I’ve had an email inbox more full than usual this week with requests asking for information about the poem I recited last Sunday during the message. I’m glad so many appreciated it. It is a poem that I have had memorized for about fifteen years. I first heard it in the 1980’s listening to a Christian musician by the name of Phil Keaggy. Mr. Keaggy is a world-class guitarist and one of the founders of the “Jesus Music” movement of the mid 1970’s. He put the poem to music and placed it on his Way Back Home album. I tracked the poem down and found that the author, F.W. Pitt, was an outstanding poet in his day. I put it to memory, and it has been with me ever since. The beautiful and eloquent words are a succinct presentation of the Gospel and evoke powerful images of Christ’s earthly incarnation, his atonement for our sins, and the reality of his pre-existence as the creator of all things (Col. 1:16).
Not much is known about Pitt. He was born in 1859 in England and became a pastor in London during the second half of his life. He was known as a thoughtful preacher and for his doctrinally rich poems and hymns. He wrote a very good tract on the virgin birth, but it has been out of print for some time now. All this is a good reminder that, although our name and our fame may not last long after we pass, what we say and do may continue to have a lasting impact for generations. I never met Mr. Pitt, nor do I know much about him, but his poem is etched in my mind, and I recite it often to myself as a reminder of all that Christ gave up for me in the incarnation. Here’s the entire poem again:
The Maker of the universe - as man, for man - was made a curse,
The claims of law which he had made, unto the uttermost he paid
His holy fingers made the bough, which grew the thorns that crowned his brow,
The nails that pierced his hands were mined in secret places, he designed
He made the forest whence there sprung, the tree on which his body hung,
He died upon a cross of wood, yet made the hill on which it stood
The sky that darken’d over his head, by him above the earth was spread,
The sun that hid from him his face, by his decree was poised in space
The spear that spilled his precious blood, was tempered in the fires of God
The grave in which his form was laid, was hewn in rock his hands had made
The throne on which he now appears, was his from everlasting years,
But a new glory crowns his brow, and every knee to him shall bow
The Maker of the universe - as man, for man - was made a curse
If you like the poem, I highly recommend that you put it permanently in your noggin. Scripture, good poems and great quotes are best kept there, where nothing but death – or dementia - can take them from you. In the first case, you won’t need them anymore, and in the second, you won’t care. Until one or both of them overtakes me, I will relish the ability to call them to the forefront of my mind and repeat them as often as I need them to renew my thinking.
I am looking forward to sharing Christmas Eve and Christmas Day services with all of you. Hope you are having a wonderful Advent!
Grace and peace,
Pastor Jym