Overwhelmed Again

Overwhelmed Again

my earthly Captain has relinquished his command

his field general and fellow captains

have all gone rogue

our standard has been captured, our banners scattered &

tattered among the dead, wounded, dazed & confused

my colleagues – other battalion & squad leaders

attempt to regroup amidst the tumult & disarray

but the once proud army has been dealt a stunning blow

as old alliances have crumbled and all scramble

to forge new allegiances

my own company has been shaken

some troops murmur, others have deserted

a few even dismissed for insubordination with

confidence in my competence wavering by all

battle worn, exhausted and discouraged

i enter the command tent, lay down my sword

collapse in a chair, place my head in my hands

in a haze of fatigue, my spirit slides into vision

the destruction & debris of the battlefield fades

i’m standing alone on the edge of a

green pasture beside a wide, still river

before me stands a tall, fair warrior

dressed in gleaming combat array

He turns toward me with a two-edged sword in his hand

“Are You for us or against us?” i mutter

“Neither, I Am the Captain of the Army of the Lord of Hosts.

Take off your shoes, for this is holy ground.”

I remove my shoes, bow and complain…

“My Lord, our army has been swept from the field

the troops are defeated and downcast

the enemy has sown confusion & chaos

our cause has been lost”

the Captain calmly listens, waits and smiles

“Do you not know; have you not heard?

Do you not remember?

the enemy is an eternally, defeated, beaten foe

his deceptions & ways are not new

and his impact temporary & fleeting

you are not alone and the battle is not yours

I Am the God of the Angel Army; I Am mighty to save

look with your spirit eyes and see those who

are with you are more than those against”

behind Him now stood a brilliant hosts

banners, horses, shields, weapons – an impressive,

innumerable force - as far as the eye could see

a call from outside my tent

brings me back to the natural realm

refreshed, renewed, strengthened and hopeful

once again with the eternal eclipsing the temporal

i have been overwhelmed

“In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.”

“They will make war on the Lamb, and the Lamb

will conquer them, for he is Lord of lords and King of kings,

and those with him are called and chosen and faithful.”

- mark d. cooke, 3-17-12

On the Eve of Power - a Saturday Prayer

Father, i’m supposed to preach tomorrow about

Your power, the power that comes when we tarry

seeking Your face, acknowledging our helplessness

sinfulness & utter inadequacy

Your work declares, even shouts

this power, this spirit indwells me

but there’s something more… “it shall come upon you”

something from without, invading within

changing forever the source & direction of what drives me

and tomorrow i stand before Your precious people

confidently confessing for all to see

the reality, immanence and relevance

of Your power…for us today – right now

come hell or high water, addiction, depression or personal failure

an overcoming power

when my loved ones get sick and even die

when my children stray and fall

when the chaos of the moment

drains out any vision for the future

when my own flesh leads an open rebellion

against the new creation I’ve become in Christ

when i’m misunderstood, misrepresented, even betrayed

that’s right Lord, i’m gonna stand up there

under the mantle of man’s ordination

vast years of my pastoral profession

and what sometimes seems like – very little overcoming faith

but a load of religious experience

and testify to the POWER

Your power, the power of God, Divine power, creative power

resurrecting power, healing power, saving power

delivering power, transforming power, overcomin’

devil-stompin, faith enhancin’ - limitless power

i’ll wave my hands expressively and shout

“It’s in me! It’s in you! It’s in this church!

It’s real and here right now, for any & every situation!”

just one hitch, Jesus – i don’t feel very powerful tonight

i have recollections of yesterdays and long ago

when Your power in me imparted transformation & faith

but somewhere in the journey…too often self-absorbed

i stretched out my hand, touching a glory meant only for You

careless, foolish, naïve, immature, undisciplined

all of the above

my ambition & need for validation exposed me

to the pressures & pulls of this world

and Delilah cut my hair & Philistines plucked my eyes

but when I cried, “Great is Thy Faithfulness”

healing grace & limitless mercy restored my sight

the joy of my salvation and with that my strength

so tomorrow I will without shame proclaim

“not by might, not by power but by my Spirit, says the Lord”

and if you don’t do something, Father

in my life, in our church, in our land

we don’t have the power…to get it done

Lord, light the fire again - start tonight, ignite in me afresh

then through Your presence & Your power

release in Your people the passion of Pentecost

make it so, dear God – for Jesus sake. amen!

02/14/98 mark d. cooke, edited, 11/26/11

The Disenfranchised

we finished all the required assignments (usually early)

then we got bore and painted outside the lines

when we saw a more efficient way

we would often tack on an alternate heading

this did not endear us to those who stayed on track

they had us read “The Road Less Traveled”

but when we took it

we wondered why others didn’t follow

we cheered as they unfurled their banners of grace & truth

only to find them cowering away

when transparency & honesty exposed our

universal brokenness & need for healing

we graduated from their schools, studied their programs

recited the party lines

simply to find ourselves bursting with discontent

we cut our teeth on their favorite tunes

sadly facing their scorn

when we danced to someone else’s song

they taught us a holy text, giving convincing evidence

that it was true (from genesis to maps)

we believed them, with them and like them

but when the Divine Life beyond the ink & paper

broke out in us and around us

they were no longer with us

“He’s not one of us anymore.” “She’s one of those…”

we had jumped through the hoops, apparently one too many

“What’s he doing over there?”

“What sort of experience has she had?”

“What caused him to go in that direction?”

“Have you heard who she’s spending time with?”

most of us are not exactly sure when it happened

though some might highlight a day or season

one morning we all woke up with the same revelation

the settlers had circled the wagons

the town folk had barricaded the gates

we were on the outside looking in,

the feared, invading barbarians

i think our catholic friends have got it partially right

there really is a purgatory, it just comes before you die

- somewhere in the middle of the story –

and, oh how we need motherly saints lighting candles

praying us through these darkest (if not oddest) of times

shrouded by the limbo of speaking their language

but knowing the cadence of others

loving their customs, honoring their festivals & rituals

while celebrating the tapestries woven by different tribes

and drafting fresh scores of our own design

we are the disenfranchised,

a remnant of ragamuffin pilgrims rising from

an “either or” world, we cannot (dare not) turn back

we have caught a glimpse of another realm

set our sights on a Kingdom not built by men

and we navigate a passage unmistakably guided

by the shadow of a cross

and the Glory of a King

“Everything that can be shaken will be shaken,

so that only what is unshakeable will remain.”

“Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus!”

mark d. cooke, 3-21-02

All Saints Church, Circa 1767 & 2011

with a back drop of deep azure, the mild autumn breeze

gently brushed the Spanish moss

as i looked out over the old church cemetery

kneeling in the stillness of the colonial edifice

the quiet interrupted by passing cars

i sought a refreshing touch

as my weary soul reflected on pilgrimage

from a place of immeasurable blessing

emerges a constant nagging, holy discontent

how to comprehend the tension

guided, protected, provided, forgiven, healed, restored

overwhelmed, favored, gifted, loved

all countered by an ambivalent longing

“There must be more than this!”

“The peace that passes all understanding keep…”

i hear the priests down through the ages

facing these weathered pews

i hear me saying it

so often a so familiar routine

that it wisps past my heart, my mind

yet passing my understanding, my mind, my consciousness

the Master whispers deep within

“My peace I leave with you.” “Peace, be still!”

“These things I have spoken unto you,

that in me you might have peace.”

“I extend peace to you like a river and

the glory of the nations like an overflowing stream.”

i sigh deeply, thinking shamefully of a life too often lived

frenetically without trust in His future grace

“Grace and peace through our Lord Jesus Christ”

the phrase echoing in my heart, strangely

synonymous with a call to repentance

Your grace and peace seem fleeting, Father, only

because in my pride and self-centeredness

i have left my first love

“Come, come let us return to the Lord!”

“If you return to me, I will restore you!”

and so i bow, arms resting on the pew

my soul cries, my heart aches, my body weeps

i glance up towards the altar

my eyes rest upon the lone candle

its flame flickering within the red sconce

“may its brightness never dim” – reads the plaque

again I hear my Prince, my Captain, my King…

“I am the light of the world.” “I am your light.”

the shadows, the ambivalence, the discontent, the tension

all fade, if only for the moment

for until i gaze upon Him face to face

i still see through this mortal veil

awaiting that day when He wipes away every tear

removes all mourning, crying and pain

i will give thanks for the respite of this hallowed place

knowing that even this historic “permanence”

will pass away when He makes all things new

“You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
you have loosed my sackcloth & clothed me with gladness,
that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give thanks to you forever!”

- mark d. cooke, 10-24-11

The Throne of God - Parts 1 & 2

Part 1.

the trees creak and moan

the rustling leaves sound like angelic music

black birds soar and glide on mighty currents

swaying limbs bow before the Lord of the Dance

the dogwoods have faded – azaleas soon to follow

everywhere behind the camouflage of spring

the choral cries of feathered creatures

hovering over all

a vast canopy of Carolina blue

in my mind i go back to something ageless, ancient

a place that calls to me – draws me

a deep, eternal, internal beckoning.

the pull of my earthly homeland

pales before this celestial longing.

still the natural gives me murky reflections

of what is to come.

rows and rows of man’s brick and mortar,

the appearance of permanence

that will in a moment crumble

much like my own earthly tent

boys on bicycles and butterflies in bushes

shadow – substance - temporal – eternal

yesterday – the boy was me

today – the butterfly calls to my aging frame

of new creations.

tomorrow – no more dimly lit mirrors

now – I stare at the heavens

and with all creations declaring His praises

i behold the Throne of God.

mark d. cooke, 04/01/1997

Part 2

“I saw the Throne room!” i sensed the awe in her voice

as man’s technology conveyed her words

from Raleigh to my study

The Throne room … seen through the eyes of the Spirit

where the temporal gives way

to a far more permanent yet invisible realm

a mere glimpse to shatter all earthly care

have I not captured

shadows of its image with the naked eye?

is this possible? all around an autumn blaze

declares the craftsmanship of Creator Spirit

brooding over His dominion

the anticipation of a world aflame with that same Spirit

every tree a reflection of the one tree

every stream pointing to the River

every blade of grass crying out

“I will fade, but His word endures…”

animal sounds, insect vibrations

the restless noises of man in motion

in totality there emanates a message

“Something is coming! Something is coming!

Something is coming!”

there is a destination to all of this

a deep blue October sky

a phone call from a friend

reflections in the Book,

words from anointed messengers

all beckoning me to prophesy to the wind

“Come breath of God! Give us life. Prepare us to see… the Throne of God.”

mark d. cooke 10/30/1997

Parched Under a New Moon: A Cry for True Revival

Parched Under a New Moon: A Cry for True Revival

maybe i should call a shrink – get a prescription or something

it hasn’t been lengthy – not days, weeks or months

but it has been creeping up for some time

and the depth of the darkness is uncharted and frightening

disconnect and disintegration on every level

the extroverted initiator has no initiative left

the resilient gauge is on empty

there are those who seek to reassure me…

“You’re a good man, brother.” “You’re not a failure as a father.”

“You’re a gifted servant & preacher.” “You truly are a man of God.”

i’ve heard this and more, so…

it’s not that i’m void of outward affirmation

but it all goes thud

against the iron gates of a disoriented psyche

is this shallow, mediocre self-absorption - too much navel gazing?

or am i failing to deal with deeper matters?

“Failure” - that’s the millstone

moral, spiritual, financial, relational, vocational

the weight presses against my chest as i gasp for breath

damn, i’m tired of this treadmill

how many times – fatigue, frustration, sin and i’m down on my knees

confessing, relinquishing, crying out

rising - renewed, refreshed, forgiven, cleansed

here i am again, at the end of myself? - probably not

a friend’s 51 year old brother had a stroke last week (i’m 51)

suddenly weakened, paralyzed, anxious, helpless

after years of robust self-sufficiency

maybe my soul has had a stroke – a spiritual blood clot

hitting the cerebral cortex of my inner man

and if the joy of the Lord is my strength

it’s no wonder that i’m so weary

but where do i go for an energy boost?

counterfeit, charismatic crap on one side

arrogant, condescending, lifeless ritual on the other

“clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right…”

here i am, stuck in the middle with me

i know, i know, “it’s not about me” but i’m the only me i’ve got

and i think i need an extreme makeover

“I am exceedingly afflicted; revive me, O LORD, according to Thy word.”

“A joyful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit dries up the bones.”

Lord, i thirst!

mark d. cooke, 9-3-08

WE PRESS ON: A WOUNDED HEALER’S RESOLVE: (Revelation 22:1-5)

we found you shivering in the cold

wounded and abandoned

we drew near, embracing with His Healing Touch

walking in transparency and grace

the windows to our souls swung wide before you

an offering of spiritual intimacy and friendship

affirmation for a damaged pilgrim

longing to recapture significance and destiny

who could know the depth of the pain?

the debilitating rejection

“They must not know.” “I will recover; I will conquer!”

so we trod on with “our heavenly callings” –

“our ministries”

closing the shutters on that part of the soul

needing His Piercing Light more than any other

seeing through a glass darkly

we observe only the edges of this severe turbulence

the scars of our own journey dim our vision

we naively move towards you

thinking we see more than we do

the tremor hits us unaware,

a scream from that shut off place

the knees buckle from the shock

transparency is always a risky thing

the alternative, though, is simply a slow withering death

to walk naked in His Revelation and Light

love, acceptance and forgiveness

must rise along the same path

as our fears, self-doubts and failures

the discarding of the carnal baggage for His Healing Balm

requires grace, community and a lifetime

forever hindered by

the deceptive presence of false wholeness

“I have recovered…that’s behind me now…I’m over that”

“I can see clearly now the rain is gone”

we want to be there – recovered, made whole

so we convince ourselves, believe the words

and we cope - fabricating the tattered remains

into a patchwork picture of restoration

we walk it out, looking fine in the mirror

and to others, until…

until the light of His Glory shines

and the demons in the dark places cry out

lashing out at the instruments of His Peace

vulnerable vessels of His Grace

fleshing out their own transformation

wounded healers being healed themselves

by the River of Life

we move away in bewilderment and wonder

the barriers erected in our brokenness

are not easily overcome

still - we press on

knowing that the healing is in the oil not the vessel

and all gives way when He pours

Mark D. Cooke - 01/28/1998 - Revised, 3/19/2007