From the Shepherd’s Nook: John Frye

Pastoral Poetry

In the last post we attempted theological poetry with “Jesus the Poster Boy.” Here is an example of pastoral poetry. One aspect of pastoral ministry I enjoy is talking and listening to old people, people in their late 80s and early 90s. In an age when we warehouse old people in care facilities, we may easily lose touch with their influential wisdom. Intelligence is never a good replacement for wisdom. Often it is better to listen to a wise plumber than to a brilliant Mensa member. Here are my musings after speaking with Ray Minnema, an 88 year old in my congregation who as a teenager fought in the Dutch underground against the Nazis. Ray’s great grandfather, Simon, fought in Napoleon’s army.

When Old People Speak

When old people speak

listen for the ages in their words.

They say “I remember” and we skip

back over Viet Nam, over Churchill and World War II,

landing somewhere in the Great Depression,

feeling the hot dust and deprivation.

When old people speak

honor the silences that carry time,

fragile, yet weighted with life;

the silences from which startling,

future-shaping words embrace the soul.

When old people speak

Do not confuse the wispy, airy sounds

with lack of strength or depth of soul.

Imagine life so full, so hard with pain and peace,

that words are too flimsy to bear it.

When old people speak

sit and watch, listen and listen well,

for their frail, soft utterances

define, refine meaning in your journey,

saving you from all that is hollow.

By vocation, Ray was a brick-layer. He built the fireplace in the Calvin College library. Ray met Etty during the German occupation of the Netherlands and she became his wife. After the Netherlands was liberated, Ray joined the U. S. Army and fought in New Guinea, liberating Japanese concentration camp prisoners. Ray has seen life at its most evil, yet his heart is tender and he tears up when he tells me how he loves to pray in Dutch. This last New Year’s Day he was invited to a family gathering. His children, grandchildren and some great grandchildren were there. Ray told me, “I sat in a corner and no one came over and talked to me.”