It is already a wonder that the word “leisure” still exists in our vocabulary. Its manifestation has become scarce, its original nature obscured. Leisure today is rushed toward, through, past and entirely missed. We are in a sea of drowning souls panicking, frantically grabbing for safety, pulling any and all rescuers down with them to death and hell. Only there will the hustle and bustle of this world cease even as the land of Israel finally enjoyed its sabbaths once the population was removed into foreign captivity.
Go a little faster, busy man.
There isn’t enough time, not nearly,
To do all you would like to do.
There are only 70 years in a life,
24 hours in a day;
A third of those waste away;
Sixty minutes in an hour,
Not enough seconds in a minute
To accomplish, achieve, attain.
Find a faster way, a better way,
A short cut to get what you’re after.
Give less to get more;
Get more by giving less.
Time is money and money is time.
Hear the rhythm of the stamping feet,
Tempo speeding, sound increasing,
Over the mind to reign.
Grab here, run there.
Does haste make waste
Or does waste make haste?
Horde your riches, busy man,
Or do you know where they are?
Pride is a merciless lord;
The Joneses must not get ahead.
Bigger and better is the code
And the mode and what a load!
Grab an upper to keep you going;
Take a downer to slow you up.
What?! A downer to slow you up?
Dare I say it? Wait a minute!
A downer to slow you up?
What will you learn, busy man,
The contradiction of your ways?
You rush to a failure of heart
And mind and soul.
You rush to a grave barely made ready,
Sometimes only three feet deep.
You leave behind the very things
You speed ahead to get.
But listen, my harried friend,
If you can find the time,
What if by the time you are seventy,
You accumulate all that you planned?
Whose will these things then be?
Where will you go and what will you be?
How much will you have of what one can take
To a world with no use for the coin,
Assuming you’ll ever be satisfied?
For those who seek to fill themselves
Of anything in this whole world
Find they can never say, “Enough!”
But rush on if you want to die;
Rush on if you wish to die empty;
Receive the fruits of a fool,
A man without understanding,
One who picks his own pocket,
Slits his own throat,
Laces his food.
Grab for peace with your left hand;
Push it away with your right.
Run for fulfillment ’til you have no wind,
Knowing it is behind you.
Hear the rhythm of the stamping feet,
Tempo speeding, sound increasing,
Like people at a dance
With the throb of music,
A hypnotic, drunken dance
Increasing its reign in their minds.
Cursed people, you busy ones,
Busying yourselves to death;
Stop if you can and consider
The vanity of your ways.
Lethbridge, Oct. 1984
I am mildly surprised as I read these words months after writing them. Mildly, I say, because it isn’t a surprise and yet it is, to see how I have been so down in my hopes, feelings and outlook on things. I marvel somewhat because I know this has happened on many occasions while in between those times I have also felt quite to the contrary, as though the Lord were very much with me and that by Him, nothing was impossible. I have particularly felt the latter way, with full conviction immediately after the Lord has manifest Himself to me in some way, unmistakably. But how soon and how able we are to forget and to be in despair! The whole world rots before my very eyes. Blind I am not to its corruption; Men bide their time in vain travail Or wait until they have to go. Suffering and death are everywhere, Sickness, disease and hell; Selfishness and greed reign over all; Each man denies another’s rights. Hell is on the left, Death is on the right; Fake religions promise emancipation; Vain hopes carrot asses everywhere; The wisest are led by them, bled by them, and slain by them. God is here, God is there, God is everywhere; And nowhere. There is no truth, no mercy, no compassion, No righteousness nor justice in this earth. Men are quick to boast their virtue, To make a show of goodness, ‘Til they have you where they want you And slit your throat for what you have If even so very little. I see the wickedness and the cruelty, The deception of every man Bu...
Often and for long periods of time does God hide Himself from His called one, even as He did with all the saints and prophets of old and to the present. We desire so much to walk by sight, as in this world, but must learn to walk by faith, by the little given knowledge of the unknown, the Unknown, that we may know Him. And though He hides Himself to try us, He is always there...there is nowhere one can go from His presence. Yet one can choose to do so, and the one choosing so is not called. Emptiness is not a bad sign in itself as one might suppose. I am ill with sorrow and grief, Vexation and loneliness; My soul is filled with groanings and longings; I look in all directions; I reach out; My hand returns empty; Tears fill my soul; I cry and cry and cry; There is no one to comfort, to console, to ease my pain. Day after day, year after year, Decade after decade, I wait, I long, I cry, I heave and sigh. There is none to understand. I wait for morning; I wait for evening; I am desolate. I eat, I sleep, I cry... Is it sin I say I don't have That causes me to be this way - Desperate, sad, lonely, unfulfilled, Useless, despised, unwanted? This is not the abundant life; Though I have my carnal needs met And freedom to come and go, Yet I have nowhere to come and nowhere to go. All is quiet, uneventful, drab and grey. Do I complain Or do I merely state the way things are For those appointed to such by Divine order, Not for sin But for...
I have known fear, perhaps not as some have known it but many know fear one way or another, at one time or another, to such an extent that it cripples, paralyzes the soul. We think we have security in this world until one day we are rudely awakened from our pipe-dream. Security in this world is but an illusion. When our disillusionment comes, its comrade-in-arms is often fear. But that disillusionment needn’t be our enemy. In truth, it can be a friend in disguise. Nor do we need to fear as though there is no such thing as true and sure security, for then we would be prey to a lie, to our own destruction. There IS a sure security for those who will avail themselves of it. My fear rides me like a stern rider Rides his horse. Unless I run his pace, His spurs dig deep my sides. I think blood flows at times…I’m sure of it. I scarcely dare to think, to pause For fear I have a rider Who will not show me mercy Who will not grant me pardon Who will not make a move To relent, to ease my pain. “Run!” he says. I run. “Faster!” says he. I go faster. “Faster isn’t good enough! You’ve had it!” I think that if I drop, I have sweet release. He whips me as I fall. Fear is not afraid to beat a dead horse. He seems to relish it, delight in it. The compassion of fear is tyranny, His patience only scorn. He takes the meat and feeds it to minks, And then I think, “Aha! There is rest in the mouths of minks, Fear has no torment there!” Until I find that my rider Is possess...