cultural distinctions as they become more Christian. They don’t need to try to become like white Christians. In fact, bringing their Choctaw culture under submission to Christ is the only way to preserve its distinctions. The prediction in Revelations that every tribe and tongue will be worshiping Christ is my basis for that claim. So in the meantime, I wanted to encourage my brothers to pursue again the Choctaw arts to the glory of Christ.
3. Be Missional. If they will revisit the Choctaw art forms and create in them as faithful Christians, it will take them out of the sphere of their tribe to all the tribes of the earth.

Road to Choctaw Church in Philadelphia, MS

Christian, Choctaw, Missional is a post from: justin brock

All the dreaming of my youth
Now like a carcass in the desert
What I’ve given you there’s no way to regain
You seemed fair when I first loved you
Now I’m doing all I can do
Just to leave you great deceiver, tempting shame

I fly tonight from you false companion
All you ever brought was heartbreak and tears
And I’m leaving you for a land full of promise
You were my locust years

Once I held you in my arms
Like a man coddles fire
Me a desert child with Pharaoh’s arms around
But you are cruel and you are plagued
And when justice rolls your way
You will drink the wine of your own violence down

I fly tonight from you false companion
All you ever brought was heartbreak and tears
And I’m leaving you for a land full of promise
You were my locust years

So I’m here tonight to say I’m leaving
Though every moon your river’s red
Though your skin is soft and seasoned
I’m fleeing naked from your bed

I fly tonight from you false companion
All you ever brought was heartbreak and tears
And I’m leaving you for a land full of promise
You were my locust years

Locust Years is a post from: justin brock

I’ve had a verse and chorus for this one since 2003. On the way home from work one Friday I finished it.

You Were Hated

I waited 14 years for a one night stand
and woke to coyote ugly in the morning -
she didn’t want me, she just needed a man
and I’s the only one around
well they call me deceiver, but who’s this consummated sleeper?
where’s the face of her sister when i reach down to kiss her?
sure Leah’s alright – she’s warm in the night -
she just ain’t what i bargained for

And the story of my life is
digging wells of thirst unabated.
One day they will say i was loved
and you were hated

I remember i was just a child wishing my daddy would smile
without holding something in.
He’d say, “I don’t understand. Your brother’s such a man.
Why can’t you be a little more like him?”
Well I tried in my own way, but in the end i couldn’t stay
You can please everybody else and never know yourself
But with the bridges I’d burned
Wasn’t sure I’d be returning

And the story of my life is
digging wells of thirst unabated.
One day they will say i was loved
and you were hated

Sometimes the way you don’t know is the way you have to go -
And that can keep you up at night.
I’ve seen angels with wings climbing ladders in dreams
and wondered at their broken flight.
If I was hungry for your touch, i didn’t want this much.
Now i limp to the morning like a man with a story
You have blessed me with the wounds of love
Just so I understand

That though the story of my life is
digging wells of thirst unabated,
one day they will say i was loved
and you were hated

You Were Hated is a post from: justin brock

To which I quipped, “Cheap grace, get me off the hook again.”

“Cheap grace, I’m an antinomian,” he said.¹

“Cheap grace. Got no worries ’bout my sin,” I said.

“Cheap grace, Jesus loves me he’s my friend,” he concluded.

It was an instant, shake-and-bake song. We wrote the verses² in about 30 minutes of fevered inspiration. I pulled the antinomians’ ditty from something I learned in one of Dr. Kenyon’s Comparative Religious Philosophies classes, and we had a sure-nuf’ song.

My reticence to sing it stems more from the difficulty most audiences have with satire than from the few gutteral phrases. It is, of course, satirical. It is also, unfortunately, one of the lenses through which many of us – including myself – view the sins we’d rather not part with. Let the satire and humor disarm you into hearing it – or reading it for now. Then maybe there’s the chance it’ll be a mirror to show you the idiocy of downplaying your sin. That’s what it is for me, anyhow.

Cheap Grace

If you’ve got a problem with conviction of sin
and the Devil’s pointing his finger again
just deny the truth and it will set you free
pray, “Jesus, pour some leniency on me!”

Cheap Grace! Get me off the hook again!
Cheap Grace! I’m an antinomian!
Cheap Grace! Got no worries ’bout my sin!
Cheap Grace! Jesus loves me – He’s my friend!

If that preacher’s making you squirm in your pew
and you get offended, well, here’s what you do:
Acting judgmental just ain’t no way to be!
You tell him, “Boy, you ain’t no better than me!”

Cheap Grace! Get me off the hook again!
Cheap Grace! I’m an antinomian!
Cheap Grace! Got no worries ’bout my sin!
Cheap Grace! Jesus loves me – He’s my friend!

Free from the Law -
Oh, blessed condition -
sin as I want and still have remission!
If obedience just ain’t your cup-o tea,
ask for, “the truth and some water, please”

David and Bathsheeba, Rahab was a whore,
Noah proved a drunkard when his ship arrived ashore,
Abraham was known to tell a little lie -
If God’s people in the Bible did it why the hell can’t I?

Cheap Grace! Get me off the hook again!
Cheap Grace! I’m an antinomian!
Cheap Grace! Got no worries ’bout my sin!
Cheap Grace! Jesus loves me – He’s my friend!

Cheap Grace is a post from: justin brock

1. An Antinomian is opposed to or denies the fixed meaning or universal applicability of moral law. Dr. Kenyon told us this little antinomian rhyme: Free from the Law – Oh, blessed condition – sin as I want and still have remission!
2. One verse we wrote is not included whenever I play the song. I like satire, but this one just goes too far for me:

   Jesus died upon the cross, I know this to be true,
   so why not take advantage of all He’s done for you?
   Why refrain from sinning, from rolling in the mud
   when all it takes is one more drop of Jesus’ blood?

Johnny Cash

I came across these two images at separate times awhile back – one of Johnny Cash and the other of soon-to-be-Pope Ratzinger. Thought the photos had a certain resonance. Cash and Ratzinger have a similar nose and brow. They both look like year-worn men.

What do you think?

Pope Johnny Cash is a post from: justin brock

There are times when I feel like all the unfinished music in my head keeps me alive. I decide “well I guess I won’t quit on life today . . . I’ve got too much to do.” But then there are times it bugs me. I look at the loose ends as accusations. “You’ll never finish,” they say.

So at the end of 2008, when I was asked a week before Christmas to play in the candle light service at Redeemer the next Sunday, I said yes and gave the title of a song I had not finished writing: “400 Years of Silence”. In fact, I had barely begun writing it!

Back in 2002, I spent Christmas in Ohio with my wife’s family. While I was there, I started thinking about the nearly 400 years of nobody talking between the last Old Testament prophet and Jesus. I wrote this:

400 years of silence
till shepherds feared the light
and heard the voice of angels tell
of crying in the night
where Mary wrapped you gently
and laid your body down, down, down,
down where the curse is found.¹

It was the beginnings of a Christmas song. It came with music. But for four years it just sat there in my journal. Then in Christmas of 2006, I tried to finish. I wrote verses, a chorus, a bridge . . . and they all sucked. This was the only salvagable portion of the entire effort:

O ground once cursed
break forth in spring
O muffled earth
rise up and sing
You broken race
wake to the sound
far as the curse is
far as the curse is
far as the curse is found

Now it was 2008, and I was supposed to play it in less than a week on Sunday night. By Thursday – when the bulletin was supposed to be printed – I was praying to be inspired. I wasn’t, so I filed for an extension. Because a different bulletin would be used for the candle light service, I had till Sunday morning.

Early Sunday morning it hit me. I saw Mary, mother of Jesus, at the birth and death of Christ, and Mary Magdalene in between. Frustration and self-accusation turned to gratitude and worship. The song was complete.

400 Years of Silence

From Eden’s doors how far we’ve flown; tribes of strangers all alone –
from darkness we are fleeing, to darkness we are bound
far as the curse is found.
From ages past your words were stars shining on our darkened hearts
and then to sign the morning, you spoke one final sound

400 years of silence till shepherds feared the light
and heard the voice of angels tell of crying in the night
where Mary wrapped you gently and laid your body down, down, down,
down where the curse is found

Our souls are like a neighborhood – stones mark where our accusers stood
but you are still there speaking, “Who stands against you now?”

400 years of silence and now we finally speak
with oil, perfume, our tears, our hair we tremble at your feet
as Mary washed you gently and laid her offering down, down, down
down where the curse is found.

We feared your stone would crush our souls so struck the Rock and water flowed
then flowering our desert sweet mercy rivered down, down, down,
down where the cures is found

400 years of silence then on the mountain height
the finished word you spoke rang out so beautiful and bright
then Mary wrapped you gently and laid your body down, down, down,
down where the curse is found.

O ground once cursed break forth in spring
O muffled earth rise up and sing
You broken race, wake to the sound
far as the curse is found.

400 Years of Silence is a post from: justin brock

1. This phrase is taken from Issac Watts Christmas hymn “Joy to the World”. I wanted to use imagery from that hymn throughout “400 Years of Silence”

This hymn has a sad sto­ry as­so­ci­at­ed with it. In Jan­u­ary 1956, five mis­sion­ar­ies sang it be­fore en­ter­ing the Ecua­dor­i­an jun­gle to bring the Gos­pel to the Au­ca In­di­ans. Their names were Nate Saint, Ed Mc­Cul­ly, Jim El­li­ott, Ro­ger Yo­der­i­an, and Pe­ter Flem­ing. Af­ter the men reached the Au­cas, the In­di­ans mur­dered them on the Cur­a­ray Riv­er. How­ev­er, the sto­ry has a hap­py end­ing. Years lat­er, con­tact with the Au­cas was re-es­tab­lished, and ma­ny came to Christ, in­cluding the kil­lers, which is how first hand de­tails of the mis­sion­ar­ies’ deaths came to light.

One of the best known of the five mar­tyrs was Jim El­li­ot. A num­ber of his say­ings are still quot­ed (e.g., “He is no fool who gives what he can­not keep, to gain what he can­not lose”). El­liot’s wife Elisabeth went on to con­sid­er­a­ble fame as an au­thor and radio broad­cast­er. Her book Through the Gates of Splen­dor de­scribes the en­count­er with the Au­cas; its ti­tle comes from a line in this hymn.

Source: Cyberhymnal, http://www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/w/e/r/wereston.htm

I actually liked the original melody to this hymn once I heard it. A stolid and determined tune, albeit somewhat lugubrious. It was too late, though. The damage had already been done. Justin Brock ruined they hymn irreparably.

We Rest on Thee

We rest on Thee, our Shield and our Defender!
We go not forth alone against the foe;
Strong in Thy strength, safe in Thy keeping tender,
We rest on Thee, and in Thy Name we go.
Strong in Thy strength, safe in Thy keeping tender,
We rest on Thee, and in Thy Name we go.

Yes, in Thy Name, O Captain of salvation!
In Thy dear Name, all other names above;
Jesus our Righteousness, our sure Foundation,
Our Prince of glory and our King of love.
Jesus our Righteousness, our sure Foundation,
Our Prince of glory and our King of love.

We go in faith, our own great weakness feeling,
And needing more each day Thy grace to know:
Yet from our hearts a song of triumph pealing,
“We rest on Thee, and in Thy Name we go.”
Yet from our hearts a song of triumph pealing,
“We rest on Thee, and in Thy Name we go.”

We rest on Thee, our Shield and our Defender!
Thine is the battle, Thine shall be the praise;
When passing through the gates of pearly splendor,
Victors, we rest with Thee, through endless days.
When passing through the gates of pearly splendor,
Victors, we rest with Thee, through endless days.

We Rest on Thee is a post from: justin brock

The song isn’t an affront, though it may seem so. So if you’re Sufjan Stevens, don’t take this song the wrong way. I’d love a Sufjan Stevens album on Mississippi. I just have particular hopes for the writing process.

Among them is the hope that he would visit the places, hear the drawl, swelter in the heat and despair – a hope for more than “allusions to maps.” Maybe I’m a jerk for wanting that.

The song is emphatically not saying either

1. that I don’t want Sufjan to do an album for Mississippi or
2. that I think I’m the fella to do an album for Mississippi. No one from a state where Elvis Presley, BB King, Jimmy Buffett, Muddy Waters, Conway Twitty, Kate Campbell, Claire Holley, Caroline Herring, Neilson Hubbard, Sam Cooke, Bo Diddley, 3 Doors Down, Tammy Wynette, W. C. Handy, John Lee Hooker, Blind Melon, Johanny Johanson, Tommy Johnson, Charley Pride, LeAnn Rimes, Jimmie Rodgers, or Britney Spears started can say that.

Follow the footnotes on this post.

You Can’t Have Mississippi, Sufjan Stevens

This plan brings to mind the day of the wedding;
No one requested objections to hear.
My aunt’s 4th husband kissed her like a cowboy.
They often fought. They divorced in a year.

The minister’s text was the Velveteen Rabbit¹
And Luke 2:13² where the shepherds saw light.
Reliving such scenes in my mind is my habit –
Some dreams in mid-sermon I step forth and fight.
I was 16, but I could have stopped it all.
Her subsequent pain, I thought it my fault.

Our first agricultural export is pine trees –
Allusions to maps may sound nice for your songs.
But my grandpa lived next to Eudora Welty,³
And I eulogize fallen trees in my poems.
I’ve held my tongue too many times to name –
From eloquent dreams awakened to shame.

You can’t have Mississippi, Sufjan.
You can’t have every state in the Union.
What is your federal motivation –
Innocence, hubris or patriotism?

Or maybe it’s more like the time that she kissed me.
She was so free and so fast,
and I was the mute boy from Mississippi –
I’d only wished she had asked.
It couldn’t last; she didn’t know me well.
Couldn’t it last? She was so beautiful.

Come ride with me on the Trace for a day.⁴
What sense of place can be gained where you are?
The Ruins of Windsor are lovely in May –⁵
Reminders that truth, beauty, failure so often are one.⁶

You Can’t Have Mississippi, Sufjan Stevens is a post from: justin brock

1. Velveteen Rabbit
2. Luke 2:13-14, New King James Version: “And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying: ‘Glory to God in the highest, And on earth peace, goodwill toward men!’”
3. My grandpa – William Bondurant Hall – really did live next door to Eudora Welty after he and my grandmother separated.
4. I’m referring to the Natchez Trace: http://www.nps.gov/natr/
5. The photograph at the top of this post is of the Ruins of Windsor. The ruins burned during the Civil War, or War of Northern Aggression, depending on whether you were born in the right place or not. The fire, however, was said to have been cause accidentally by a dropped cigarrette rather than by Shermanic arsen.
6. Ah, poor Keats! Blessed with such vision and promise … and a short life to hallow them. Truth and beauty and failure. This last line in my song to Sufjan Stevens can be paraphrased thus, “Sufjan, you’ll probably never finish recording an album for each of the 50 states. But even if you fail to meet your goal, we want to see it! It’ll be true and beautiful, I’m sure.”

let her sleep, let her go,
turn around and head back home.
You’ll come dusty down this road maybe tomorrow,
I don’t know.

Wide awake and questioning the silence
you could leave in search of someone
you could love, or maybe love her till she is.
Holding on, it takes a wiser man.
So many sirens in the distance
don’t even bear a fair resemblance once in hand.

So go to sleep, let it go.
You can’t hurt who you don’t know.
They’re all perfect till you know them,
and the knowing does the hurting.

The question in your eyes –
there are softer lies
then there’s the edited silence . . .

where we weigh the arrows in our hands.
We could drop them for protection,
or we can wound till neither one of us can stand.

Don’t awaken, love, until it’s time.
Let me get the coffee started
and maybe pray till my hardheartedness subsides.

Gentle thieves, bloody friends –
still I long to let you in.
I know I don’t understand;
maybe you could love me till I can.

Don’t Awaken Love is a post from: justin brock

Down in the shadows
Where you cower in fright
You’d creep from the darkness
If you weren’t so scared of the light
Scared of exposure
Scared to be known
Frightened by your own shadow
You’re scared to be alone
Yet while you hide
All hope has died
And no one knows your name.

Your soul is a city
Besieged on each side
Four bloodthirsty columns surround you
And there’s a fifth inside.
Cowards and traitors
Who shoot from the dark
Benedicts, internal criminals
Hiding in your heart.
Must you fight
Alone tonight
Where no one knows your name?

Internal Criminal is a post from: justin brock

Laurence

- a breath of fresh air, reading this –

and when you get to the end of the last word of the last language you know, which feels far too soon every time for me . . .

jamiecrouse

I love it, Justin; its beautiful. Just a thought (and you may not want to edit Dan Hall) but I wonder if “language” would be better than “English”–more universal–but then again some would say tongues is a language. Anyway–I like it either way.

justin brock

I guess I’m thinking that at one point in the early history of the United States, the further west one went, the less English there was.

The Westward movement would originally have been seen as a digression from civilized to savage or from settled to wild.
In my poem, I want the Westward movement to suggest a transition from isolation to community and from synthetic to natural. Not sure I get the last one in.

There’s a bit of irony in the last stanza. The Native American landmarks referenced – Jacob’s Ladder and the cliff dwellings – call to mind Christian, and Western, imagery.

Here is the poem.

Westward

when you get to the end of English, speak
and your words will be wings
circling in summer over the canyon

when you get to the end of English, speak
and your words will smell like the shining
of sun-pollen in the hearts of daisies

the keeper of the plains whispers secrets
to the rivers meeting
beneath his shadow at the end of English.

when you come to the end of English, speak
and your words will step like dreams
up the stones of Jacob’s ladder
to the dwellers in the cliffs
through the cleft in the rock.

Westward is a post from: justin brock

Everyone I’d host brought me chains and fetters
other than with shackles no one laid a hand on me
no one ever soothed my pain
no one ever called me by my name

They’d say ‘Legion’ just to taunt me.
All these voices in my head
buzzing like flies ‘round a dream long dead.
Legion were the silences, legion was the shame
but I don’t think that’s my real name

I was schizophrenic as the twelve tribes of Israel
I always felt the fallout from the splitting in my head
I was stronger than a thousand men
but I couldn’t bind the criminals within

Still I’d have these dreams like I was thousands flying,
diving like pigs over cliffs into the sea
drowning in a death so kind
silencing the storming in my mind

that said ‘Legion’ just to taunt me.
All these voices in my head
buzzing like flies ‘round a dream long dead.
Legion were the silences, legion was the shame
but I don’t think that’s my real name

One day brought a lunatic from over the water
he looked into my face and called me from the crowd
I had never been so alone
why they called me ‘Legion’ I don’t know

They’d say ‘Legion’ just to taunt me.
All these voices in my head
buzzing like flies ‘round a dream long dead.
Legion were the silences, legion was the shame
but I don’t think that’s my real name

Legion is a post from: justin brock

You’ll recall from Dante that the 9th and deepest circle of Hell is a frozen lake. The bodies of sinners are frozen there at various depths. Cross that image with the images of Hiroshima after the bomb fell. I’m trying to say that something like that is what i see sometimes when i survey my soul.

¹

Hiroshima Picture: After the Bomb

²

Gustave Dore's Illustration of Dante's 9th Circle of Hell

Deliver

Is this the day I was born for,
Loosed from the lips of a quivering womb
Snatched to the earth in a bleeding rage?
This is my hundredth awakening -
A flash of light swallowed up in gloom -
Now like a cradle, now like a cage.

Deliver me from the body that burdens my bones.
Deliver me from the grave I’ve called home.
In this valley gather my shattered limbs.³
Hallelujah! And almost amen.

Night is the eye turning inward;
Quiet, the heart of the loneliest place
Where memory lingers without a name.
If I could just speak to her one word
Jesus the tears on the harlot’s face
Stone the dust of her sobbing shame.⁴

Deliver me from the dreams that have haunted my bed.
Silence the blamers in my head.
Tell the dry bones within me to live again.
Hallelujah! And almost amen.

I dream of a darkened horizon,
A desolate wasteland in my mind,
And stand on the threshold of the soul.
Here all the wounds I have frozen
Ache in a present free from time.
Here I am longing to be whole.

Deliver me from the sorrow that clouds my eyes.
Deliver me from my fears and my lies.
Cry the valley and gather the bones of my men.
Hallelujah! And almost amen.

Deliver is a post from: justin brock

1. Hiroshima Picture, Source: http://news.bbc.co.uk/nol/shared/spl/hi/pop_ups/05/asia_pac_hiroshima_then_and_now/img/2.jpg
2. Gustave Dore's Illustration of Dante's 9th Circle of Hell, Source: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1f/Gustave_Dore_Inferno32.jpg
3. The allusions to bones in all the choruses are from the Valley of Dry Bones passage in Ezekiel 37.
4. I hadn’t wholly decided how to phrase this when I first wrote it, so in the recording I sing, “… speak to her one word – Jesus. The tears on the harlot’s face fall, stoning the dust …”

   I’ve sinced changed my mind. I mean it to be a series of predicates following “If i could just . . .” I’ll sing it this way when i re-record it:
   “If i could just speak to her one word /
   Jesus the tears on the harlot’s face /
   Stone the dust of her sobbing shame”

   Jesus the tears stirs my imagination more. And stone the dust is the violence i want.

I’m coming! Hear the rumor on the wind?
You feel the rain and you’re outside the Ark.
I’m coming! Feel my talons sinking in -
I’m sending you a needle through your heart

My fist is on the skyline like a distant threat of rain
My thunderbolts come humming to your skies
Don’t care if you’re dry or not, I’m coming just the same
To pound out all the water from your eyes

I’m coming! Hear the rumor on the wind?
You feel the rain and you’re outside the Ark.
I’m coming! Feel my talons sinking in -
I’m sending you a needle through your heart

Go call in all your children now, get in from the storm
Still you don’t even know how damned you are
I’m dropping like an A-bomb, babe, but I don’t mean no harm
This killing is for peace instead of war

I’m coming! Swirling scarlet as a flame -
My locust winds are gathering the dark
I’m coming! Got your face I know your name
I’m sending you a needle through your heart.

This Killing is a post from: justin brock

Distance is a post from: justin brock

Consumed with acrid sores that ran
like mild and honey, the lying ten
first fell. More horribly the masses
wandered, sentenced, till carcasses
dotted the desert like morning manna,
and the roaming feet of Israel
were truly those of children.

When the
last corpse collapsed, it fell
to Joshua to rise and lead
us. So ever are the seeds
of the faithless, sprouting in the end
the fear they but prolong and wasting
life with wandering between.
Soon Levites waded in the Jordan
once again, and among a youthful brood
graying, there Joshua and I stood
alone, surviving brothers and faithless fathers
who fell, bumping the sand like grasshoppers.

Caleb to His Grandson II: Second Crossing is a post from: justin brock

But when the staff of Moses raised,
our God smote the waters and cleaved
them with his blade. How we praised
His Name and watched Him lead
us firmly through. And when we took
them, they were dry.

No, look
again, my son. They are poems.
You do not question me of stones.

Caleb to His Grandson I: Altar is a post from: justin brock

I’m your dirty virgin,you’re my profane saint.
we’re homeless royal urchins, invincible and faint.
like every man and woman we’re angels demon-scarred
the cross a perfect omen – if only we had a heart
but love, Christina, beats through our pain
and knows our contradictions and soothes the burning shame

if only I had courage in these woods where we lay low
I could lead us to some holy place instead of hiding from my shadow
and though we’ve faith for morning still we believe the shadow-lie
and clutch each other trembling for lions and tigers and bears oh my
the emerald light of morning is a light we’ve yet to see
but oh to slake our sorrows and clothe ourselves in green

Maybe I Could Love You is a post from: justin brock

I only know a few songs
on one instrument
why don’t you play along with me
and I’ll play the guitar with you on the slide-trombone
you’ll blast through our weary bones
the wonders of love unknown
love unknown

and all of God’s children are scared of the lightning
and framed in a flash are the fears on their faces
but you and I sit up and wait for the morning
to stab through the storming and bleed through the trees
and I’m so glad you’re with me²

or I’ll play the guitar with you on the bongo drums
the pulse of our revelry will hint of the world to come
I’ll play the guitar with you on the clarinet
and those Benny Goodman tunes
will fill us with laughter soon
we’ll swing to the joy we find

all of God’s children are scared of the lightning
and framed in a flash are the fears on their faces
but you and I sit up and wait for the morning
to stab through the storming and bleed through the trees
and I’m so glad you’re with me

I’ll play the guitar with you on the piccolo
whispering soft and low/ secrets nobody knows
I’ll play the guitar while you stroke a saxophone
it’s blues on the telephone
but I know I’m not alone
don’t cross the lines or your fingers, friend
we’ll be fine

even though all of God’s children are scared of the lightning
and framed in a flash are the fears on their faces
but you and I sit up and wait for the morning
to stab through the storming and bleed through the trees
and I’m so glad you’re with me

Blues On the Telephone is a post from: justin brock

1. Instrumentation: Of course I’ll want to use every instrument I name in the song. At first, they’ll fade in and fade out with their mention. But in the end, I want them to build up to a Sufjan-Stevens-esque cacophony! My favorite entrance – at least in my head where I hear it – is when the clarinet highlights “those Benny Goodman tunes” in the lyrics. The time signature right after this switches from 4/4 to 3/4 at “swing to the joy we find”. Oh, the junk I hear in my head! It’ll never happen without help from someone more talented.
2. Emily Dickinson said “Tell all the Truth but tell it slant—
   Success in Cirrcuit lies
   Too bright for our infirm Delight
   The Truth’s superb surprise
   As Lightening to the Children eased
   With explanation kind
   The Truth must dazzle gradually
   Or every man be blind—”

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Will never put you back together again
But his son can

This desert’s fraught with dangers
Quicksands and cruel strangers
And lions lurk ’round every bend
The natives are awful angry
You’ve heard the wolves are hungry
They come to tear you limb from limb

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Will never put you back together again
But his son can

All the King’s Horses is a post from: justin brock

Will you gather me
From the shards on the shoreline
When the waters calm
And the rage is spent.
When I dangle there
On the lip of the ocean
Will your kiss make me live again?

When I pass through the fire
See you anything precious
That might fall from the flames
From the flames
My relentless refiner
Sift the gold from these ashes
And roll my myriad fears
Into one

Cry to the north and south
And the east and the west
From this desperate bush
That you burn in the desert
Strike the nations
With this heart of iron
You have beaten in the flames.

Flood is a post from: justin brock

Lonely Moses

I should come like a penitent criminal
But I don’t know if I could
I’ve thought to creep out of this place where the shadows fall
But I don’t know if I should
Darken the light with my presence
Ask you for mercy in the faces of all I deserve
Still I come, still I come, still I come to you
Tiptoeing softly, watching my feet.

My twilight songs should be sweet to awake the dawn
But roosters are crowing before I know what I’ve said
I should lift high with these trees all my praises tall
But look at my weary limbs
I’m one lonely Moses in the desert
Sleeping when I should be praying and pounding these stones
Still I come, still I come, still I come to you
Sleepy and thirsty, dragging my feet

I should flow to you free like a waterfall
But my damned heart’s a stone
I’ve lifted my skirts till my love is a free for all
It should be yours alone
Will I ever wear white in your chamber
Lift up my eyes to a lover who’ll call me his bride
Will you come, will you come, will you come to me
Breaking my hard heart, washing my feet
Melting my stone heart, washing my feet

Lonely Moses is a post from: justin brock

Click here to view the embedded video.

Groundhog Day

I am creeping from my hole in fear
’cause every time I see my shadow.
Winter’s dark and cold and long I know -
I’ve seen nothing but winter here.
Sure wish I could leave this here,
Turn and hope and it would go away.
Or I could go if it would stay
And not follow me another year,
and another year, and another year

Sometimes I just turn the lights out
So I don’t have to see my shadow
But the world gets bigger in the blackout
And I just wander where my fears go, go, go
Sure would like to let my hair down
Ease my guard and drop my mask
Is it anything to ask
A little room to let my hair down, down, down
Like Rapunzel or something like Samson

Somewhere all is light, all is calm, all is bright,
All who live there cast no shadows
And are followed by no shade of night

Shame is with me like a shadow
Intimate as a midwife is the past
Touching all my nows and futures
Wish I could get clear of her grasp
And birth something bright and pure and shining
Something golden that could stay
And though I die in the labor
I know there’s just no other way
But maybe after one long last winter’s night
I’d wake green as spring in the morning bright

Somewhere all is light, all is calm, all is bright,
All who live there cast no shadows
And are followed by no shade of night

Groundhog Day is a post from: justin brock

Prometheus could learn from me
To rob the world of mystery
With eyes that never tire
And burning bones of fire
But oh the precious price of sight
How youthful eyes soon lose their light
And rage through a dark fire
And age with each desire
Come I’m so scared of growing old

Years and souls and chances pass
Like men bound screaming to a mast
Or linger for a desperate hour
I need a love I can’t devour
If you would only tarry here
And drive away these haunting fears
Of golden aging raging wrongs
Silence all my deadly songs
Come I’m too scared to be alone
Come I’m so scared of growing old
Come I’m so scared of being gold

Deadly Songs is a post from: justin brock

Prism

I will give you eyes of prism to break the light
to see with covenant-colored sight
I will teach your mind to imagine, your soul to dream
and clear the shadows of each fearful thing

and know the plans I have for you
are wilder than your sweetest dreams
behold the good I offer you
future fair for the imagining

I will move my love from the corners of your eyes
and spread it wider than west Texas skies
I’ll redeem the twilight years of your wanderings
and grant you hope in blue and mirth in green

and know the plans I have for you
are wilder than your sweetest dreams
behold the good I offer you
future fair for the imagining

Prism is a post from: justin brock

might I lean upon your breast
suckle simple silent rest
leave my burden be a while
feel the sunshine of your smile
nestle up behind your wings
bleed the worry from my dreams
till my soul is strong enough
might I fall on you, my love?

Might I Fall is a post from: justin brock

Matthew he can never play it safe
Tells me “friend, this girl is redefining grace.
She knows how to put me in my place
On my knees, on my face”

Baby, look at our sand castles so tall
But don’t we overlook their line of fault
Till we can’t miss the writing on the wall
“all who build here will fall”

So let those ruins lay there in the sand
Come up from the rubble take my hand
We will wander where the moon meets the sea
Wash our feet and plunge in deep

Matthew’s Song is a post from: justin brock

If you’re happy and you show it, you’re just lying to yourself
And everybody else

Now you wear a white dress, though it ain’t your own
And you’re gonna wear it to kingdom come
You found in your distress you ain’t so alone
There’s a few other aliens longing for home

If you’re happy and you know it – what is this strange hope you have?
You say, “aw it’s stranger than you think”

And all of our fears are death in a clowns face
Death dressed in black lace or a monkey-suit
He swings from the vines, says “it ain’t your time . . .
But, darlin’, I’m waiting for you”

Well there came to this land a sorrowful man
But he’d steal to the shadows and laugh till he cried
He was smiles for the children, tears for Jerusalem,
For joy set before him he died

If you’re happy and you know it, singing is your suffering
And laughter your medicine
If you’re happy and you know it, you ain’t from around these parts
He said, “I ain’t from around these parts”

Happy and You Know It is a post from: justin brock

could you come around
and help me hope I’ll be ok
tell me that you wait/ tell me that you’ll stay?
I wonder what I’d say

through the troubled rage of ocean
in the eerie calm behind
I see the ragged rigging, a charred and broken mast
but I’m alive, the storm has passed
then I take time for reflection
with the sea my looking glass
and I’ve been thinking “if only you could see yourself this way
in the depths of this green grace”

till you come around
I will hope that you’re ok
I will pray to find when I catch your eyes
a quiet place inside

there’s no shade out on these waters
and I’m dizzy with the heat
at morning and evening – time’s sacrificial pyres
day wakes and ends in fire
and the sun a scorching suitor
and love a jealous flame
the smoke of this altar will season sweet the wind
till I’m a scent to touch your hair in

Could you come around
in all your flesh and bone
and not fear the pain and embrace the flames
you would surely know my name

Come Around is a post from: justin brock

And I’ll call all the saints to worship
Come look what the lord has done
I was toppled and broken,
Not a stone on the other,
He set back every one.”

Morning breaks. The sound awakes her.
Dawn gently shakes her with the light
The heart of the darkness
has seen the light of day
And left all the shadows
To warm in morning’s rays.
Morning’s new mercies wear a quiet face
Her tears now shimmer with the dew.
The midnight was restless
with crying out for help
Preaching the gospel to herself.

Now she calls all the saints to worship
“Come let sweet praise resound.
Oh I felt the fall
Of Jericho walls
But he’s rebuilt these ruins from the ground”

Rebuild These Ruins is a post from: justin brock

Darkness falls like a forgiven woman
She cries and wets his feet for love
She cools him from his fevered passion
He asks her eyes “What are you so scared of”
He has called her beautiful; she just likes his smile

Heaven kisses earth with kindness
In the west they make their bed
Round them clouds so white and modest
Closing eyes and blushing red
But they are shameless in their love.

While they sleep the sky’s a vigil
For the day with borrowed light
Night will burn her virgin’s oil
Till her lover comes in sight
And she will melt at his eye so bright.

So sleep my love let no one wake you
Though you fear this sleep be death
The quiet face of dawn will shake you
Day will rouse you with his honeyed breath
The curse causeless will find no rest.

And though you’re nestled in the desert
Though your hope be dry and faint
I will bend the Mississippi
And green you on his muddy banks
And float you down
Float you down to sleep
On his breast.

Lullabye is a post from: justin brock

Salvation

I am a bandit, been reprimanded
But I ain’t one to go and change my ways
Some get to struggle and wrestle with angels
My foe’s been these dark and mute tar baby days.

Watch me unravel, dare me to tangle
You see the plain truth? Well I can twist you blind
I am a marvel. I’ll swallow a camel
And do other feats but I can’t seem to clear my mind

I lift up my limp hands – you take hold with a strong hand
This is salvation, this is salvation
I run with a cruel band – you stretch out your long hand
This is salvation, this is salvation

I hide in a corner, I head for the backdoor
But you say “hey kid, come here and sit with me”
I don’t belong here but you bid me draw near
Taste of the bread, drink of the wine you offer me

I lift up my stained hands -You clean me with kind hands
This is salvation, this is salvation
My protest a weak stand – You feed me with firm hands
This is salvation, this is salvation

Can I ask you a favor? “Kid that’s all you can ask for.
And am I not one to give myself away?”
Sir I started to wonder after all that I’ve asked for
And all that you’ve given I don’t even know your name

Your name is timeless – You met me in a moment
This is salvation, this is salvation
Your name makes a rich man – Of the poor who will own it
This is salvation, this is salvation

Oh I am the outlaw – your are the judge
I’s caught red-handed – yours drip with blood
This is salvation, this is salvation
I am the one should swing from a tree
You’ve robbed me of my penalty
Thank you for hanging there for me
Thank you for hanging there for me
I will hang on your words.

Salvation is a post from: justin brock

Come

I am a desert parched for your tears
Passion of heaven rain on me
Cleanse me from sin, oh drown my fears
Years that have spent and wearied me
Is that your cloud on the horizon
Dare hope the drought is nearly done
I care not how you come Lord
But oh come quickly, quickly come.

Come as a thousand flocks of sparrows
Peppering winter winds with song
Season the sky with peace and cheer
Linger the pilgrims laughter long
Gentle his pain and soothe his bruises
May he hear hope in sadness sound
Gather his old and aching pieces
In woolen warmth and wrap them round.

Flow from the heights a swollen stream
Thrust from the hidden wells above
Pulse through the waiting valley’s seam
I am laid open for your love
Leave me no longer leave me barren
Green me till fruit folds full arms down
Balm with silent songs of heaven
Hear me soon with their whispered sound.

Come is a post from: justin brock

I will groan for the lostness I find in your face
I will cry for the spring
Don’t we moan the innocence we misplace
Don’t we ache the nothingness?

Sin crouches silent at the doorway
I stumble blindly.
The stare the dare the lair I see
Innocence dies wheezing on the threshold
Blood crying from the earth
Oh where’s the brother’s keeper of me?
Withering with lazarus
Who rose but fell again to dust
To rise again? Will he rise again

I will groan for the lostness I find in your face
I will cry for the spring
Don’t we moan the innocence we misplace
Don’t we ache the nothingness?

I am quaking
I see it happen
I will put my foot down and earth will shake
Split foundations and tumble in the tremor
All falls down, all falls down, all falls
All falls down, all falls down, all falls
And fingers aimed from the rubble in blame
It was all my fault.

Quake is a post from: justin brock

I have ambitions of creating an illustrated children's book from this poem

This poem came to me over Christmas break, 1998-1999. My dad, brother-in-law and I were looking over some acres in rural Mississippi where Dad was hoping to hunt.

Having walked through the woods for a while, we came upon a clearing piled high in the center with bulldozed trees. My brother-in-law and I enter the pyre where the branches arched as if to form a cave. The sky seemed a close, solid grey, and every sound we made reverberated in the silence. I guess I began writing the poem when the first branch snapped under my feet and finished it hours later over hot chocolate at my parents house.

As a concept, “Graveyard” is one more entry in my growing list of unfinished things. I wrote this poem in 1999; I hope to have it illustrated in 20091. I want the storyline of the illustrations to tell a narrative not rigidly connected to the words in the poem.

Certainly there are images the text suggests, but what I want is for the pictures to tell a good story. The words can just be there as A Capella accompaniment.

Although the illustrations are not the sort I envision for this poem, Susan Jeffers’ illustrations for “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost exemplify the relationship between words and image I want this to have. Perhaps it’s a pipe dream that’ll never happen, but hey! so is the rest of this site.

Graveyard

we should walk the woods
to the graveyard of the trees
where the mighty lay fallen and silent.
we could climb their rigid bodies,
the drying bones snapping under our fumbling feet.

how I wish I could go like an Indian,
sleek and still as I snaked beneath the shadows
of a dark wood.
I would wear silence through the undergrowth
and take you, ever so quiet,

to the graveyard of the trees
where the mighty lay fallen and silent
with their hair loose on the wind
their arms breaking to the barren sky
their bones baking in the mud and winter
go where they lay
mighty and fallen and dreaming

of when their dry bones danced
and greened themselves sleek
and lithe like an Indian
in the spying shadows
of a cold and winter sun.

Graveyard is a post from: justin brock

She’s holding hands with devils
She is ambidextrous
Both hands deep in this tar baby
Baby no way out tonight
And she’s stuck again
With this stain of sin
On her innocent skin.

I’m longing out the window
Sights and scenes and stories written outside
Still I see my reflection
Like when I look into her eyes
Caulk the slate again
Oh I’m cut again
See the blame within
Under innocent skin.

She speaks with tongues of fire
She is fluent in this flame

Innocent Skin is a post from: justin brock

I’ve inserted footnotes on some of my inspiration for the song for those of you curious types.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Hymn of Autumn

Breathe on me like autumn wind
Through the boughs of the elm and beech
Sad the scent of the summer’s end
Sweet the comfort and hope you offer me
Wrap me around with your breath
Love stronger than death
Come blow away my fears
Brush away my tears

Ravish me like an autumn storm
Rolling thunder to silence me
Leave me broken and breathless, torn
Bend me bolted and blind till I can see
Fall upon me with your rain
Joy that sings through pain
Welcomes the showers down
Laughs at their distant sound³

Shine on me in the autumn sun
Till I blush like October leaves
Letting fall all the shame I’d done
Casting off all the weight that wearied me
Baring my arms to the skies
Gaze with gentle eyes
Sing me to sleep in peace
Wake me at spring’s release⁴

Romance me in the autumn night
Waltz me to the crickets’ song⁵
Blow soft kisses down starry light⁶
Gather me to the arms I’ve wandered from⁷
Remind me the good love can be
Mend my memory⁸
Savor this silent hour
Modest with all its power

Hymn of Autumn is a post from: justin brock

1. This doesn’t happen often. Normally a finished song requires a laborious process, sometimes over the course of years. “Bullfight” was another one that seemed to fall out of me quickly.
2. Which is also why I am allowed to refer to autumn crickets.
3. If you’re reminded of John Donne’s 14th Holy Sonnet, then I did something right here. His imagery – both military and conjugal – reminds one of Jeremiah and Hosea.
   HOLY SONNETS: XIV.
   Batter my heart, three-person’d God ; for you
   As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
   That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
   Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
   I, like an usurp’d town, to another due,
   Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
   Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
   But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
   Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
   But am betroth’d unto your enemy ;
   Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
   Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
   Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
   Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
4. Autumn has provided me with quite a bit of ink. This stanza, for instance, repeat a lot of the imagery found in Free.
5. Indebted to Mark Heard here – another songwriter I miss terribly. In his song “No One But You” he writes: “Crickets’ song goes on and on / Etude impromptu”. Who thinks of stuff like that! Amazing.
6. Probably owe a reference to one of the Romantics here, I suppose. But they’re so ingrained it’s difficult to decipher whether I’m referencing something they said or seeing and speaking differently because I listened to them. It’s their fault either way, I guess.
7. I must again remind everyone of Rich Mullins. His song “Home” is the first place I heard the word gather arranged so that me was its object. Gather – pick up piece by piece, collect, arrange – Me – the first person singular pronoun I once thought referred to a single entity. Gather me implies “I’m not whole! There are broken pieces of me all over the place.” The phrase has wonderful economy.
8. That’s mine. I love alliteration apparently. And I need my memories mended, as does everyone else.

I am naked here and ashamed
I fear the eyes that stroke my frame
You say I’m beautiful, you see I’m blemished
And the fear fades with your kiss

I have never know love like this
Quake shiver shake the shackles from my wrists
Ravish me! Ravish me! Holy harm
Sanity purity fall like jewels from your arms

I am naked here and ashamed
I fear the eyes that stroke my frame
You say I’m beautiful, you see I’m blemished
And the fear fades with your kiss

This light shows each scar upon my sin
Your sight knows my filth and my sin

Here I stand in exposure unforgiving
Your scarred hand crushing cursing stones
Wash me cleanse me in water ever living
Fill me with blood and beauty not my own

I am naked here unashamed
Each tear turns to wash me of my pain
Oh you’re beautiful touch my face
I’m whole in your embrace
Give me meaning give me life
Draw me to your side

Exposure is a post from: justin brock

As I write this in retrospect, I have the vague sense that I have been dating someone at the time; however, I was the sort of freshman who would forget and go on writing a song feeling blissfully unattached … until she called and reminded me I was.

If you like the song – Cool. I was 18 years old.
If you don’t like the song – Hey, I was 18. What do you expect!

Free

Let the chains fall down
Shackles break like glass
As from death to life I pass
Down
Fall from autumn arms
Like leaves caught in the wind
It’s been so long
Since I could lift them high
Raise my eyes up to the sky
To know
You’ve been watching waiting
Loving all along

When my heart is tied to the world outside
Break the holds it has inside
Send me running into ever-open arms
Till I am free

Let the tears fall down
Walls of bondage break
You set me free for freedom’s sake
Now let me know the light
I’ve hidden from so long
Let the sadness fall
Hard stones of heartache
May the dams of sorrow break
Fall
Till all my hopes and dreams are yours

When my heart is hard and dry inside
Drown me in your living tide
Send me sinking into ever-open arms
Till I am free

When my heart is tied tot eh world outside

Break the holds it has inside
I am falling into ever-open arms
till I am free

Free is a post from: justin brock

my heart is hard inside
dry from the tears I have not cried
I need your mercy, Lord
to shake and shatter me

shake my soul
till I am broken
till I am whole
rain on me
till I am clean before you

take this heart of stone and give
a heart of flesh that I might live
my life is one vast need
only you can fill
my tears have left my eyes
and I am blinded by my pride
I need your mercy, Lord to shake and shatter me

shake my soul
till I am broken
till I am whole
rain on me
till I am clean before you

so I kneel before you/ what else can I do
on my knees before you
break this heart, break this heart in two

Offering is a post from: justin brock

Oh, how you love me
In spite of myself.
Oh, how you love me
Like nobody else.

All of the light fades away
As I turn from your face
And drift away while you call me to stay
In your sweet embrace.

Oh, how you love me
In spite of myself.
Oh, how you love me
Like nobody else.

I run away from you
but every step you chase me down.
I hide behind the walls I build
Won’t you shout and make them tumble down?
Lost in my confusion
Please seek me till I’m found.
Behind a mask I hide myself
Won’t you tell me

Who am I in your eyes?
How can you look on my face?
For my heart is so stained and dark
But you wash the sin away.

Oh, how you love me
In spite of myself.
Oh, how you love me
Like nobody else.

How You Love Me is a post from: justin brock

Why, why Medea?
Why, why Medea?

My eyes have been denied the right to see
Smothered by my mother’s trembling hand
A broken heart has taken mine from me
Robbed of a life that just began

Why, why Medea?
Why, why Medea?

Wandering in the darkness we fall headlong
Stumbling into the traps we have laid
When will we turn our eyes up to heaven
And away from our sin
There stands the one who can free us
But how long will he reach down to men who don’t care why

The rain falls for those who have forgotten how to cry
Eyes dry from hearts no longer broken
A nation and a race and me who’ve turned their backs on you
You who let your tears rain down from heaven

Why, why Medea?
Why, why Medea?

Medea is a post from: justin brock

Jeremiah you are weeping
Let me try and dry your eyes
Please release the hurt you’re keeping
It’s killing you inside

Like the roses are uprooted
So my words can be refuted
Separated from the vine
Since my words just fade away
I will do what I should say

Jeremiah you are weeping
Let me try and dry your eyes
Please release the hurt you’re keeping
It’s killing you inside

As the sun arose this morning
Will the sun rise in your heart
He will comfort all the morning
He will finish what he starts

Like the roses are uprooted
So my words can be refuted
Separated from the vine
Since my words just fade away
I will do what I should say

Jeremiah you are weeping
Let me try and dry your eyes
Please release the hurt you’re keeping
Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go,
Let it go, let it go, let it fall, fall into his arms

Jeremiah is a post from: justin brock