Prophetic Poetry

"On this mountain the Lord Almighty will prepare
  a feast of rich food for all peoples,
a banquet of aged wine—
   the best of meats and the finest of wines.

On this mountain he will destroy
   the shroud that enfolds all peoples,
the sheet that covers all nation;
    he will swallow up death forever.
The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears
    from all faces."

Isaiah 25:6-8

Dear Friends,

Poetry has the capacity to provoke prophetic imagination and life-giving creativity within people. When Amanda Gorman passionately spoke, “We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another” during the inauguration, my arms responded with goosebumps of hope—words containing raw expectancy of what could be. 

Poetry reveals what is, what isn’t, what could be in the most honest and truthful ways. It tells us what we’re not and who we are in the same breath. The Declaration of Independence poetically and prophetically imagines that Americans “hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,”—what we’re not and who we are. I know white supremacy, exceptionalism, and fragility has buried this poem, shrouding it like an embarrassing notion of our forefathers. But like all good poetry, it has risen to the surface like a buoy released from the bottom of the ocean. In 1848, this poem was repurposed by women asking for rights. In 1863, Abraham Lincoln called forth these words with emancipation proclamation. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. invoked these poetic words declaring God’s truth of who all humans are but what racism has made not quite yet. 

Poetry can stir and provoke new imagination in our minds for the way God has designed human flourishing. 

The wilderness of lack and loss comes with an invitation to leave differently than when I arrived. I cannot go back to what was before because I am not the same person I was before. My flesh wants life to be “normal” again—sounds comforting. But my previous routines weren’t sustainable or kind to myself and, like poetry, the wilderness has provided the opportunity for me to see that truth. I can’t unsee or avoid or re-bury what’s been more revealed this past year: racism, white supremacy, purity culture, Christian nationalism…

This Isaiah poem tells of a promised feast, generously lavished with the best foods and wine. Feasting was a power-play used to include or exclude certain people, but this poem opens the banquet to all people. Extreme inclusion is the theme of this feast, where life is abundantly flourishing and death has lost a bit of its sting. I’m reminded of God preparing a feast before me in the presence of my enemies. In the presence of my enemies. My enemies, those who I’ve long excluded or kept at arms length or believed were the problem are sitting with me and feasting in the inclusive presence of God with me. Such absurd grace for me and them.

Is it possible for poetry to tell us what is and what isn’t and what could be in the midst of historical cycles of injustice and deliverance? Might there be a table set up for all of us even in the midst of our wilderness lack? Might God be inviting new perspectives in the midst of old systems of injustice? And might our new perspectives be a life-giving catalyst to dismantle those old systems of injustice and death? 

Poetry as the potential to heal broken things and prophetically imagine what could be. Because there’s a table set up for us in the wilderness and the only way you or I will find room is when we make room for all people. It’s at this table of grace, repentance, and forgiveness that tears of angry-sadness are wiped from faces and tears of rejoicing-laughter freely flow.

“We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another,” because “all people are created equal.” The Imago Dei—image of God. Amen.

With (love),
Bethany