Moored to Oneself

 

 

To what are we moored

In this pluralistic time

Where everything seems relative

And jelly is spine?

 

No difference, it seems,

Between sand and rock

And one can pass for the other

Like dress and frock.

 

Nothing is steadfast

And we just float around,

Same difference, some would say,

Whether up or down.

 

To each his own reality-

That’s how he sees it,

No reference point or benchmark

Informs his habit.

 

Moored to myself

Makes me feel free

And it really does not matter

If I drift aimlessly.

 

No beginning, no end,

All one continuous bend

Riding the world’s merry-go-round,

World without end.

 

No reference-point

Nothing by which to gauge,

The entire world is just a stage

And I am its sage.

 

It’s me and me alone

Accountable to only me,

And my truth is as good as anyone’s

So, set me free.

 

 

 

Nothing is absolute!

Bear this in your mind,

One man’s freedom, my friend,

Is another’s bind.

 

It’s nothing topsy-turvy

If it works for me,

I am the centre of the universe,

And I am free.

 

My beauty is my beauty,

My truth is my truth,

Thus, my values are my values

And I am my proof.

 

My reason to be here

Is my own purpose,

It has nothing to do with anyone

Hence, it is just.

 

The survival of the fittest?

Call it what you may,

This means of all there is, I succeed

While all beside me fail.

 

 

 

I am moored to me:

Distinctly myself and I

And don’t you dare try to change me;

Don’t even try.

 

And so, I present to you

The world’s dilemma,

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

And each book its cover.

 

Thus, all things of beauty

But no distinctive beauty,

No benchmark by which a judge

Can perform his duty.

 

Many varying values

But no moral plumb line,

Morality and immorality are the same

Together combined.

 

 

 

A myriad of truths:

Yours and mine and theirs

But no truth by which to measure

What is just and fair. 

 

Different purposes

But no defining purpose

That rightly informs all of humanity

On his return to the dust.

 

From dust created He us

To dust we will return

And the sooner we understand this

The more we will learn.

 

God is the only absolute

By which all can be measured

And to ignore His divine blueprint

Is to miss life’s treasure.

 

Truth is at the top

Forming value and beauty,

Out of these emerges our purpose

That informs our duty.

 

 

 

Moored to the Rock

Though adaptive to change,

For to be moored to oneself

Is to be deranged.

 

Stewart Russell © September 17, 2025

 

The Old Village Church

 

 

I stopped at the old village church

The signs of old age were in evidence,

I walked in like I always used to

There were only ten in attendance.

 

I recall there used to be more

But then, it was the only church around,

I remember as I reflected

The preaching there was sound.

 

On Sundays they filled the church

It was a date most villagers kept,

But when the new church started up

It was there most regularly met.

 

They love that preacher’s charisma

“O, he is hot,” I heard them say,

“He doesn’t have to use the Bible

It is the modern way.”

 

They learn a lot about prosperity

And how a man can be rich

And with that kind of prospect

 Many villagers made the switch.

 

 

Now the village church is dying

There are only the aging few,

But they come faithfully every Sunday

And still preach the biblical view.

 

They are referred to as being dead

And too old fashion in their ways,

All that old time Bible stuff

Is not good enough for these days.

 

Like the church at Philadelphia

So too, this old village church,

The numbers may be small unlike others

But they were surely not in the lurch.

 

They were founded on the Rock

Though they appeared of little strength,

Satan in trying to destroy them

Had gone to great lengths.

 

The other church is like Laodicea:

That grew by leaps and bounds,

Yet they are poor, blind and naked

And no sound doctrine can be found.

 

 

As I sat in that old village church

And enjoyed the ministry of the word,

I could not help but contemplate

On those that were so absurd.

 

They left the genuine substance

And went chasing after the shadow,

Right there at that new church

There is nothing else but show.

 

I am not putting down big churches

Just what this one is offering,

And while some appear well off

Most of them are suffering.

 

Here is an open invitation

To return to the old village church

Where there is sound doctrine and ministry

That leaves no one in the lurch.

 

Stewart Russell © September 2019

 

The Gospel According to Man

 

 

The Gospel is about repenting of sin

NOT celebrating it,

This is very much in contrast

To what is now the common habit.

 

In a far gone past it used to be

Jesus came to save us from our sin,

 Now it seems to be all right

To keep our sin when we come to him.

 

Now that he saves us in our sin

Salvation is merely cosmetic,

It is a no change salvation

Hence, no change in our habits.

 

We get the best of both worlds

There is nothing we must give up,

There is a no change, same way life

What a truly satisfying cup!

 

A gospel message that comforts

That says little or nothing about our sin,

That promises abundant prosperity

But of the Gospel definitely quite thin.

 

That appeals to our fleshly desires

And to our personal felt needs,

That whets our materialistic appetite-

It’s a different gospel indeed.

 

The Gospel according to man

“What man wants man gets”

And anything in opposition to that

He reserves the right to reject.

 

A gospel that changes nothing

But allows for anything,

A gospel that permits the so-called convert

To continue with his previous fling.

 

Conformity at most

But of transformation, no evidence,

A clear case of political correctness

But no indication of repentance.

 

A gospel without spiritual substance

Without the power of the Spirit,

A gospel that brings no conviction

To cause the sinner from sin to quit.

 

A gospel without forgiveness

 A gospel without faith and grace,

No cross or blood atonement

Not even the slightest trace.

 

 

But that has taken the world by storm

A gospel in great demand,

The purpose of which is destruction

And ensuring that souls are damned.

 

A gospel with no eternal hope

No heaven, no life, just death,

With hell’s fire the pending judgment

And no chance of peace or rest.

 

So be wary of this gospel

That is preached from many a pulpit,

That excludes the bad news of sin

And is void of the Holy Spirit.

 

It’s a gospel that can only promise

That’s all its adherents can sell,

Instead run to the Rock, Christ Jesus

Who does all things well. 

 

Stewart Russell © October 2019