The following poem was performed at La Sierra University Church’s Friday night worship service, First Service.

In Santa Monica where the sea slaps the sand
I met an old war vet with a sign in his hand
And it said
Power to the Peaceful
Power to the Peaceful

He said he served his country in the Vietnam War
He said he can’t support this country and its killing no more
And he said
Power to the Peaceful
Power to the Peaceful

I shook my head and said that most the people I know – will likely
Never put their boots on pick their guns up and go
He said

a poem in three days

Dedicated to the Memory of Mother Teresa Who Never Experienced Divine Assurance

You have answered me late in life,
yet I already knew your answers.
They are questions I suppressed in my youth.
My people were shaped by disappointment;
I am the offspring.
Your answers do not redeem a lost
devotion to your love and pledge.
I would hold onto your heel until
you deny your divinity, but I cannot.
I am stronger than you are; see how
you struggle to be free from my grip.
Yet my hand is on fire from holiness.
You slip away from me when the heat

a poem in three days

Dedicated to the Memory of Mother Teresa Who Never Experienced Divine Assurance

Answers:

I will give you a revelation.
You turned from the blind faith of your youth
to obstinacy. You questioned me from ignorance.
You are stubborn and unteachable, a shameless rebel.
You dwelt with the dissidents on the outskirts of the camp,
those who would not yield to Moses, yet the earth
did not swallow you, nor the fire consume you.
Though you were not among those who desired Egypt,
you imposed your will to possess the promised land
with Joshua and Caleb.

a poem in three days

Dedicated to the Memory of Mother Teresa Who Never Experienced Divine Assurance

Prayers:

Lord, why do you hide from me;
you who asked for a sanctuary
that you might dwell among us,
become our flesh, sent your
spirit that space and time
would not be an impediment
to your presence?
Where shall I look that I might find you,
gain an understanding of your mysterious ways?
Your priests sacrificed me for their sins.
Help came too late; I bled out on the altar.
How shall I live again?
My grave stone called out my name;
with the help of the helpless

"Abide With Me" was written by Anglican divine Henry Francis Lyte (1793-1847) while he was dying of tuberculosis. He composed it after his final service and died two weeks later.

He also wrote this tune for it, although it's usually sung to "Eventide," composed by Wil­liam H. Monk in 1861.

H.F. Lyte's poem "Abide With Me," read with text.

Well it's no secret that Spectrum is a (THE) place for the convergence of Adventism, culture, conversation and the arts. So when I made a call for Adventist poetry, the dozens of original, inspired and inspiring entries that poured in were nothing short of Adventism's finest.

Here are some selected favorites from among the many outstanding poems we received.

A few days ago, Donna Haerich touched off a poetic firestorm with her limericks about gender issues and appointing women to prominent positions in Adventism. Now I’m a sucker for poetry, especially when it is humorous.

God is Not

God is not your grandfather

who looks a little like Santa Claus,

the white beard who never-the-less

knows when you have been naughty or nice.

God is not an over-stuffed teddy bear

good for hugs when you weep

for all that your hands have broken.

Nor is he Thor, sitting on peak of your roof

thunderbolt ready, waiting

for you to mow your lawn on Sabbath.

Nor is he a she—an earth mother

skipping along the road dispensing

cabbages and oranges from her

cornucopia over-flowing

with all things great and small.