The Poetry of Words

Reevaluating the reasons for writing every once in a while seems wise. One ought to be able to justify the time spent stringing words together. Considering whether or not constructed sentences are accomplishing intended purposes seems beneficial.

Every so often someone expresses verbally what you’ve attempted intuitively. Clarity came in a single sentence from Eugene Peterson’s The Contemplative Pastor.

“The poet is a person who uses words not primarily to convey information but to make a relationship, to shape beauty, form truth (page 44).”

Good writing invites a reader’s response. If not, then why write (or read for that matter)? Thoughts composed generate questions in the reader. The resulting dialogue feels something like the give and take relationships require.

And if “relationship” is too lofty a term to describe that interaction, then perhaps what results is at least more than the simple transmission of information. Some words communicate while others create community. The latter is the greater goal.

The arrangement of words to shape ideas is beautiful and intriguing. Tell a story and listeners instinctively make connections, locate their place in the plot and through that process participate in something larger than themselves. Through writing it’s possible to approach that which is profound, to move closer to the mysteries which remain just beyond our full understanding, to give expression to that which defies speech.

The skillful use of language can capture the loveliness (and ugliness) of life, elicit powerful emotions, and transmit experiences vicariously. Effective writing is a thing of beauty. Words chosen for their sound, sentences crafted for their phrasing, and paragraphs organized to convey meaning are my favorite art form.

The pursuit of truth is an ambitious undertaking. Our efforts are destined to fall short of the desired goal more times than not. We humans are fallible creatures easily distracted and sidetracked from intended destinations.

Life is a dynamic process through which we either allow truth to alter us or we spend our days attempting to alter the truth. Efforts to make it convenient or palatable only mean that what we embrace is no longer the truth. Half truths are not truth at all. Our quest is best conducted with great humility because we know less than we care to admit. We are wise to acknowledge these things. How can we recognize or arrive at the truth if we are unwilling to be truthful with ourselves?

For me, finding what is true in life is a spiritual process. Being rightly related to the One who made us is a primary consideration which impacts how we are related to one another and to the rest of creation. Naming the places and means by which those connections can be made is a sacred task. Opportunities are elusive unless consciously sought. Once found, they are worthy of our best efforts.

I am no poet. The past five years make that clear. But my desire is to become more poetic, if not by classical definitions, at least by the terms Peterson describes.

Whether that can be accomplished here remains to be seen.