Thursday, October 11, 2012

Peter, Come Home


The last eight weeks I have been slogging through a tough, fifteen-week sermon series in the book of 1st Peter.  I haven’t enjoyed it.  1st Peter is a bit odd to preach through.  I didn’t think it would be.  I like the book devotionally.  I just haven’t enjoyed it pedagogically or homiletically.  This fact has been weighing on me.  I actually told my associate pastor, “I don’t like 1st Peter.”  That seems weird for a pastor to say.     
However, I may have caught a second wind at the half way mark of this first Petrine epistle by way of my 11 year old daughter.  Taking her to school yesterday she asked me to put on Mumford and Sons.  I obliged.  Then she told me about a dream she had.  In her dream the band Mumford and Sons had a woman singing back-up harmonies.  Then she told me that in her dream they were singing a song about Peter (the one in the Bible).  I asked her if she could remember what the song was like.  She couldn’t.  She did remember the title of the song though.  “Peter, Come Home”.  Brilliant.  I had been praying for that same thing.  I just wanted this letter of his to fit, to make sense, to “come home.” 

I felt oddly comforted by this vague dream of my daughter’s.  Then I did a strange thing.  I wrote a song for her, and me, I guess.  I’m not a musician.  I’m not even a poet.  That did not stop me from writing my daughter’s dream.  The rough, folksy, acoustic, wordy, reflective, and harmonic lyrical stylings of Mumford and Sons and the Avette Brothers banged around in my mind as I wrote.
So, I guess I’ll ask you to listen to this song.  It’s about Peter- A disjointed man who loved Jesus and wrote a disjointed letter about Jesus’ love.  I’ll need you to provide the music.  And however you play the music in your mind, make sure someone in your band has an unkempt beard that may or may not smell like a craft beer.  (And if one of you musician types want to take a crack at it, I'd love to make my daughter's dream come true.)

 Peter, Come Home

In the dark you seek in vain
Casting bad seed.
O, fruitless pain
What will she say
When it’s empty again
And you’re hungry for more
Than what fills nets
So lost and poor
Of all but regrets
From a life you chose
With this void of hopes
Casting yourself like Jonah
In your mind, swallowed
By sea and creature to go…

             Simon, come home
            To this place of calm
             Seas and love.  Come sleep
             In the arms of the steady One

Haggard and deprived
Of humility and pride
You clean in vain
A web stretched and frayed
By the futility you claimed
On dark Galilee
But new day is burning
Hearts through words
Spoken by light
From One you never knew
You were looking for
This One who found you
With a voice of thunder
And shalom to be…

  Simon, come home
              To this place of calm
              Seas and love.  Come sleep
              In the arms of the steady One

This narrow street
Trodden, rock-bled feet
Roll on to mountain peak
You are found and lost
In bright glory and fire
To be quiet and shine
As you follow and lead
Bruised knees, granite seas
Of confession and denial
And it’s not you on trial
Who eat food never caught
On shores of redemption
When I’ll send you to feed
I know you love me…

              Simon, come home
              To this place of calm
              Seas and love.  Come sleep
              In the arms of the steady One
            
             Peter, come home
             To this place of calm
             Seas and love.  Go seek.
             For My Kingdom’s coming home

4 comments:

  1. This is beautiful, Scott. I would love to hear it with my ears instead of just in my head.

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  2. Thanks. And me too. I really am klind of hoping that a musically minded soul will happen upon it and start goofing off on a guitar until it becomes music...
    hmmmm

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  3. Hi, I'm Rob and the musical part of the MacLeod-Rife hermeneutical imperialism board at Westminster Pres. Seeking to dupe the under-read, over-opinionated masses with self-important theological carpet bombing (it's what Jesus' wife urged him to do). Aaaand, I'll take a stab if you're alright with that?

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  4. Those who are forgiven much, love much. Those who are loved much, forgive. The man who protested so rashly at Caesarea-Philippi learned to bear the same destiny he protested. Both protest and martydom were born of love. One naive, one mature. One in the darkness of agenda, before the rushing wind and flames of Pentecost. The other on the brink of the Kingdom's near fullness, the dawning of Peter's true self, finally at home.

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