Jack Pelham

We sang “Jesus Will Fix It”,
As if fixing broken things
Is indeed the right thing to do.

But looking back,
I can see that we didn’t really care
All that much to have everything fixed;
No, what we wanted more than that
Was simply to have a way out.

We wanted to be snatched from this world
Into the other one—
Delivered from its evils
And perils
And aggravations
Into boundless joy and glory—
And to let Him do with the rest of this world
Whatever He would do with it.

We even thought it unspiritual
And worldly–
A needless distraction–
To get our hands dirty with
The world around us.
But I can’t help but think now
That we were freeloaders,
Not lifting a finger to
Protect the body politic
That afforded us so much freedom.

We thought it work for civilians,
And not for us soldiers of Christ.

Now, don’t get me wrong,
For we helped the poor
And the children,
But we did not take a stand
To fight the corruption–
And often, not even the corruption
In our own number.

I suppose we thought Jesus would fix that, too–
Or rather, simply deliver us from it.

What seemed so great a religion,
We used to shield us from
Plain, everyday responsibility.

And I regret that.

Here’s a short teaser for a choral tune I’m cooking up for Christmas.

He took away her sea—
The raging waters of darkness
That had spat at her very existence—
Who had encroached whenever they could
To defile her dry land
And destroy the darling race
So as to stab at
The Ancient of Days
For the banishing
They had deserved.

He took away her sea
In due course—
Having patiently let the play run to its end—
The evidence heard—
The books opened—
It having let it be seen that
Some on the stage
Would choose the light over the darkness—
That they would cherish the Image
In which they had been created
And live in it by choice,
Even though they were made lower
Than the rebels who surrounded them.

When came the time,
The new sons of God were revealed
Upon the dry land—
And glorified and rewarded.
And the old ones in that sea railed
Against them and hated to the last moment—
Until the sea was cast into the fire
And the sea was no more.

And the champions went on to their new home,
Leaving the Earth to carry on anew.
And ever since,
Many have sought out the schemes
Of the old rebels,
Long-since gone to the fire—
As if none of it had ever happened
And no judgment had ever been made.

And their make-do sea is yet filled with evils,
Tormenting us all on our watch,
And helping us understand at least something
Of what came before.

But as for me,
I know of a place
Where there is no sea.

Here’s another piece I wrote for chorus, played on strings.

Here’s a piece I wrote for chorus, performed here with string sounds.

She thought she’d had enough of Hitler,
But this world doesn’t know herself very well.

She was tired and hurt and hungry,
But after some rest, she’d be ready for more.

Bitterness is a liar.
She promises that,
If only you’d spend
A little more time with her,
She’d fill up that void
In your heart.

And when that doesn’t work,
She tells you that
If you could just
Get someone else
To be bitter alongside you,
That would make you whole.

And so you spread her lie
And do her dirty work
Where it shows promise.
And though you find it hard
To persuade filled hearts to
Pay her much mind,
You manage to ruin some of
The empty ones you know–
All in your quest to fill yourself
At their expense.

And when your new friends
Fail to fill you up,
Bitterness tells you
It is their fault,
And that you should now
Brood against them, too.

Any why not,
Since they’ve now
Discovered the lie
And sought the aid
Of Bitterness against you–
Faithless friends that they now seem to be?

Yet after all that,
There you sit–
Empty as before,
And looking for any option
Other than to put her away–
Because you still think
She is your friend.

The ship’s undone—
So far asea as to have
Lost sight of the shore—
With neither sail nor anchor.

The hands on deck are not our crew,
For we’re all forced below
To do whatever we can find
To suit us here.
We pretend away
The mounting peril—
Thinking ourselves brave for it.

We have no captain,
Save the scoundrel who sold us out—
Who sups even now aboard
The pirate frigate that tows us leeward
To some country not our own.

None dare challenge
The guards topside,
Nor cut the towline
And fend for ourselves.

And so she creaks and moans as
She is dragged through the night—
The weeping, once-proud leviathan, now
Hooked through the nostrils
By the captor.

We grumble,
But still we drink our rum
And eat our stores—
While they hold—
And boast of what grand sailors
We will be again someday soon
On the patriotic sea.

We blame the captain,
His treachery so plainly seen,
But we know we are undone
By our own hands—
Both by the wicked among us
Who worked corruption and subterfuge
And by the idle
Who did nothing to stop it—
Who strain even now to count that idleness
As anything but evil itself.

We know.

Truth be told,
Our why went overboard
Into the impossible abyss.
And none dare go in after it.
Nor did any at first fight
Sufficient as to keep it.
We did not keep our watch,
And now it is not ours.

The others would pummel me
For saying it aloud,
But I will whisper it in your ear:

We dared not risk our proud comforts
For what then seemed such cold diligence.
And now we have but to wait and see
What shall befall us,
For we have no heart left in us —
No matter what we may say—
That we should sail our own ship
Once again.

If really He has your ear,
O preacher–
As you assure us He does–
As you tell of having
“Heard the call”–
And as we hear your
Pious pre-sermon prayer
That He will guide your mouth
To say as He would say–
And as you have taught us
That we should pray adoringly on your behalf–
Both fore and aft–
That He should work it so
That in having listened to you,
We will have listened to Him–

If really He has your ear,
Why do you not say
What He says?

Why, then, do you sometimes allow where He prohibits–
Or prohibit where He allows?

And how can you ignore what He proclaims–
Or declare in His name what He has not?

Was not the Son himself
Diligent to say only what
The Father had told Him?

Why do you explain away some of his words,
Hand-waving their meaning into
Something that suits you better?

Why do you say, “Peace, peace”
Where we are at war with Him–
And with his Truth–
And with his Righteousness?

Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
Have you not read
That these things
Are a matter of record?

Do you think we cannot read
Them for ourselves?

But alas!
I know that the evils of this hour
Are rather more stinging than that,
For you have made for yourself
An audience of those who
Do dare not care so much what he said.
And I have had my seat among them–
Who conjure up,
Under your tutelage,
The “spirit” of their own will–
Calling it His instead–
And thinking it that blessed font
From which your very words flow forth.

I see now that you
Have made yourself king
Of a vain people
Who like you better than
The One whose name they
Take upon themselves.
You have taught them to
Worship at the altar of their own will.

And I,
Having finally seen you for what you are–
Having discovered your artifice and scheme,
And having wasted and risked enough of my life
In this grand pretense and charade–
I see now why you
Never seemed truly eager
That I should study for myself–
Think for myself–
Explore for myself–
But to rely on you
To do it all for me.

I must leave you now and
See whether I can learn to stand
Before him on my own,
Having been so weakened by
This life of proxy.
I must go and learn
How to make things right
With God–
The actual God
Of the Bible.

Who taught the Christian to scoff
At what he does not understand?

Surely not that Wisdom,
To whom every soul
Shall bow the knee.

Who taught the Christian to be smug–
To defend and offend
with overconfidence about his knowledge?

It was certainly not that Lamb,
Who, by his own will,
Counted himself as nothing.

Who taught the Christian that
God would not let him–
Or his preacher–
Be wrong about anything?

It could not have been the Master
Whose very own disciples
He so often corrected.

Who taught the Christian
To take offense at correction?

Surely it was not the Teacher
Who taught his own to
“Go and show him his fault…”

Who taught the Christian
To be incurious about the scriptures?

It would not have been that King of Kings
Into whose affairs
Even the angels longed to look.

Who taught the Christian
That he will be exempt from the Judgment?

It could not be Him who sits on
The judgment seat of Christ–
To whom we must all give account.

Who taught the Christian that his own feelings
Are God’s only way of testifying to him?

Never would it have been the Word of God
Who had his prophets write the scriptures.

Who taught the Christian that “grace” exempts him
From having to live in the image of God?

It most certainly was not the Son–
The Radiance of God’s Glory, and
The exact Representation of his Being.

Who has taught the Christian these things–
These foolish, corrupt things?
Who has taught them
To be blind to the truth?

These things are taught
By those the ubiquitous imposters–
Those counterfeits–
Those pretenders–
Those usurpers who cannot stand
To let Him sit on his own heavenly throne–
Who declare themselves kings
With the sly edict:
“God appoints the leaders”–
And who will never
In a thousand years
See the error in their ways–
Until He makes them see it.
They are the self-appointed “shepherds”
Who assure us they
“Felt the call”
And that God now speaks through them.

Such a scheme could not succeed
in that Heavenly Jerusalem,
With God so near
And vanity so far.
But here, where so few esteem
The light that the Holy City
Sheds upon this Earth,
The preachers are the pride
And idol of the millions,
Who, themselves, will later
Have to give account,
Not only for following other masters,
But for doing it
In the Name of the One and Only.

And I, too, spent too many years
Not realizing the difference.
And then, too many years
Realizing it, but not enough.

But having finally left the crowd–
Who would not really let me listen–
I have been able to hear
What he said so long ago,
And what he seems to have
Had delivered to our time,
For our consideration.
And I now regret that I ever wanted
Anything but what He wants.