Apologetics and Apology

 

 

Apologetics and apology:

Don’t mix up the two,

Some treat them as synonyms

According to their view.

 

Alas, they are not;

They are vastly different

And to show this in this poem

Is my intent.

 

One is a defence

Of a biblical doctrine

Like for example an examination

Of universal sin.

 

 

The other is a regret

For something said or done

With the intention in the future

It would be shunned.

 

Apology is the word

Used for either case

But let me hasten to explain,

To scoff, don’t haste.

 

For some are quick

To pass searing judgment

On matters they haven’t research

But stoutly resent.

 

 

Thus, the need to apologize

For poor apologetics

And misleading the uninformed

With an erroneous mix.

 

On the other hand

No apology is required

By any apologist whose position

Is the Word, God-inspired.

 

So, don’t mix the two,

They are clearly distinct,

Be clear in you presentation

Even when succinct.

 

 

Two meanings of apology

But don’t mix up the two,

One could be a poor presentation

Of an unresearched view.

 

 

As an apologist

In the practice of apologetics,

Be wary of so-called apologists

That are up to tricks.

 

 

 

Stand on the Scriptures

And not on apology,

For that which pertains thereto

Touches eternity.

 

Stewart Russell © December 16, 2024

 

Francine and Gercine 2

 

 

Picture two next door neighbours

With no paling in beween

And whose names make music:

Francine and Gercine.

 

Picture two fowl-cocks

To service the hens

And suddenly one disappeared

Causing big problems.

 

Picture an early morning

When only one fowl-cock crowed

And de neighbours had a bassa-bassa;

Now fuh de show!

 

“Francine! Francine!

Yuh got to come out here,

I en never see nutting like this

In all me born days.

 

Francine! Francine!

You still in dey sleeping

Or you frighten sumpting gine happen

And you in dey peeping?

 

Try and come outside

It en nutting suh serious,

Stop peeping and come outside

And see why de fuss.”

 

“Chile, uh was dreaming

When uh hear yuh call out,

Uh ask muhself, whuh loud mout

Out dey bawling out bout?”

 

 

Dat fowl-cock right dey!

Dah’s yours or mine?”

“Chile, dah’s my fowl-cock;

It was so all de time.

 

And besides, it in my yard,

It en over at you,

Why you wud come asking me

When you know so too?”

 

I asking you cause dey was two

And one disappear

And dat wun at you got my sign

Pun he tail.

 

If I seeing right

That wun wud have to be mine.

Dah’s my fowl-cock

And it was so all de time?”

 

“Well, you cahn be seeing right

So get yuh eyes fix

And doan come round me dis morning

Wid nuh bigfoot tricks.

 

 

 

You cahn be serious!

De fowl-cock over at me

And yesterday it tread one my hens

And did look real happy.

 

If he did yours

He wud be ova at you,

Like me, you got hens ova dey

And you know dah’s de trute.”

 

“Eva since

I tell dat wussless wun,

Gordon, put up some paling

And he wun get it done.

 

Rather than listen to me

And get de paling done,

All de wusslessman bizness wid

Is he Cockspur Rum.

 

If he did put up de paling

When I tell he,

I wun be out hey wid you

Facing dis calamity.”

 

“Gercine, I feel sorry fuh you

But dat fowl-cock is mine

And dat is so despite you tellin me

He tail got on a sign.

 

 

I feed he from chicken stage

Till he become a fowl-cock

And as much as you saying he is you wun,

I know he is not.

 

I maintain, if he did yours

He wud be ovah at you

And dough you drop out in first form

You know dat too.”

 

“Dat is my fowl-cock

And I gine tek whuh’s mine,

You en getting way wid nuh tricks,

No, not dis time!

 

So how you gine tek he?

You gine come ovah hey?

Dat wud be over my dead body!

Girl, not today!”

 

“Before I get myself in trouble

I gine call Gordon out hey.”

Awright, you call Gordon, I’ll call George

And let de men have duh say.”

 

“Whuh wrong wid de two o’ wunna?

Wunna cahn live in peace?”

“George, Gercine trying to tell me

Dat I’s a thief.

 

She cahn find she fowl-cock

And want to tek way mine,

I tell she dat dat fowl-cock right dey

Was we wun all de time.

 

She telling me

Bout some sign pun de fowl-cock tail,

I want you to tell she whuheva she try,

She is bound to fail.”

 

“Wait! Gordon,

You en talk to Gercine?

You promise dat you wud tell you wife

Bout you little scheme.”

 

Gordon, whuh scheme is dat?

Whuh George talkin’ bout?”

“Look a woman, doan confuse me,

I got to go out.”

 

“You en gine nuh way

Till you tell me whuh I want to know.”

“Woman, you cahn be serious,

I suh I have to go.

 

Tek yuh hands off o’ me, woman,

You igronant or whuh?

I tell you that I have to leave,

You en understand whuh I suh?

 

And besides, leh tell me you,

You en want to hear bout that fowl-cock

Cause when you hear

It gine only mek you drop.”

 

“I doan care if I drop,

I want to hear

So before you leff bout dis yard

Leh me hear whuh you got to say.”

 

“Awright, I gine tell you,

Remember, you ask fuh dis,

I hope yuh ole heart cud tek it;

Um is you risk.

 

I did feeling thirsty

An I en had one red cent

So de money I get fuh de fowl-cock,

It awready shpent.

 

I en check fun nuh sign,

I shee fowl-cock and I ketch fowl-cock

And I done shpen de money

I get fuh Francine fowl-cock.”

 

“Whuh you spen de money pun?

Tell me, Gordon!”

“I tell yuh I did thirsty

So whuh you tink uh spen um pun?

 

I shpen um pun rum

And now uh echplain muhshelf, uh leffin

And dey en neffin you nor nobody cud do,

Neffin!”

 

 

“So, wait! He sell my fowl-cock

To get he Cockspur Rum

And now you want to suh dis fowl-cock

Is you wun?

 

Well, de devil is liar

Cause see dat fowlcock dey wid de sign?

Yuh could cry from now till Jesus come,

Dat fowl-cock is mine.”

 

“Francine, I is real sorry

Fuh accusing you

But dat man is embarrass me all de time

And I en know whuh to do.

 

I promise to divorce he

But tell de trute, I en got de heart

And plus, he din always so;

At least, not when we start.

 

 

I tell he many, many times

He should go to Alcoholics Anonymous

But de foolish man suh people widout a name

Nobody shun trust.

 

He’s tell me when I get duh names

I cud leh he know

And if he feel comfortable wid dem,

He might decide to go.

 

But I know he en gine nuh way,

Dah is jest he excuse

Cause when Gordon see Cockspur Rum,

He jest cahn refuse.

 

Gordon sold Francine’s fowl-cock

To buy a bottle of Cockspur,

I guess he saw a relationship;

Wouldn’t you concur?

 

Francine and Gercine

Are still very good friends

But they do need a second fowl-cock

To deal with those hens.

 

Stewart Russell © November 24, 2024

 

Beware the Tics

 

 

Nah, I don’t mean on animals

That provide a safe haven,

They are spelt differently,

Come on, have you forgotten?

 

So, what do you mean?

I am hearing you ask,

Well, bear with me a while

While I finish the task.

 

Not only animals as you know

But words carry tics,

Quite a few as I can recall

But for now, four will fit.

 

Yes, out of some 223 words

I’ll only choose four,

For the purpose of this discourse

I will need no more.

 

Let me say from the outset

They all relate to people,

You and I are among the four-

Sorry to burst your bubble.

 

I will start with the one

That says who I have become,

A skeptic for sure I now am

And I am not making fun.

 

I find it difficult to believe

Much of what I hear,

Most is intentional propaganda

And this I truly fear.

 

News and views went together

Now they are so unrelated

That I sometimes wonder

If the truth is now outdated.

That’s why I am now a skeptic

Not that I want to be

But when I listen to the news

The truth I cannot see.

 

Two sides in a given matter:

Which is right I cannot tell,

If I were to be tested on the truth

I wouldn’t do very well.

 

Skeptics, as far as I can see,

Are the least of these four tics,

The second I now give to you

Which for me is a critic.

 

 

 

Just like the skeptics today

Critics are on the increase,

These know so little about everything

But they talk will never cease.

 

Theirs is always another view

Different from any before

And they are extremely innovative

In giving one view more.

 

They even criticize their view

Yes, their own view they criticize

If an opposer carries the same,

They will feign surprise.

 

In the eyes of too many critics

A solution is never to be found

Since critics tend mostly to look in

And seldom look around.

 

I have a problem deciding

Which of the next two is worse

But I have unilaterally decided

To deal with a lunatic first.

 

 

Lunatics are mad people!

Nothing more and nothing less,

They ebb and flow like the sea

And never are at rest.

 

The moon controls the tides,

At least, that’s what I was told

But being by my new nature a skeptic,

To this I tenuously hold.

 

So lunar, looney, lunatic,

All words that are related

Indicating the magnitude of insanity

In which this era is inundated.

 

Finally, the last of the tics

Is none other than heretic,

This tic is extremely closely related

To its predecessor, lunatic.

 

 

Heretics evade the truth

And they do this at all costs,

Their proselytizing is foremost

As their recruit the lost.

 

The Pharisees were exposed

And censured by Jesus Christ

Whose righteousness they rejected

Feeling theirs would suffice.

 

Heretics are all around us

Trying to obscure the truth

And there are many in the church

That are of living proof.

 

Yes, skeptics and critics,

Lunatics and heretics!

These are in many ways related,

Watch out for their tricks!

 

Stewart Russell © November 11, 2023

 

Here We Go Again!

 

 

I am sure you are familiar with:

“Here we go again”

And it is often used

Regarding something thought insane.

 

To some it makes sense

But to some it does not

And while to the former it’s “hooray!”

To the latter it is rot.

 

Some say six is half dozen

Some say it is not,

Some say it happened already

And so, it’s our lot.

 

Some say it is a game

And is loaded with tricks,

Some say expect more of the same

In partisan politics.

 

Four questions emerge

Following is the list,

And to answer any of them

Incurs a risk.

 

A risk of being criticized

Or even victimized,

A risk of being terrorized

Or even ostracized.

 

What’s in a name?

What is this game?

Who gets the blame?

Who stands to gain?

 

 

One day is the given

On which two events did occur,

Two political parties are involved

And apparently did not confer.

 

Both have their interest

Which they are sworn to protect

But thirty-love says,

We are in; you are the rejects!

 

A mandate has been given

To change what we desire

And so, you can do nothing

About what has transpired.

 

Wunna could talk and march

Till the cows come home,

It is now Barbados National Day

Independence Day gone!

 

 

Yes, a whole lot of talk

On the changing of the name

And some are wondering,

“Is this a Mia game?”

 

Of all the Prime Ministers

That have ruled this Nation,

There are two that now stand out

In a close competition:

 

 

The Father of Independence

And the Mother of the Republic

And the latter is in the ascendancy

In the eyes of the electorate.

 

 

Thirty-love twice

With her at the helm

And no Parliamentary opposition

That can her proposals stem.

 

A gag order, seemingly,

On the mouths of her team

Except when they speak in her defense

Or her actions esteem.

 

A tremendous ability, she has,

At explaining away

And this satisfies most people

On any given day.

 

Perhaps there will be a change

On this particular issue

Or maybe, her principal competitor

Will be blocked from our view.

 

 

Some say that is impossible

But Owen has just gone away

And I don’t hear much talk about him:

At least not these days.

 

And given the COVID impact

And how this PM operated,

The rest will pale significantly

Or be completely obliterated.

 

There is clearly no blame

Except from the opposition

And their voices are too weak

To influence decisions.

 

But, who stands to gain?

Oh, that can be clearly seen:

It is the Mother of the Republic

Yes!  The people’s queen!

 

I guess I have answered

The questions that emerged,

Whether you agree or not

Is not the scourge.

 

Whither Barbados

Is what we must ask,

And here we go again

Spells a herculean task.

 

In the final analysis

Whatever the name,

Barbados and Barbadians

Is more than a game.

 

Stewart Russell © November 3, 2022

 

It’s A Baton

 

 

You would recall the question,

“What is that in your hand?”

Nothing miraculous about the rod

But God used it in His plan.

 

The question was asked of Moses,

A huge task was up ahead,

He found all kinds of ways to cop out,

Failure was in his head.

 

“It’s a rod,” he finally responded,

Just a simple everyday stick,

But even in the hands of the Egyptians

They could perform a trick.

 

And so, God is asking the question

To all that are in His service,

What is that that’s in your hand?

It’s something we should not miss.

 

This time it’s not a rod

Like what was in Moses’ day,

But it is that critically important baton

Just like in the Olympic relay.

It must not remain with us

But we must pass it on,

From our hands to some else’s

Yes, we must pass that baton.

 

It is the knowledge of salvation

Of how Jesus came to save,

He paid the price for your sin and mine

And the road to redemption paved.

 

It’s the Word he gave to you and me

Placed securely in our hearts,

Making us children of the Light

Bringing us in from the dark.

  

It is the hope of a dying soul

Just like we once were

Until someone shared the Word with us

And our hearts began to stir.

 

 

That’s the instrument within our hands

And we too must pass it on,

Like the rod that Moses had,

Only this time, It’s a baton.

 

Stewart Russell © April 2020