Grace for the Martyr

About a year ago I decided to go to a lecture at Central Methodist
College. I had told several members of my congregation about the
lecture, and although I was overwhelmed with work and sermon
preparation, I decided to be a martyr and attend in case anyone from
my congregation showed up. (No one did.)

When I arrived about 15 minutes before the presentation, the large
auditorium where I assumed that the lecture would take place was
empty. Central Methodist isn't a large campus, and so I went to the
nearest building with lights on and a crowd. Sara, my mentor in the
candidacy process, sat down near me, and expressed surprise that I had
come to a poetry reading. It turned out that the lecture I planned to
attend had been canceled, and Sara invited me to stay for Scott's
poetry reading. I had heard Scott read poetry once before at a
University of Missouri Christian faculty and staff meeting, and knew I
wouldn't be disappointed.

What amazed me on this occasion was how much I needed to hear poetry.
At the time I felt inundated with words, looking for the right words.
Each week's sermon, hymn selection, written prayers, call to
worship—so many words, and so much self-imposed stress on getting the
best possible words to express the morning theme in worship. There
was such a sense of relief in just listening to Scott read his poems.
I needed to hear and join in with someone else's words of prayer.

(Scott has a new book out, Compass of Affection: Poems New And
Selected. Hint, Hint to Ed.)