Your Inner Compass

Still waters run deep,

So it is said

Your thoughts are your own,

Deep inside your head

Others cannot know

If your words match your point of view

For your outward expressions

May not be true

It is here that integrity becomes a thing

For honest conversation reward does bring

For while others you may think you fool

It diminishes the soul

Which self-destructive and ultimately cruel


Padre

Spiritual Couch Potato

The Americans claim to crown the “world champions” in baseball, basketball, and NFL football. Elsewhere in the world “the beautiful game” captures the hearts of millions. But if we are honest, the biggest spectator sport in the world is judging others. Various “reality” programmes and talent competitions catch our attention, not for the positives, but often for the chance to judge and ridicule those on screen. Gossip columns and TikTok channels abound with “constructive” criticism of the lives, or socio-political views of others. Being “woke” is to be a referee to the views of anyone less awake than one’s self.

This spectator criticism is a spiritual equivalent of being a sporting couch potato. We armchair referees love to show how everyone else is wrong. It is easy to comment on sporting figure’s play when we are in the couch. But do we get up and pick up the ball ourselves. Of course not. Neither do we examine our own spiritual lives and actively fix those.

Jesus said: “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?  How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?  You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye (Matthew 7:3-5).”

Let’s go get some spiritual exercise and lift a few planks.


Padre

Inner Us

When faced with the day to day

We get use to doing things in a certain way

But at times when new trials arise

New approaches we must devise

And when the struggles are particularly great

Or tremendous struggles on our plate

It is then that we find the stuff

That is at our core and makes us – us

For if in our true strengths we do trust

Pressures will never our lives bust


Padre

Good

Knight, Middle Ages, Armor, Shield, Horse, War, Templar
Pixabay

Being against evil doesn’t make you good. Tonight I was against it and then I was evil myself. I could feel it coming just like a tide… I just want to destroy them. But when you start taking pleasure in it you are awfully close to the thing you’re fighting.
–Islands in the Stream (started in 1950 but published in 1970) Ernest Hemingway

Be good for goodness’ sake

Don’t be defined by what you’re not

Your friend is one that loves you

A mutual enemy makes you friends not

Be good for goodness’ sake

Don’t on a band wagon sit

For virtue is not signalled

It is what is lived!


Padre

dVerse

True Power?

imageedit_1_5112559964.jpg

Taylor at Unsplash

 

Where does true power lay?

What o’er your life has control?

Are you the master of your own destiny –

Whether in part or the whole?

 

Was there power in that promise that was made?

Was strength really caused by the hair?

Was the physical might put on display –

In the thick ringlets you wear?

 

Did the promise made to God –

In Manoah’s wife’s fervent prayer

Mean as much to you –

As a Philistine’s bed to share?

 

You trusted in “your” strength alone

In the wit – in which you thought you showed skill

And yet for all your deceit and lies

Delilah’s was greater still

 

And why did you not seem to see?

Or become in the least paranoid?

Did her constant questions about your power –

Even once make you annoyed?

 

Did your lust and vain pride –

Blind you even before

Your shearing and capture when

The Philistine’s your eyes – out did gore?

 

Where does true power lay?

Does it rest in human might or the sword?

Are you the master of your own destiny –

Or does it come in the end from the Lord?

 

Judges 13 -16

 

Padre

 

August Bible Poem 4