The Posture of the Heart
by Christopher Hostettler"Where are the bones of Pharoah's army?
Where is the empty tomb?
Oh, where is the ancient garden
With the cherubim guarding its blooms?
A fool is he who bends the knee
To powers unheard, unseen.
A dimwit's faith is nothing more
Than a crutch on which to lean."
The scoffer mocks, and I reply,
With tone both grave and firm
(And look him squarely in the eye
And cower not, nor squirm),
"Who can measure the depths of the sea
Or the edge of the sky's expanse?
Who can fathom the source of love
Or the mystery of romance?
"Tell me how order arises from chaos,
Or life from that which is dead.
Show me the pits of the human heart
Where malice and murder do tread.
Now pinpoint the peaks of the earthly soul,
Where a man lays down his life,
Of his own accord, to fend off a horde
Of barbarians chasing his wife."
"See, why is there so much evil?" he asks.
"Well, why is there so much good?
And why would a man," I continue,
"Not steal what he knows he could?
This conflict between good and evil, my friend,
Is really quite telling, in fact,
Revealing this visible world's only part
Of a deeper, more meaningful act."
The scoffer and I, sitting side by side,
Ponder pleth'ras of various questions.
Each volley I meet, I merrily greet
With riddles instead of suggestions.
The difference, you see, between he and I,
Is subtle but plays a large part.
It's not for want of knowledge we differ;
It's the posture of the heart.
