Jesus set out from the pinched, provincial town of Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the lake, one of many towns near the Sea of Galilee. A fertile region with editable fish in the lake, Galilee was a prosperous crossroads for trade. It was also a fertile region for new ideas where opinions mingled in the heated crucible of debate. Jesus did not look back. He began his ministry of teaching, of proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and of the healing of bodies and souls for those who asked. By his example, we know that leaving home can lead to liberating the best version of ourselves. A hometown is more than a place: it is a state of mind. What would it take for you who read these lines to set out to be the best version of yourself?
January 26, 2020
If you would like to comment about the poetry or contact me, you can reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
I ken a cross cleaving clouds high in the heavens of purple hue the mark of my liege in the middle of morning suddenly streaming strange ray-daggers fiery flames from Wayland’s forge burnishing war-bucklers baring souls loosening artifice from feckless lives who lack conviction leaving at the last grim cobble-ground the gut of groundlings daring discernment on judgment day
Who was Cædmon?
Cædmon was the earliest recorded writer of Old English poetry. He lived in seventh century according to Bede’s “Ecclesiastical History of the English people.” Bede translated “Cædmon’s Hymn” from Northumbrian Anglo-Saxon into Latin and praised him as the most inspiring writer of the sacred verse. Unfortunately, most of the poems written by Cædmon are not found. But according to Bede, Cædmon wrote on Christian themes like creation of the world, origin of man, Exodus, Jesus’ incarnation, resurrection, preaching of apostles, terrors of future judgment, pains of hell and delights of heaven.
Cædmon became a lay member of the monastery in his later life and he was not well-educated. But in his vision an angel appeared and blessed him with the gift of composing songs. Cædmon later became a monk and spent the rest of his life in Whitby monastery until he passed away peacefully in 680 A.D.
My poem on this page is based on a story about one of Cædmon’s
poems. His actual poem is now lost.
Isaiah’s camera lens is zooming out
from a close-up shot showing the rubble and despair
of occupied Israel to a wide-angle view,
a cosmic view, of all the nations of the world.
God is not a tribal deity who assures
military mastery or material success for Israel.
He created the heavens and stretched out the earth.
He cares for all living and breathing creatures.
Isaiah promises a spirit-filled servant—
not a conqueror or a tyrant. The servant is the face of justice.
Hard power is swept aside by justice!
The servant will persist until a sense of fairness
holds sway all the way to the coastlands.
Even in this hour as it endures a humiliating plight,
Israel should look beyond itself and serve as a light
to the world by inspiring justice in every land.
A popular belief was abroad in the kingdom of Judea.
Scholars concluded that seventy-six generations
had passed since the Creation, and that the next,
the seventy-seventh, would gift to Israel the Messiah
who was destined to deliver the nation from foreign rule.
A child born in Bethlehem would be the king
of the Jews—as foretold by the prophet Micah.
The Magi spoke these words to Herod the Great.
Herod was frightened, but he feigned excitement.
He said to the Magi, “Go and search diligently
for the child; and when you find him, bring me word
so that I may also go and pay him homage.”
At the time, he was terminally ill with a hideous disease.
His career was one with many bold accomplishments;
it was also one of cruelty, vengeance, and paranoia,
traits in overdrive at the time of the birth of Jesus.
Herod was thoroughly Roman in murdering each
and every rival to his rule, including his wife
and three of his sons. He murdered hundreds more
real and perceived enemies in his final years
as he assured his lasting legacy in the line of succession.
In the end, nothing happened to the child of Bethlehem.
No one mourned for Herod, a converted Jew—
the son of an Edomite father and an Arab mother—
who did the dirty work for the hated Roman state.