John Schwartz Poetry

Do you know that life is far more than it seems and feels and tells? That our senses alone don’t really give us vision into the real world?

Well, it is. And they don’t. And I believe on the deepest level you know this just like I do.

Wrote this one after a page-turning-stay-up-too-late-reading night turned into a finish-the-story-when-I-really-should-be-doing-something-else which turned into one of those thin-veil moments that art and beauty and such bring.

Wrote this one yesterday. There’s a backstory but I’m not sure it will be helpful for your engagement. You can email me at john@ichthusmhk.org if you want it. But I just enjoyed writing it and the accompanying gratitude and joy with the topic.

My grandpa (my mom’s dad, Fredrick Schramm) was a character. I was his first and favorite (haha not really, but our relationship was definitely special) grandson, probably the man I felt the safest with, and I dearly loved him. This one’s about him and a driving lesson by an old roadside park east of Winner, South Dakota. And (as always) it’s about much more than that as well.

This is the second poem I’ve posted with Grandpa in it, see here for the other one!

I tend to be a person who sees what is lacking and wrong or needing improvement. That’s particularly true when it comes to me and my life, to the point where regret becomes so painful it (quite ironically, hello negative cycle) hinders my living in love, joy, and peace in the present moment.

God and I are always talking about this, where I’m always telling him he should be frustrated with me and he reminds me who wears the God pants in this relationship and that perhaps I ought to adopt his point of view…. looking at and celebrating the remarkable work he HAS done in and through me.

Our brains are made for and genuinely thrive in the full life I long for in JOY, not critical negativity and judgment.

So this one’s about that, with driving the metaphor for life and God as my instructor. Maybe it’ll help some of you fierce-inner-critickers out there.

One of the very enjoyable things about writing poetry is that it flows–like there’s this stream that sometimes seems like I’m more listening and writing it down than actually writing it myself. Usually I’m a little (or a lot) more involved than only doing that, but sometimes I write what I have in my mind without a whole lot of worrying about if it connects or goes with a conscious idea or anything. This is one of those. See if it hits you, gets you, you get it, etc…. and feel free to let me know at john@ichthusmhk.org! (I did ask ChatGPT about what it thought of it, which is always interesting.)

I was reading Michael John Cusick’s Sacred Attachment yesterday and he was talking about the eyes of the heart in his chapter on imagination. Sparked this poem. I like it. Hope you do too!

AS YOURSELF
the heart has eyes
does it have a face
does it wear a frown
or a smile embrace
oh wellspring deep
are you counting sheep
if you shed your clothes
yes the price is steep
still what would one give
for a child alive
he’s inside my chest
she was born to thrive

As always, would LOVE to hear any thoughts, question, impact, etc., at john@ichthusmhk.org!

Have posted so infrequently, I thought I’d do TWO today! 🙂

Last post had The Matrix as the backdrop. This one, specifically talking about my experience of OCD, is Crime and Punishment (Dostoevsky). Same basic theme though. Proper humility, what Chip Dodd would call “healthy shame” — recognizing one’s gifts AND weaknesses/limitations. (He’s also to credit for the “eight feelings” of the last line…. been very significantly impacted by his book The Voice of the Heart these last months.)

Goodness. What a semester. Learning a lot. Life is humbling. I started out 35+ years ago thinking Jesus and I could conquer the world. Now I still think that but with an entirely different lens. And amazingly, God not only isn’t thrown by this whole messy process, he seems to be pumped about all of it.

Anyway, if you’ve seen The Matrix, that provides the backdrop.

Oh golly, it’s been almost two months since I posted.

Here’s an Easter one. Comments below the poem if you want any more clues.

I was sitting in Faith Manhattan three days ago listening to Andrew Johnston give an Easter sermon from Luke 24, about the “wondering” related to it in verses 4 and 12. I was thinking how encountering the truth of the resurrection changes everything … and then had an idea to personify that (the Greek is anastasis–lit. “standing up”).

I enjoy it. Hope you do too.

Thinking about when you cry out to God, possibly under great duress, and he seems absent. Why would he do/allow that? Why would he make us ask him again and again? Or why would he answer “no” to a begging for relief? This poem isn’t about all the reasons why he might (I can think of more; perhaps I shall write poems on them too), but it is about one of them from my own life.

(My feast example was inspired by a memorable scene in C. S. Lewis’s book The Last Battle.)