April 17, 2005

• The Reverend Toby writes…

  
  

  Do you know I have written over 100 poems? I never meant to be a poet. I love poetry though. Edward Thomas, R.S. Thomas, Dylan Thomas, just to mention one surname!
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I never wanted to bore people with my own little woes, hopes and dreams, and I never showed my poetry to anyone until I had a blog.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I find the right-wing American view of our Lord most disturbing you know, there is so little compassion in it. Jesus was so compassionate that people mocked him for his compassion. Today Jesus would help gay people get married, respect the divorced and even understand abortion.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  That was why God sent Jesus to be among us, to show us that we are all equal in the eyes of God, if we show understanding and kindness to others.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  At the Second Coming there won’t be a heaven just for those who cry out the Lord’s name. Jesus showed us that was not the case. Muslims, athiests and others will go to heaven if their hearts are pure. And many who have taken holy orders, be it Bishops who molest children or Reverends who preach hate…there can be no room in heaven for those, those whose Christianity is only a mask for cruelity and selfishness and spite.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Perhaps that is why I write poetry, too many people are put off by Christianity because too many Christians have lost the plot, that is, it’s what is in a person’s heart is that matters, not what they have been taught to believe.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Here are three of my poems, the first to a fellow blogger who spoke of her father, the second about a dying parishoner, the third about my late wife who was killed when she lost control of her car some years back.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I hope you love them. if not, I am sure the Lord will love you, even if you do not believe of his existance.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  The Reverend Tobias Trontby †

  
  

   

  
  

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  Light Of The World. (For Brendaclews)
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Through your stained-glass window I see
  

  
  

  How so near to God you are,
  

  
  

  And when the sun shines through the colours
  

  
  

  You know that He is not far.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  You know how near he is to you
  

  
  

  Even when you close the window at night,
  

  
  

  You know He is there with your father
  

  
  

  Two men always in your light.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Whatever poets may have given you,
  

  
  

  However must fun, and yes, strife,
  

  
  

  There can be no man nearer to you
  

  
  

  Than the ones who gave you life.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  The Reverend Tobias Trontby †
  

  
  

  
   

  
  

  —

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  It was a long day’s journey into the night
  

  
  

  And into the next morning.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  But still I sat with him,
  

  
  

  My eyes heavy with soot,
  

  
  

  My mind fighting back my dreams…
  

  
  

  I still sat with him.
  

  
  

  I sat with him till he died
  

  
  

  And it was worth it.
  

  
  

  For he opened his eyes
  

  
  

  Just before the very end
  

  
  

  And thanked me for my journey
  

  
  

  Even as I prayed for his.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I dozed off doing my own sermon
  

  
  

  Later that morning.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  “Was it THAT boring vicar?”
  

  
  

  Asked a young man later.
  

  
  

  I smiled and said “yes,
  

  
  

  But isn’t life wonderful?”
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  The Reverend Tobias Trontby †
  

  
  

  
   

  
  

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  “A moment in time”.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Standing by the gate
  

  
  

  And singing,
  

  
  

  And always be there
  

  
  

  Singing…
  

  
  

  As the whole world begins to evolve
  

  
  

  Around only those few moments
  

  
  

  And no other.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  You singing the hymn
  

  
  

  I always loved,
  

  
  

  Singing it
  

  
  

  At our front gate;
  

  
  

  Ignoring the fierce rain
  

  
  

  And seeing only me.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Singing, always singing
  

  
  

  In the photograph I took
  

  
  

  With the camera of my mind
  

  
  

  On that wet winter’s day
  

  
  

  After my first sermon here
  

  
  

  In this old church.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I close the gate,
  

  
  

  A passing motorist stops
  

  
  

  Wondering why that old vicar
  

  
  

  Is standing by his gate
  

  
  

  In the pouring rain.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  The Reverend Tobias Trontby †
  

  
  

  
  

  
  —-

  • 7:21 am
  • 42 Comments