A Pulpit....

Every Lord's Day with the exception of a few, I have watched my father follow the following liturgy: He sits in his chair at the front row of our church, his eyes closed in prayer. Pastor John ends scripture reading with a hearty "the word of the Lord!" to which we respond, "thanks be to God." The blue eyes of my father open then, and he rises as if he has been waging a war in his mind. I know how hard he prepares and crafts each sermon, how strong his desire is to bring God's word to his congregation. Once he stands behind that wall of wood with Soli Deo Gloria carved on the front, a calm comes over him, and he delivers the Word to God's people. So as you can see pulpits have been a big part of my life. The one at our church was built by one of our deacons. He was an amazing carpenter. He made the cross that hangs in our sanctuary as well as our communion table. Now through God's hard providence, he suffers from parkinson's disease. He can no longer build things with his hands, but his handy work is everywhere to be seen in his church. I was pondering this one day, and thinking of the stories of all the pulpits throughout history. How each one has had God's Word proclaimed from behind it. How history was made from behind its walls of wood. How men of true faith and character courageously advanced God's kingdom, and how self proclaimed fools, declared heresy for their own profit. In the light of all these thoughts, I wrote a poem about pulpits.

A PULPIT

Hewn from wood by crafted hand

through ages of time shall it stand

humble and boastful men have stood

behind it’s wall of walnut wood

many lives have been changed

by the one true Word proclaimed

so it stands from age to age

up upon its great wooden stage

so humble yet so beautiful

like the One it proclaims

calling Kingdom’ name’s

freeing people of their chains