Songs of the Lesser Servants: Spiritual Poems
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About this ebook
The poems in this book depict the conflict between
the secular-commercial and inner-spiritual views of life.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> In many poems the spiritual world interrupts
the daily round of life flowing into consciousness, bringing harmony and an awe
of the divine. Other times the poems
portray lawlessness and distortion that make human life grotesque.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> Rather than teaching lessons, the poems
describe how modern society has lost touch with spiritual truths.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> As an obsession with the material and
secular way grows, a beautiful harmony yields to conflict; the divine and
profane vie for attention. Only a
renewal of traditional faith restores the spiritual.
Poetrys rhythms relay the inner sights.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> The reader hears the words in his or her own
voice, suddenly glimpsing the spiritual world, which departs the scene having
stirred the inner experience that often in modern life is fading.
The spiritual is ageless. But the material quickly dissolves exacting a toll upon the age
that surrenders the eternal dimension.
Richard Alan Ruof
Later in life the author sensed an unfinished business. Spiritual experiences posed questions about life’s meaning. At ten the author had a vision of the face of Christ, followed by dreams of decimation of earth. He turned to prayer, eventually becoming a Christian pastor. Throughout life the arresting spiritual deepened life’s meaning. Fearing he never would share his experiences, he asked for a gift to relay their meaning. In poems a source beyond gave blessings and warnings. The poems address the ongoing flow of modern life and convey experiences on long daily walks. The author earned four academic degrees, but found lives of God’s lesser servants especially engaging. These poems were given in a place called Auburn, PA.
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Songs of the Lesser Servants - Richard Alan Ruof
© 2003 by Richard Alan Ruof. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.
ISBN: 1-4107-3583-4 (e-book)
ISBN: 1-4107-3582-6 (Paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-4107-3583-6 (ebook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2003091868
These poems were registered for copyright 11/1996 and 6/1997
1stBooks-rev. 08/05/03
CONTENTS
NOTE TO THE READER
INTRODUCTION: ONLY WITH PRAYER
I. GLIMPSES OF THE ETERNAL
GLIMPSES OF THE ETERNAL
THE LIVING VISION AND TESTIMONY OF THE DEAD
RED AND BLUE WINDOWS
GOD IS NEAR
OUR WORLD IN BUTTERMILK
THE FEARFUL ENCOUNTER
WHEN SUN AND EARTH AGREE
PORTAL OF THE SKY
WHEN GOD BECAME FLESH
HEAVEN’S BRIGHTEST STAR
A VOICE WITHIN IS CALLING
II. LESSER SERVANTS IN FAMILY
ABOUT THOSE RINGS
IN MY THOUGHTS THERE MOVES A DANCER
THE PROVIDER
SOL
FOR THE WIZARD I SAID A PRAYER
CHOOSE MY LOVE FOR ME
GIVING HONOR TO THE WIFE
OF BRIDGES AND GENERATIONS
SPIRIT MOVEMENTS
MAGA
THESE MOMENTS WHEN GOD SPEAKS
A PICTURE IN PICTURES
A WALK WITH THE DOG
YOUR ARTISTRY
THE MARRIAGE SONG
LUMPS OF COAL
IN MEMORIAM
A VOICE IS CALLING
III. THE COURAGE OF THE LESSER SERVANTS
SUNDAY PRAXIS AMONG BEACH UMBRELLAS
OH THOSE CHARISMATICS!
THE FUNDAMENTALIST
THE ANGER OF THE LEAVES
ABORIGINES
MANUMISSION
WHEN HENRY OWENS PASSED THROUGH TOWN
THE LEGACY OF RUTH
DEAR LORD, YOU ARE NEEDED HERE
HE THOUGHT IT WAS
EVEN ME
SAY NOT…
PEARL
TILL MORNING COMES
AN EVER ROLLING STREAM
CONFESSIONS OF A LESSER SERVANT
I PASSED BY
8
THE JUST SHALL LIVE BY FAITH
WHERE SHE PICKED THE BLOSSOMS
THE PAINTED HORSES
FAREWELL TO SPRINGTIME
IV. THE WORLDLY CONFUSION
UH-UH, SAID THE ANGEL
BEWARE THE HUMBLE SYCOPHANT
THE CENTRIFUGAL PHANTASMAGORIA
ELECTRONIC GODDESS
ABOUT YOUR WILD PARTIES, SHE WARNED
THE DEVIL’S BRIGHT CANOPY
IF MURDER IS YOUR BAG
A METAPHOR DOES NOT
THE ABORTIONS
THE CARNIVAL OF VALUES
THE BIRDS AND STONES CRY OUT
V. WARNINGS OF THE UNSEEN MESSENGERS
WARNINGS OF THE WINGS
I FOLLOWED A RAPIDLY FLOWING STREAM
FAIR WARNING OF THE UNSEEN MESSENGER
DYING NOVEMBER
YOUNG HICKORY TREES, DIAMONDS AND SAPPHIRES
CONE MOUNTAIN
OF DOGS AND SHEEP
THE JOY OF HIS SERVANTS
INTERLUDE: A Peculiar People
THE LOST POEM
VI. BEFORE HER EYES A VISION
A WEEPING WOMAN
THE TEMPLE OF LIGHTS
HEAVENLY LIGHTS
ABOUT YOUR DIET, SHE SAID
THE MONSTER
THE RINGS OF FIRE
THE KINDLY GRACE
WHERE EAGLES REST
THE EXODUS OF THE SOULS
VII. IN THE SAVIOR’S FOOTPRINTS—The Christian Year
MOTHER EARTH
SNOWS OF CHRISTMAS
A DANGLING CONNECTION
THE LIGHTS OF CHRISTMAS
COME THOU LONG EXPECTED
THE DAY-SPRING COMES
GOD’S LOVE FOREVER SHINES
THE SLEEPY SERVANT
SLEEPERS AWAKE
THE SERMON ON THE STAR
AVOID THE PERPENDICULAR
PARADIGMS
ON VIEWING VAN GOGH’S PIETA
SPRINKLES OF LIGHT
SO WILL HE WEAVE THREADS OF MERCY
VIII. AN ASSORTMENT OF CONCLUSIONS
THE WORDS OF A MAN’S MOUTH
dream scenes, etcetera
OLD SIMON WAS WELL KNOWN
QUITE AN EXPLOSION
GOD IS NOT MOCKED
SIC CAVEAT PROFLIGATOR
WHEN IT COMES
THE TRUMPET CALLS
NOTE TO THE READER
Forced into early retirement by medical circumstances, in the ensuing quiet the author sensed an unfinished business. His spiritual experiences had posed questions about life’s inner meaning. Though subjective, often they were coupled with objective evidence and at times shared by others.
At age ten the author had a vision of the face of Christ, followed by dreams of the decimation of life on earth. He turned to prayer in his search for the one who was then unknown to him. Coming from an unchurched family, ultimately he became a Christian pastor. He often asked for his wife to experience as he had, then ceased asking. Months later, together they experienced a spiritual manifestation. Throughout his life the miraculous spiritual world returned unannounced.
At last, fearing he would never share his experiences, he asked for a gift to relay their meaning. His dreams resumed: giant scrolls, pages of poems; then the poems were given to him. An inner world spoke its blessings and warnings, as if he were accompanied as he drew closer to Christ.
The poems depict the conflict between the secular commercial and inner-spiritual views of life. In many poems the spiritual world interrupts the daily round of life flowing into consciousness, bringing harmony and an awe of the divine. Other times the poems portray lawlessness and distortion that make human life grotesque. Rather than teaching lessons, the poems depict how modern society has lost touch with spiritual truths. As an obsession with the material and secular way grows, a beautiful and peaceful harmony yields to conflict; the divine and profane vie for attention. Only a renewal of traditional faith restores the spiritual.
Poetry’s rhythms relay the inner sights. The reader hears the words in his or her own voice, suddenly glimpsing the spiritual world, which departs the scene having stirred the inner experience that often in modern life is fading. Our modern habits of analysis, reason and discussion evade the spiritual. Instead meditation, perception, analogy and sharing lend sight to see the drift of lives and generations toward fulfillment or failure.
Personal materials have been avoided except where permission has been granted. Otherwise, similarity to now living persons is coincidental. Nor are comments relating to organizational systems specific. The events, scenes and portraits describe the spiritual and worldly, an everyday world of shifting dimensions. The lesser servants pass unnoticed, but at a depth which astounds.
The author has earned four degrees, but also has found the wisdom of God’s lesser servants to be timeless.
These poems were registered for copyright 11/1996 & 6/1997.
The cover design and title derive from calls to faith and warnings to ordinary Christians from martyrs, referred to as Eagles, in particular Richard Gwyn, a Welsh schoolmaster, and his wife Catherine.
Revelations 20:4
INTRODUCTION: ONLY WITH PRAYER
As I prayed for words
in this age of sighs…
Unspoken poem I felt you softly tiptoe
Into my thoughts as if no soul alone
Sufficient could be to fashion your lines
And message into an earthly reality.
Like a fresh solitary breeze you blew
Upon my face, and with a sudden grace
You entered hands uplifted in prayerful
Entreaty that I Christ’s servant still might be.
How long awaited
was Spirit sovereignty
Until those gentle waters in me flowed
To cleanse my soul and welcome you, this I know
No longer. But when on the page you took shape
I recognized you from the form that unfurled
Before my clouded sight some nights before
When I prayed for voice to tell God’s miracles.
For God’s love that was
is now and evermore.
So may God’s children in days of sorrow
And in times of accumulating woes
Await His soft and sudden touch of comfort
And His unrolling scrolls of saving words
Pouring forth the blessings of Holy Scriptures
As they groan in sore inadequacy
And weep before the Spirit in their need.
Romans 8:26
I. GLIMPSES OF THE ETERNAL
GLIMPSES OF THE ETERNAL
The clouds were strewn across the sky
Like golden logs on a sapphire river
First in patterns crosswise then gliding
To straighten in passages toward a far
Dimension. Distant ponds of blue
Were deepening as yellow beams
Of falling sun drew down their hues
To twilight. Puffs of powder dabbed the scene
Like spirit forms passing that soon
Dissolved from view as God hurried
To lend a glimpse of the eternal
In far off time and place. Yet here
The Maker painted such daring strokes,
Then added His bold signature
In flaming streaks of orange, that souls
Paused to recall that such glory
Would shine in Heaven forever.
While God has called His greater servants,
Their names recorded in Scripture—
Young Samuel heard in the temple
Moses saw the bush unconsumed burn,
The twelve apostles saw the Son
Arisen, and saints sought God’s vision—
Yet God has called His lesser ones
Who had their glimpses of His sudden
Arresting presence. These servants
He gathered like those scattered clouds
And placed in them a bright vision
Of His Risen Son. Of scant renown
Their lives flow straight in the currents
Of a celestial river
Into the sunrise of forever.
THE LIVING VISION AND TESTIMONY OF THE DEAD
The Vision
There are times when life’s pages turn together,
A puzzling occasion or a revelation
When faceless hours into awareness stumble,
And time capitulates as life looks out a window.
The children bowed their heads at the teacher’s command
"Read a while or do your math or spelling while
I take some time to work on a change in schedule."
And as obedience paused one sensed a visitant
And turned around to see
In the rear window peering
A reflection; and slyly
Its source went seeking.
Beyond three desks and past the door no source located.
He turned to view in glass a face surpassing human.
The eyes glowed faint blue pouring forth a radiance;
The features unblemished shone of rosy tan.
But sensing his world threatened
He grappled for dissolution,
And efforts expended,
Retreated to his station.
There he gazed again in wonder and sensed no harm;
The face was firm co-mingled with compassion.
Within some questions formed:
A faulty mind or vision?
But both intact, he ventured,
Who is this one who writes in me this burning question:
Beyond the walls and windows of our world what is there?
At home out poured his questions
And came a mother’s answer,
"Just pray and God may tell you
What He wants you to learn."
Not an answer but only…
A turning of chapters.
Waters Of Life And Death
Prayer after prayer,
Then a space thereafter,
In sleep came a dream—
An unforgettable scene—
Unfolding sights of incredible beauty.
The bright golden sun glowed drenching all in sunlight
And yellow-green leaves rose high under sapphire-blue skies
Like rows of tall arborvitae. And trees of all types
Drifted far out of sight, while nearer grew clusters
Of lush vegetation. Clear and pure waters
In rivulets flowed and wound among the greenery.
It was good to be there;
But came a dissolution
A picture flipping over,
Suddenly disappearing…
And then as a flash of lightning rapidly creeping
Unveils an apparition vast of darkened forms
Appears the skyline of a crumbled city resting
In the distance, under clouds that warn of coming storms…
Solemn on the orange horizon of a fallen sun.
Curves the bridge returning from the crumbling city
Across the river of darkness arriving at our shore.
Beware the river furious.
Remember what you’re seeing
Rushing to its destination
From a far and unknown source.
All was dead. No clusters of green; no slight stirring
Of animal or human, neither on the shores
Nor in the sky. Like some prehistoric winged creature
Falls to earth and gasping dies, rests on the earth’s floor
Its spreading wings and collapsing body far across
The vast horizon, so earth and sky lay dead and lifeless.
The air hung dark and heavy, all buoyancy lost,
Its substance altered, smothered by a blizzard
Of dark microcosmic confetti, oppressing.
What a sorry vision—
Our living home now dead.
But the bridge of brown rocks stood firm, unshaken,
Resting on pillars that raised arches gigantic
That held the braces on which the crossway suspends—
A firm pavement beneath the soles of the passers.
Yet to the hurried pilgrim appeared open spaces
Through which were seen the rushing
Darkened waters, energies
Expressing, rising, bulging,
Like striated sinews
Of a twitching muscle; then
Rising to a falling rock
To send it skipping, again
Careening to splash and
Sink—lost forevermore.
Asks the mind alarmed
By such sights unearthly:
Who laid the pillars, the arches, and the braces
That hold the vast crossover from shore to shore
Above the raging river so those who wish might one day
Cross from shores of death to distant life-giving shores?
Who neglects the passage,
Forgets to fill the spaces
For those passing over?
Time’s Message
Then the sorry scene quickly
Transported to the ruins
Of the crumbled city.
The sad eyes awaken
And the mind walks mournful
Among the crumbled buildings standing close against
The orange sunset. The ruins settled granular
And dust-covered, looking like former concrete blocks
Or bricks deteriorated into sepulchres
Of sand. And over all poured orange luminescence,
Like a glazing to preserve museum pieces
Which threaten to dissolve destroying all traces
Of those who lived but now
Are gone. Where are those traces?
Where are the autos
Wagons and carriages
The poles with power
Or to carry messages
Of joy or sorrow,
Where mechanization
To suggest that someone
Was here? But yet the ruins
Kept still and offered nothing.
Only