John Schwartz Poetry

Did Jesus lust?

Sometimes when I’m feeling ornery, I’ll ask people that. Because usually their knee-jerk response is (often with horror) “No!” And then I’ll point out Luke 22:15, where Jesus says to his disciples, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer” — literally (and very Hebrewly) “I have lusted with lust to eat…”

So Jesus did lust, in that the basic word translated lust simply means to have a desire for. Of course he didn’t lust in the sinful way, but that’s exactly my ornery point. What is it that makes desire, sin? When does desire become sin? Obviously Jesus strongly desired and didn’t sin. In fact, maybe he had strong desires that set in place and even crowded out lesser desires. And maybe there’s a lesson for us.

This line of thought has recently connected with/given me a new lens with which to view James 1:14-15: “But each one is tempted when he is carried away and enticed by his own lust. Then when lust has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and when sin is brought to completion, it brings forth death.” Note that lust and sin are not the same thing. (Also note that the NIV and CSB unhelpfully translate “lust” as “evil desires,” when the text does not specify if the desire is evil or not. The NIV’s translation, at least if made formulaic for how all sin works, pretty much rules out that Jesus was ACTUALLY tempted, as he wouldn’t have had evil desires… so this understanding might help us there too.)

All this might go along with the famous C. S. Lewis quote about desire: “It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”

Boy, amen. I am driven by desire. Perhaps we all are, I don’t know. So here’s a very simple poem about all that. First lines tip the hat to Judy Blume.

“American Christianity and biblical discipleship are two different things, with only minimal overlap.” Is that harsh? I don’t know. Jesus, how do you see your church–your people–your BODY in this country where I live? I do not want to talk smack on your bride—never goes well with a husband. I just know that I love my brothers and sisters, and as I read the New Testament and its clear picture of radical devotion to Jesus, there seems to be a fog. Years ago, John Piper said in a talk “The hardest place in the world to live as a Christian–America.” That’s pretty weird isn’t it? And yet.

So here are a couple of poems along this theme. The first just deals with some specific challenges of living devoted amidst the cacophony of options and distractions in my everyday American life.

The next one is more specific to the longing I have to experience some of what I’ve seen in believers in other cultures, particularly in the way they gather in microchurches and experience the family of God in some rich ways that our usual Sunday morning expressions of “church,” as good as they may be, aren’t really set up to facilitate (I actually wrote this poem sitting in a Sunday morning worship service). And also my takeaway point on an Ichthus mission trip to Kenya in 2021, “The United States is a strange, strange bird, and unless God massively intervenes, we’re screwed.” (Note I say “we” — I am right thoroughly in the midst of all of this along with my brothers and sisters, needing every single bit of the massive intervention for myself and in the bodies I lead and in which I gather.)

Oh, a few helps: The title plays on the location of Asbury University; the “oval” is the overlap of the Venn diagram of American Christianity and biblical discipleship; and “Power” refers to the “powers” Paul refers to in, say, Ephesians 6:12. As always, I welcome questions, comments, thoughts, etc.!

Wrote this one thinking about Genesis 6:6-8 (title hits Romans 8:19):

Yahweh regretted that he had made human beings on the earth, and his heart was deeply troubled. So Yahweh said, “I will wipe from the face of the earth the human race I have created—and with them the animals, the birds and the creatures that move along the ground—for I regret that I have made them.” But Noah found favor in Yahweh’s eyes.

It’s more poetic perhaps than “theological.” But I love how Yahweh is truly a character in the Bible, not (as Dallas Willard would say) “the great unblinking cosmic stare.” And the thought of his heart being deeply troubled moves me.

Had the image (which itself was a vision of sorts, in that impressionistic-y way I occasionally get vision-like things) in the first stanza of this poem come into my mind this morning when I was thinking, “I should post a poem.”

When I went back and re-read it, it struck me that it meshed with a recent thought theme lately of Jesus’ being embodied, where he actually brought divine DNA into the actual physical world and how cool that is. AND it’s also good timing for this Lenten season.

So that seemed to me like enough of a confirmation to post this one. As always, I would love any thoughts, questions, comments, engagement–reach out if you’re so inclined!

As I look out on dirty snow semi-melted by a cold rain in the middle of a big old stretch of frigid, it felt a bit cathartic to post a poem I wrote in one of my favorite places in the world, Poipu Beach in Kauai.

Here’s a picture:

And here’s the poem:

This is one of the 53 poems I wrote during my sabbatical this past summer. I was going to post one or several of the ones wrestling through burnout and uncomfortable emotions and such, but decided maybe I’d start with a more playful one. Just thinking about some of the craziness and goodness of God becoming a human.

This particular poem was written on my super-fab-900-miles-of-Kansas-highways-in-three-days trip–three of the verses at Horsethief Reservoir west of Jetmore and four of the verses at a Starbucks in Dodge City.

Decided to post an old one today–wrote it six years ago, less than a month after I started writing poems. Seemed like a good one in our hurry and flurry culture.

It’s from Luke 10:38-42:

As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said.
But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made.
She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset
about many things, but only one thing is needed.
Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

When he said “one thing is needed,” I think Jesus was doing his rabbi-thing where they are pretty much ALWAYS referring to things in the Hebrew scriptures to fill their teachings with multiple layers of meaning and goodness. In particular, I think he was making a reference to Psalm 27:4, to allude to that and really the whole Psalm (read it sometime soon if you’ve got time, it’s a potent one). I especially think that’s cool because though women wouldn’t have been able to study the Torah formally, as I understand it they DID receive instruction in the Psalms … so Jesus is deliberately referring to something that he knew Martha would know.

Anyway … the poem. See how it (and, really, the story above) hits you!
(As always, I welcome comments/questions/etc. at john@ichthusmhk.org!)

One night the sky was looking angry and (I can’t remember why–some event? Planned firepit? Not sure) I didn’t want that so I sorta wished/prayed/gazed at it and, interestingly, it like changed in about 30 seconds. Which was good that night. But it got me thinking.

I got the title from the title of a book by John Piper (The Hidden Smile of God) I read about 20 years ago, which in turn came from a line in a poem by William Cowper.

Continuing the theme of last week … struggles.

One of the (many) aspects I find super enjoyable about poetry is how things can mean lots of things, all at the same time. I also value things that are clever. Add to that my dad-jokeness, the enjoyment of things that are sorta clever and sorta cringe-y … and my poems often have sorta weird references that I enjoy but you might not lol.

I like the title of these doctors, “Goode & Payne,” as a way to refer to how suffering and perseverance produces good results. I like it enough where I wrote one poem in 2020 about them about the mercy of God I see in my having OCD, and then they’ve re-appeared recently as I wrestle through a continuing and challenging situation that I am facing. (When I make myself chuckle, then it helps me endure.)

So here they are, my two poems with the good(e) doctors in the titles. 🙂

I, like many of you, am no stranger to melancholy moods, mental ambushes, significant internal pain, etc. I’m 53 years old and let’s just say that this is, uh, not a new thing to me. It is less frequent and less intense particularly in these last years as I have finally found a “bottom line” of God’s goodness that has changed the game, and I am wildly thankful for that. But I still face acute mental trials, sometimes quite painful.

I’ve talked before of how I’ve discovered the practical GIFT that poetry has been and is to me related to this. It is genuinely therapeutic for me to try to write a poem like right in the midst of the challenging, even agonizing, situations. I see how creativity is neurologically integrating and how that is a massive blessing when I’m stuck in my brain, particularly my left brain, and am therefore quite neurologically disintegrated. (One poem I posted even directly addresses this.)

SO… long preamble to say that I wrote this one last November to try to more healthily navigate a stressful/overwhelmed/low time. And it’s been in my mind so I thought I’d post it.

A few notes: the title is a remez (thank you Marty Solomon/Bema) to Psalm 139; “Social One” is an Enneagram subtype reference; and the “expired window” of the last verse means that the poem at that point was 47 minutes in and my internal critic was quite happy to heap more vitriol on me (“the boobirds were in full swing” is what I wrote then haha) for how I was even messing this therapeutic/worship offering up and basically I’d taken too long for it to be useful. So I ended the poem feeling thoroughly wiped out and failed. And yet! And yet! That was not the end of the story. It did help. I’m learning to endure and to find a “peace that surpasses mind” (Philippians 4:7). I’m learning how to be John Schwartz, a beloved and favored child of the King, who doesn’t have to nail it.

So I’ve got that going for me… 🙂 And I can not WAIT for heaven when these sorts of struggles are a blip in the rear-view mirror.

Blessings y’all.