When the World Isn't Worthy

When the World Isn't Worthy

They weren’t worthy of his presence
Filled with ignorance.
How could they understand,
His faith through sacrifice?
They thought they were being zealous,
Fearing what he loved
The world was unworthy
So God lifted him home above.

Rebellious during her youth,
Now she had just turned thirty.
She changed her life around
When she finally met with God.
Pictures of starving Africa—
Prompted her to abandon sanitation
Helping villagers in their desperation,
She worked with all her might.
Until an angry crowd stormed in
During one fateful night
The people that she loved,
Forgot how to be human.

They weren’t worthy of her presence,
Filled with ignorance.
How could they understand,
Her faith through sacrifice?
They thought they were being zealous
Fearing what she loved,
The world was so unworthy
Yet God comforted her from above.

Heroes of the faith—Both the young and the old
Whether it’s Missionaries over eighty,
Evangelizing through an Ecuador radio station.
Or perhaps the passionate preacher,
Stirring up his church.
Or just the student in her class
Not afraid to respond “Yes” when gunmen ask,
“Do you believe in God?”

In mocking, torments, or even death—
The question still remains:
“Will you live a life in which—
The world was unworthy of your presence?”

Greg Butz
1-30-08

----
I was in bed, nearly asleep when this poem came into my mind. My mind kept repeating the words, the "World was unworthy of their presence." Hebrews Chapter 11:36-38. This prompted me to write this little poem. Each portion of this poem is in some way true. I do not remember the names, but I've heard the stories.

The last, the couple in the Ecudor Radio Station is the Allens, the pastorial couple who married my parents, they're serving in Latin America, in Quito, Ecudor.

This one really makes me think, am I willing to do all of this for Christ. I hope that I am.

The Swishing Blade before the Thunderous Applause

The Swishing Blade before the Thunderous Applause

They dragged him out into the street,
Blinded by their fear, rage and ignorance.
He was beaten, bruised and sullied—
Stripped of his dignity and unrecognizable.

They shouted in disdain at his appearance,
And the screams for more blood rose up.
But to contrast the hysteria of these events,
His eyes were soft as he knelt on the ground.

Kicked in the face once more,
The strike knocked him prone to the earth.
Blood oozed from his now shattered jaw—
Much to the pleasure of the crowds.

Their god knew nothing of love—
This people knew nothing yet of grace.
But as he lay there broken outside,
Inside he muttered, “Father forgive them.”

Over and over they lashed out—
Wanting him to recant his beliefs.
But each blow he endured was not turning him back
For each one reminded him how much salvation cost.

Finally the crowds had their run of fun—
There was business still left to be had.
A militant man wearing a black hood appeared,
Brandishing a blade of sharpened steel.

Once again the crowds roared out in approval,
Yelling praises to their deaf god.
But His was a God, who waited in silence,
Waiting to welcome this man of faith home.

The anticipation was unbearable,
As the blade raised high in the air.
All but a second did the intense pain last—
Ebbed when his praying head detached.

And the crowds cheered and clapped—
While his head gazed skyward when it ceased to roll.
But his ears did not hear the crowds nor did his eyes take notice—
For up above stood the Son of Man, thunderously welcoming him home.

-By Greg Butz, January 21-2009

Message Behind this Poem:

The title for this poem was formed the night prior, on a train while talking to a friend. My friend and I had just left an impact group (cell group or house church). I mentioned in passing part of my life story and that I was unafraid of the “swift piece of metal before the thunderous applause.”

However, the concept for this one finds its roots many years earlier. As I related to him, I explained how I used to suffer from tremendous depression – and encountered hostile thoughts of myself. Late at night I used to beg God to let go of me, and let me die (echoing the prayers of Elijah). I am thankful that ours is a God who listens to our prayers, but does not always answer them the way we see fit.

One night, about five or six years ago in a January or a December– I was enduring a familiar stretch of depression. Again I called out to God to take me away from the pain, but instead, He gave me an alternative thought. My death could be selfish—or it could become quite useful and significant to His Kingdom. So while I thought of how much pain it was to endure life, He could use it to advance the gospel.

So there are times when I feel down, and even times when I’m outright lonely. I just think back to that commitment I had with Christ and now I can fully recognize all of depressions sly lies.

Without any fear of death – I’m still journeying through life. I wonder if my commitment to die anyway He sees fit was easier than dying each day to myself. Anyway this is poem is a tribute to my future death – if indeed I’m supposed to die this way. But even if I die of natural causes or in my sleep—I must remember, that I must die each day for Christ.

--Be a good soldier for Jesus Christ! 2 Timothy 2:3

Colossians 3:1-4

1Therefore if you have been raised up with Christ, keep seeking the things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.

2Set your mind on the things above, not on the things that are on earth.

3For you have died and your life is hidden with Christ in God.

4When Christ, who is our life, is revealed, then you also will be revealed with Him in glory.

2 Corinthians 5:15

“And he died for all, so that they who live might no longer live for themselves, but for Him who died and rose again on their behalf.

Romans 12:1

“Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship.”

Worthwhile

Worthwhile

A sense of accomplishment is all he asks, or a wink and a smile,

Something to say that he has worth, is that too much to ask?

Always floating down the halls, a happy face is difficult to be;

When deep inside, as hard as he tries, he never feels worthwhile.

To say he’s always sad, is a to misunderstand his feelings—

What he really means to say is this, oh never mind, you’ve already walked away.

Can you not see, I want more than this?

Do I need to beg?

I just want a warm, friendly touch, a conversation?

A little slice of happiness, just to know I exist.

They say he is a friendly chap, the real life of the show.

But I know for a fact that his doubts prevail, whenever he’s not on stage.

Is he loved, is he needed? Do they even care?

Nobody knows, they’re too busy to show, he really is worthwhile.

-- Greg Butz

05-14-08

Until the Journey Ends

Until the Journey Ends

Why are we fallen, why are we frail?

Why do we often allow evil to prevail?

Why do we hurt, why do we hunger?

Why does our passion for Him oft slumber?

Though joy may seem distant and weak—

Still His strength and love will I constantly seek.

To seek His face and long for His heart—

To gaze upon righteousness and not let it depart,

I will follow in His footsteps each and every day—

And Lord if I stumble, comfort, pick me up, and show me the way.

Everlasting to everlasting this trail I will not relinquish—

And death shall not prevail, nor my hope ever extinguish.

For I am coming, Lord Jesus, I am coming—

Keep your arms extended for me, I am coming.

While this journey is not over, perhaps it’s only begun

Until the Journey Ends—I’ll say it again

I am coming, Lord Jesus, I am coming—

Keep your arms extended for me, for I am coming.

Greg Butz

5-23-08

This Thinking…

This Thinking…

Sometimes I get this thinking,
Why does my world keep sinking?
-- And the walls come tumbling down?

This knot that’s in my stomach,
Is causing me some heartache.
-- If I could only get some faith.

Though it’s not plain to see
Exactly who’s beside of me,
I need to trust in the Unseen.
It’s not new, even though I can’t view,
He was beside me all the time.

Although my world is slipping,
This hold on me is gripping,
-- And it keeps me from falling down.

So, I will keep on trusting
As my faith does some adjusting,
-- For I know He won’t let me fall.

Greg Butz

6-18-08

The Window

The Window

Peering out the window is difficult—

When the pains are stained with dirt.

The world takes on an odd shade,

When our perceptions become distorted.

Its not intentional you see,

Nor do I wallow in self deception

But my neglect of window washing,

Has painted an unclear picture.

At first the view was hazy,

Not too bad in the beginning.

But the dust that clouds the outside,

Have begun to cloud my judgment

We all have a window,

In which we use to view the world.

Sometimes we venture outward — only to find

It more comfortable to do our watching from the inside

The window itself was never the problem,

You and I both have one.

But if we fail for a moment to keep our windows clean

We will distort how reality was intended to be seen.

Greg Butz

6-15-06

The Jackhammer

The Jackhammer

Chipping endlessly away at the pavement,

Piece by piece knocked loose—

Cacophony sung louder than harmony,

In this symphony made of sound.

Neighbors complained that the noise violation—

Robbed them of their once pleasant day.

Thoughtlessly, they were unaware of the transformation—

That would one day be on display.

As the earth shuddered in its embrace,

Ceaselessly, the jack hammer continued to pound—

Stripping away all the impenetrable defenses,

And the vaunted clothing of the ground.

Nearing the end of construction—

There was wonder at their production.

The shrill grinding ebbed toward deletion,

As they basked in the result of their completion.

Was it necessary?

Some argued that this was all planned.

Did it justify the abuse?

There were those who just didn’t understand.

I smiled at their notions and laughed silently to myself.

As for me, it didn’t matter why they made this stand—

For, I had been wearing my earplugs,

Until they finished tearing up the land.

--

Typed one day after school. It was so difficult to teach over the shrill of the loud noises...

I thought this humorous poem has a lovely twist ending. :)

The Life of the Teacher

The Life of the Teacher

Scatterbrained and full of noise,
They come into my class.
“Where’s your binder and your notes,”
I’m almost afraid to ask.
“You’re ten minutes late,
Where have you been?”
I adamantly demand from them.
So they let loose
And with sad, sad faces
Told me their excuse

“Well, we didn’t hear the bell ring.
And my dog ate all of my homework.
That project would have been complete
If American Idol had just repeat
And this silence that were breaking
Is social skills were making
So you wouldn’t want us to act contrite
And stop misbehavin’ here, right?

Well I ignored their desperate pleas
For they and I did disagree.
In their minds they would feel just
But lesson starting is a must.
With that the class did commence
That at least was the plan.
But twenty-five minutes of fire stopping
Had shortened their attention span.

Johnny, Johnny don’t eat that.
And Sally stop being mean to Matt.
I suppose it would all be fine,
If I wasn’t talking to grade nine.
Grades ten and eleven I have to hush,
Because when the start they all just gush.
But with grade twelve, I swear its worse
For getting good behavior, I must coerce.

As the lesson began disintegrate,
I desperately tried to reiterate.
But they would have none of that.
Their attitude toward me did combat.
With minutes left for them to leave
I feel the noose begin to lift,
When the bell rings this time around,
I think its me whose gonna quit.

Yes, you heard me straight I’m going home alright
And I’m slamming this darn door.
I’m not coming back, yeah right,
For this abuse anymore.
And when I leave this place
You’ll see my face No more…
Well…. Until work begins tomorrow

And I walk back through the door.
Now I know those kids aren’t too bad
Even though their graded work is a little sad
And I love them all to pieces,
I just gotta smooth over all their jagged creases.

By Greg Butz

10-30-08

The Broken Pieces

The Broken Pieces

All we are, are broken pieces

Flung off the shelf and shattered on the floor

Too broken to put back together?

Our lives feel so isolated,

We cannot take it any more.

Battered and abused,

Leaves us feeling so confused

What hope do we have in promises?

The pieces, the pieces,

There are too many broken pieces.

All we have are broken dreams

“Useless, useless” scream our inadequacies

What was all that purpose —

In that pain from our past?

Our dreams lay in shambles unlaunched and ignored

The smile on our face

Masks the torment and disgrace

We lie because we fear

Being honest in revealing

This brokenness that we’re feeling

Is there hope still left for us,

Can you come and rescue us?

From our shame and our fears

This sadness and our tears

…And heal our broken pieces?

Yes, heal those broken pieces.

Thank You Lord

Thank You Lord

Thank you Lord,

For getting me through another day.

Thank you Lord,

Even when I forgot to stop and pray.

And thank you Lord,

For giving me the strength to run this race.

And at the end of the day,

I can always count on your embrace!

And so my heart cries out,

“Thank you Lord.”

Thank you Lord,

For seeing me through another night.

Thank you Lord,

For not giving up on me when my life’s not right.

Thank you Lord,

For pouring blessings down on me I don’t deserve.

Sometimes I may loose sight,

Although I want to serve,

I come back to you and say:

“I thank you Lord.”

By Greg Butz

9-22-08

pURGED bY tHE fIRE

pURGED bY tHE fIRE

Why are there trials in the world, and other things that bring us pain? So often I’ve heard people remark that they will be made stronger because of them—then why is it that I feel this way? My head tells me that trials purge away the unnecessary elements—that which is left will come forth from the fires as precious gold.

Then why is it that I feel that everything is burning away? My hopes, my dreams, my ambitions—they are all being consumed by the fire. While my desires all remain unmet, somehow all of my needs are always fulfilled.

Who is it that I am becoming? If my desires are stripped away—than what have I become? This partial living, this dichotomy is characterizing my existence.

“Hope in the unseen” is what I’ve heard. I thought it was love that supposed to be blind—but now hope too has to be included.

The fire burns intense, it burns bright, and it burns hot. I am being consumed by the fire. It was painful, but I emerge once again from the fire.

I cannot see the finished product—I do not know what it is that I am becoming. The metallurgist pounds furiously away at me.

I rather enjoyed that dimple and that splotch, but I suppose it does not suit the metallurgist’s purpose. It’s gone now… the memory remains, but I am being changed.

Back into the flame, I am plunged again. I think I understand what the metallurgist is trying to do. It is easier to be shaped when I am in the fire. Without the flames, I prefer my original shape—but this flame forces me to give up all that I have held onto.

In the flames, I wonder why couldn’t I be shaped by less drastic measures, but I realize that I am stubborn. Why would I conform to any other method—no I suppose it must be in the fire.

Purged—it’s been purged away.

Out of the fire I emerge—different and changed. He continues to fashion me into the vessel he wants me to be. Perhaps he wants me to be a cup or perhaps a vase… does it matter anyway? Whatever I become, I have a specific purpose to fulfill.

Back into the fire I go—is this time different? Do I fully understand what the maker is doing? I don’t suppose I do. My suggestions go unacknowledged… perhaps He smiles at them, perhaps they fit into a different place in his timeline.

All I know is that I am back in the fire again: and it doesn’t seem so bad this time.

No Time

No Time

Crammed into the day

Too much information to dissuade

Me from getting to the things

That really matter.

Always on my mind

The worries of this life

It keeps me from focusing on the things

Of greater importance.

I just don’t understand

Why I’m constantly consumed

On the things I’ve always presumed

Were of greater significance.

Instead, I’ve come to realize,

I’ve been wasting my time

On things unsubstantial,

Rather than the things that really matter.

Just Being Your Pet

Just Being Your Pet

Maybe I'll play in the house today,
Chasing the other cats all around.
Sometimes it seemed like I tormented them,
Tackling them hard, to the ground.

I may have never been real good,
At expressing all my emotions.
You should know I meant no harm,
It’s just my way of saying, “How are you?”

Maybe today I'll sit in your lap,
It looks like you need company, or could use a friend.
I know you liked to scratch behind my ear,
And to be quite honest, I enjoyed it too.

And perhaps, I’ll just sit at the window’s ledge,
And watch all the birds as they build their nests.
But most importantly the thing that I did best,
Was just enjoy being your pet.

So thanks for rescuing me from the storm,
And letting me run under your bed to hide.
You should know that I was thrilled
When you first let me come inside.

And though I may have slept all day long—
And batted the curtains during the night.
The one thing I enjoyed the most in life,
Was just being your pet.

So thanks, thanks, thanks, from the bottom of my kitty heart,
Thanks for letting me be your pet.


A Poem for my family, on the passing of a family pet.

In His Grip

In His Grip

I can’t let go, I can’t let go—

I know there are times when I tried to.

When my fingers loosened, his tightened.

He’s holding my hand, my hand—

I feel like a child, being led to a place I do not know.

Sometimes I’m indignant, but he patiently leads.

He’s dragging me, dragging me!

I don’t want to go! I refuse!

He is gentle, yet firm despite my stubbornness.

He holds my hand in the pain, my struggles.

I’ve stumbled and bumped my knee, I’m crying in my hurt.

He is still holding my hand and his other’s on my shoulder.

I’m trying to break loose, to escape!

I’ve forgotten the hand; I’ve pretended it doesn’t exist.

He allows me my freedom, to make my own mistakes.

And then I remember his hand, is it still there?

It is. How could he still hold onto me?

Does he know what I’ve done? Does he know my shame?

I tell him I’m ready again—and he smiles.

He’s leading me again, this time I’m keeping up.

I’m running and its alright because he’s right beside me.

I can’t let go, I don’t know how.

Because He doesn’t know how to let go of me.

I Do Not Require Serenity

I Do Not Require Serenity

I do not require serenity

I do not desire simplicity

I do not need security

I will not demand stability

What must I do for you to see,

I will not embrace hypocrisy—

To wear my faith like a badge

As if it is “cool” or “hip” to do.

It seems to me like you’ve become a tool,

And sold out to the master of complacency.

Take a stand for what you believe,

Step out on the water and brave the waves.

Boldly proclaim and suffer the shame—

And cling fast to the hope found in Jesus name.

And one thing I ask, that you do not become

A Christian made of mediocrity.

Greg Butz

05-23-08

Be my deliverer, and I will be your servant,

Be my deliverer, and I will be your servant,

Be my deliverer, and I will be your servant,

I can hear you calling me from so far away.

Be my deliverer, and I will be your follower,

I am running towards you with my arms open wide.

For I am leaving all my ways, and surrendering to yours

And I am transferring all my faith, trusting only in You—

I have not a clue, of what I’m supposed to do,

But I know that you’ll come through, and show me what to do.

Be the rock of my salvation, enduring and unshakable.

Be the fortress of my dreams, mighty and unbreakable.

Be the deliverer outside the castle, thwarting all my foes.

But most important thing to me, be the Lord of my Life.

So I will call on you,

No one else will come.

I will shout the name of Christ,

It’s the only name that will suffice.

I will run to you.

Enter that place called rest.

And when my worries scream,

Praises to you I will sing.

You have answered me,

And picked me up from afar

I will rest in you now.

For you’re the Lord of my Life.

An Inside Conversation

An Inside Conversation

Put a smile on your face—

But I feel so empty inside.

There’s peace to be found—

But I’m lost, Oh so lost.

Don’t worry about tomorrow,

It’s today that brings me pain.

Cast all your cares on Him

Why burden Him with my sorrow?

Don’t you know that He loves you?

Yes, I recognize that.

Can’t you see that He cares for you?

Yes, I believe that He does.

Then why do you doubt in His saving grace?

Because, I have no strength left to finish this race.

It’s ok, my child, but one thing you should know—

You’re being carried to the finish line.

~ Greg Butz

05-20-08

A Simple Prayer

A Simple Prayer

Praise to the Lord,

And glory on high!

For his love will supply—

It does not run dry.

It picks me up,

When troubles take me down.

His love I have found,

His strength will surround.

And when I’m weak and weary

I’m not looking back—

And I won’t become slack,

Or veer from this track.

He has charted a course,

And I’m going to follow

Wherever He leads,

Onward I proceed!

And when it becomes rough I will fear no evil.

Until forever with you is unveiled,

Your will in my life will prevail.

--Greg Butz

9-11-08

Hello, Goodbye, Is there anymore to life?

Hello, Goodbye, Is there anymore to life?

I saw you just the other day,
I was going to stop to say hello—
Some things just were on my mind,
And I lost track of time.

I didn’t realize it that moment,
There wouldn’t be another “hi”
Nor the chance to tell you
That “I loved you” and “goodbye.”

I saw God working in your life,
And I knew that you were His child.
But this pain cuts through me like a knife,
That He’d take you away too soon.

How could this even happen?
You’re smile; I can’t believe it’s gone.
I miss you so much you know
You’re all that’s on my mind.

And I wonder… wasn’t life supposed to be better than this?

Now I’m empty on the inside,
I’m broken and feel hollow.
My eyes haven’t begun to dry
From the tears that now have followed.

This pain, is real—
At times it seems unbearable.
But somehow I must continue on—
Though I have no strength.

Yes God, I know that there will be a time when life is better than all of this.

But God I want to know,
Why it was her and not me?
Why did you take her from me too soon?
And what all of this means?

Sometimes I want the answers!
Though I am full of pain,
But I know I have to wait.
Help me cling steadfast to your name.

So none of this makes sense now and perhaps it never will--
But I know one day I’ll see you again when life is better than this.

-- Greg Butz 9/30/08

This was originally written for my sister, after the death of one of her friends. I never met her, but I wrote this for her to help her grieving.

Goodspeed

Walking down this lonely road
It takes a toll on me.
And it’s hard to see exactly
The hand that’s in front of me.

Don’t you worry
Child don’t you fear
He is near to you
Let’s move his way-- Godspeed!

(Chorus)
Godspeed,
He’ll be with you
He will never ever Leave you!
Godspeed,
He’s before you
You Just gotta believe!

Verse Two

And though the journey is dark,

At times there is no light

I know my life has to shine

To combat this night.

And I will not grow weary

Nor will I concede,

I’m going keep on going

Moving at Godspeed

Black Light

I don’t want to be, just another black light

Fooled into giving false radiance

Phosphorescence shroud in mystery

Glowing with contempt

Darkness rejoices

As incandescence fades away—

The light has been replaced

By an object less luminous

Light the way,

What is there to see?

Not much, but lets pretend to enjoy the view

Black can’t be that bright anyway.

Infrared light—

Emitting in frequencies too low to observe

Beyond the spectrum of visible light

This is how the darkness wins.

Black Light, Black Light

It has hidden real light.

It once was bright.

Shining with all its might—

Now all I see is night

But it’s the middle of the day

Is there a way

To scare this darkness away

Before the light continues to decay

Black Light, Black Light

If it must be dark to see this light

We’ve found a false light

We’ve found a false light.

Carry Your Cross

Just a simple phrase was all he said,

As he bore the mark of indictment.

Not much strength left for his own regard,

For he shouldered the load for others.

And you and I can not comprehend,

How much sorrow he faced alone.

For it was because of our own shame,

That he died, rose, and conquered the grave.

Amazing love that carried the cross,

Forever changing that which once was lost.

And what can we do now that He’s won?

But to pick up love and carry our cross.

Carry the pain, carry the burden

We all need to carry our own cross.

Love each other, nurture one another—

Most importantly, carry your own cross.