Life Questions Death Answers

 

 

Life is the question

Which no one can answer.

Death is the answer

Which no one can question.

 

Therefore,

Live the question

Until you find the answer.

 

The marvel is:

When you find the answer

You will not even know,

And none that knew you

Can light on it throw.

 

I can take no credit

For the first seven lines,

However, the rest of the poem

Is assuredly mine.

 

My thoughts on this matter

Went expressly wild

When one of my best friends ever

Suddenly died.

 

The question of life

Relentlessly overwhelmed

When I learnt that my friend

Had left this earth realm.

 

I will mention his name

For he brought me no shame

And I am grateful he befriended me;

Stephen was his name.

 

Stephen Gittens,

As a matter of fact,

There will never be another

He was as unique as that.

 

In the final hour

Of 2022-01-08,

My friend Stephen Gittens

Became Stephen Gittens, the late.

 

This is a jarring sound

As the many questions emerge

And my heart expresses its grief

In a sorrow filled dirge.

 

 

A pastor and educator:

Two complementary blessings

In which he spent most of his life

Catering to the living.

 

To educate was his hallmark

Be it spiritual or secular

And I dare say with the best I knew

He was definitely on par.

 

Be it preaching or teaching

Stephen was committed, let me say,

And through him undoubtedly

Many found their way.

 

Life was the question

Which Stephen could not answer.

Death is the answer

Stephen cannot question.

 

But how could he

Having left this earth realm?

If only he could give an answer

To all that are overwhelmed!

 

  

But we have a consolation:

Death is not his end!

So, we will grapple with the question

Until then.

 

Stewart Russell © January 10, 2022

 

Sunday School

 

Sunday school was a must

When I was growing up,

Fifty years hence

It’s not many people’s cup.

For me it was Sunday morning

And in the evening too:

In the morning at my church

But in the evening a relative few.

I remember Sister Estwick

A very sweet old lady

That rang her bell on Sundays

To gather everybody.

Some walked behind her

To the open-air school

Where we learned memory verses

And recited the golden rule.

We sometimes received sweets

And other confectionary

As well as Bible tracts

That told interesting stories.

The benches were kept

At a nearby residence

And though they took up much space

We weren’t charged a cent.

They were often were put out

By the first children to get there

And they were eagerly wiped off

With the most diligent care.

There are many Bible lessons

That I can still recall

Which I learnt at Sunday school

With memory passages and all.

We were always encouraged

To take Jesus into our hearts,

It was definitely at Sunday school

Where I got my Christian start.

  

We were regularly told

That if we wanted to go to heaven

We must confess our sins to Jesus

So that they could be forgiven.

At the end of each session

We sang an invitation song

But at the beginning of the service

We sang “Come Along, Come Along”.

“Into my heart, into my heart,

Come into my heart Lord Jesus,”

And O, how we would respond

Whenever we sang this chorus.

Sunday school was good to us

And kept us out of the law courts

For when it came to Sunday school

Our parents didn’t make sport.

I thank God for Sister Estwick,

Aunt Pearl and my other teachers,

Today I teach Sunday school

And I am also a preacher.

My life, though not flawless,

Has been on a godly trend,

I owe much of it to Sunday school

And the fact that I still attend.

I doubt there are many in prison

That ever attended Sunday school

But if there are any at all

Then they must have been fools.

“Bend the tree when it is young,”

That’s what Sunday school did

But certainly not for those children

That from Sunday school hid.

I did not have a choice

And I am glad that I had to go,

You see because of Sunday school

I’ve got quite a lot to show.

Stewart Russell © March 2019

Check for the Word

“O that preacher was hot,”

But what did he preach?

“And he was good too,”

But what did he teach?

I am sure you have heard

Some people say such

But regarding the content

They couldn’t say much.

Often we are captivated

By the preacher’s style,

We admire his rhetoric and oration

And his bemusing smile.

We like the way 

He ambles across the stage

And how he transitions

Between tranquility and rage.

His bearing and popularity

Play on our mind

And we want to hear him preach

Each and every time.

But interesting enough

We are unable to recall

Much of what he preached,

I mean Scripture text and all.

Yet he preached hot

And he preached real well

But little of his message

These hearers can tell.

I wonder if questions were given

On what that preacher had preached

Whether in such an examination

A passing grade would be reached.

I suggest we be armed

With our pens and notebooks

And follow carefully in the Word

So that nothing is overlooked.

  

And bear in mind

It is not how hot he preaches

But how much of the Word

The preacher truly teaches.

Focus on the Word

Instead of the preacher’s antics

And do not fall prey

To the old devil’s tricks.

Appreciate the preacher’s delivery

Nothing is wrong with that

But far more than this

Ensure you have the biblical facts.

We are accountable

For the word that we hear

So we should not be distracted

But treat it with diligence and care.

A word to those preachers

I would give meanwhile,

Be careful how you mix the Word

With your flamboyant style.

Remember, “Faith comes by hearing

And hearing the Word of God,”

To hear they need a preacher

That will spread the word abroad.

A sermon large on rhetoric

But bereft of God’s Holy Word

Is an exercise steeped in futility

And such a sermon is absurd.

All that will handle the Word

Whether as transmitters or recipients,

Will be held accountable

And that is God’s intent.

Thus a word to the wise is sufficient

And to heed the Word is wise,

To do otherwise is detrimental

To the unwise in whatever disguise.

Stewart Russell © May 2018