A Dangerous Business

"[Bilbo] used often to say there was only one Road; that it was like a great river: its springs were at every doorstep, and every path was its tributary. 'It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,' he used to say. 'You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to. Do you realize that this is the very path that goes through Mirkwood, and that if you let it, it might take you to the Lonely Mountain or even further and to worse places?'"

-Tolkein, The Fellowship of the Ring, 72.

Nothing is Very Strong

Nothing is very strong: strong enough to steal away a man's best years not in sweet sins but in a dreary flickering of the mind over it knows not what and knows not why, in the gratification of curiosities so feeble that the man is only half aware of them, in drumming of fingers and kicking of heels, in whistling tunes that he does not like, or in the long, dim labyrinth of reveries that have not even lust or ambition to give them a relish, but which, once chance association has started them, the creature is too weak and fuddled to shake off.

...The only thing that matters is the extent to which you separate the man from the Enemy....Murder is no better than cards if cards can do the trick. Indeed, the safest road to Hell is the gradual one— the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.

-C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters

Jesus Saves

We've explored the patchwork of Americana
The curios and the burger plates
We got a blessing from the Queen of the Highway,
Paid attention to a sign that said "Jesus Saves"

-Terry Scott Taylor, "The Glory Road"

The Road Goes Ever On and On

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

-J. R. R. Tolkein, The Fellowship of the Ring

Land of My Sojourn

And the coal trucks come a-runnin' with their bellies full of coal and their big wheels a-hummin' down this road that lies open, like the soul of the woman who hid the spies who were lookin' for the land of the milk and honey.

And this road she is a woman, she was made from a rib cut from the sides of these mountains, oh these great sleeping Adams who are lonely even here in paradise, lonely for somebody to kiss 'em.

And I'll sing my song, and I'll sing my song in the land of my sojourn.

And the lady in the harbor she still holds her torch out to those huddled masses who are yearning for a freedom that still eludes them. The immigrant's children see their brightest dreams shattered

here on the New Jersey shoreline in the greed and the glitter of those high-tech casinos. But some mendicants wander off into a cathedral and they stoop in the silence and there their prayers are still whispered.

And I'll sing their song, and I'll sing their song in the land of my sojourn.

Nobody tells you when you get born here how much you'll come to love it and how you'll never belong here. So I call you my country, and I'll be lonely for my home, and I wish that I could take you there with me.

And down the brown brick spine of some dirty blind alley all those drain pipes are drippin' out the last Sons of Thunder, while off in the distance the smoke stacks were belching back this city's best answer.

And the countryside was pocked with all of those mail pouch posters thrown up on rotting sideboards of these rundown stables, like the one that Christ was born in when the old world started dying, and the new world started coming on.

And I'll sing His song, and I'll sing His song in the land of my sojourn.

-Rich Mullins

DESDICHADO

*This is the Heir; come let us kill Him.
*Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her Beloved?

Christ walks the world again, His lute upon His back,
His red robe rent to tatters, his riches gone to rack,
The wind that wakes the morning blows His hair about His face,
His hands and feet are ragged with the ragged briar’s embrace,
For the hunt is up behind Him and His sword is at His side,…
Christ the bonny outlaw walks the whole world wide,
Singing: “Lady, lady, will you come away with Me,
Lie among the bracken and break the barley bread?
We will see new suns arise in golden, far-off skies,
For the Son of God and Woman hath not where to lay His head.”

Christ walks the world again, a prince of fairy-tale,
He roams, a rascal fiddler, over mountain and down dale,
Cast forth to seek His fortune in a bitter world and grim,
For the stepsons of His Father’s house would steal His Bride from Him;
They have weirded Him to wander till He bring within His hands
The water of eternal youth from black-enchanted lands,
Singing: “Lady, lady, will you come away with me,
Or sleep on silken cushions in the bower of wicked men?
For if we walk together through the wet and windy weather,
When I ride back home triumphant you will ride beside Me then.”

Christ walks the world again, new-bound on high emprise,
With music in His golden mouth and laughter in His eyes;
The primrose springs before Him as He treads the dusty way,
His singer’s crown of thorn has burst in blossom like the may,
He heedeth not the morrow and He never looks behind,
Singing: “Glory to the open skies and peace to all mankind.”
Singing: “Lady, lady, will you come away with Me?
Was never man lived longer for the hoarding of his breath;
Here be dragons to be slain, here be rich rewards to gain…
If we perish in the seeking…why, how small a thing is death!”

-Dorothy Sayers, Catholic Tales and Christian Songs

Could Be A Lot Worse

a kiss for the miles to drive, a prayer for when it rains
one shot of perspective, a couple more to kill the pain
when all the best metaphors are hitting too close to home
when all the best metaphors are bleeding from your bones

I'm gonna die a failure, but to happiness awake
you can go to sleep in hell, and wake up at heaven's gate
think of all that we missed today that lay right before our eyes
think of all that fades away in our hard-pressed compromise

this is dangerous terrain we're attempting to traverse
and it's a cryin' shame, but it could be a lot worse

so you proceed with caution, though you're mumbling in the dark
and that one shot of perspective has finally hit your heart

faith, she's a whistling train running hard in the dark
hope is like a thing untamed, gonna lay to waste your heart
love is a little bit of God, there for all to know
love is the everlasting arms that never do let go...

this is dangerous terrain we're attempting to traverse
and it's a cryin' shame, but it could be a lot worse

-Bill Mallonee