Stillness Calls (poem)

Stirred up and agitated

like the muddy pond, 

nothing is clear.

Stillness calls the particles down,

finding a home for everything.

As silence calls

through the door,

the pieces fall

into their storied place

beloved once more.

Your Face (a Poem)

 For my wife, Cheri, on her 50th birthday

March 24, 2021

When I first saw your face,

I lingered, captivated and determined to 

seek out and know

the spirit that shone through.

There was a brightness, you see

an invitation to presence.

Welcoming vast, like a Montana sky

with wildflower incandescence.

An expansive invitation

enthralling my imagination 

building a foundation

for a joyful habitation.

Your face holds great depths 

of being and becoming; 

awaiting the knowing 

it takes to be revealed.

Your face has lived much

in these last fifty years; 

many smiles, laughter and 

many more tears.

Lines on a face

like lines in a song

tell stories of love and loss;

of life lived long.

When we’re young, our pain causes us to hide in our faces,

presenting an image to the world;

but when we grow old we’re faced with choices

whether to return to earlier graces.

Many will never know the treasures that hide

they fail to pause and see;

they cannot know the smile you share

continues to ravish me!

Even more captivated and determined,

to grow old next to you

your face and mine, together tears and smiles

with lines aligned.

The glory of God grows

with each passing year

in and through the face that knows love

from ear to ear.

Old Man by the Fire (a Poem)

By Scott Holman

for my friend Dan- 

The old man by the fire

sits, in silence.

Alone but never alone

amidst a community of scars,

rehearsing their stories.

He rehearses his loves,

his pursuits,

his deep losses;

he realizes that nothing turned out

quite the way it was supposed to.

But the man sitting by the fire

finds himself

thankful, for the scars

somehow they

have given him room to breathe.

He realizes

after all this time 

that without all this disappointment 

he would never become

himself, free from all that is false.

He watches the fire,

tracing the work of the flames on the wood.

“Man is born to trouble,”

he growls,

“as sparks fly upward.”

As the fire turns to embers,

he knows his story isn’t done;

Lord willing, he will wake to another day

another fight

another love.

With the turning of the page,

in the blink of an eye,

in a popping flash of sparks;

he will find himself awakened

and awakening forever.

All tears wiped away,

all wounds healed.

Thankful for the scars

as each one holds 

his memory and identity.

He leaves a legacy of courage

to those with him around the fire; 

children and grand-children

listening and learning

the path for themselves.

This old man

presiding over thousands of fires,

is still fierce and 

full of wonder.

He’s becoming young again.

We Were Pastors Once (a Poem)

 To the Reader: this poem is an attempt to reflect on and redeem a very painful season of my story. I have been trying to tell the story for months (almost a year) but only this week felt free to let these words hit the page. I was one of three volunteer Pastors serving with a Lead staff Pastor for a period of about 2 years. All three volunteer Pastors resigned around the same time in the Spring of 2020.

We Were Pastors Once 

We were pastors once

Full of hope and vision

Though lacking experience

We leaned on each other.

We had friendship

A working partnership

The seeds of kinship

That never had a chance

To grow into trees

When our people 

Were limping and leaving

Bleeding and broken

Through the side door

Too scared to say why

Our burdened curiosity 

Weighted with questions

Our thoughts

Our questions 

Became unwelcome

Our friendship

vaporized

You became fixed

Immovable

Unwilling 

To have any other view

To consider your assumptions

To consider your theology

To consider your demands

The friendship 

It turns out

Was a sham

A mere functionality

To complete tasks

The cost 

Was becoming too high

As the carnage grew 

For integrity’s sake

For our own health

And those we loved

We left,

Devastated 

Destabilized

What sense 

Could be made of this?

Rubble, ruin

How could this be?

Why this story?

The saddest thing

Most painful part

Was how quickly you turned

Against us

Labeled us

Disloyal

Irrelevant 

All we had lived 

All we had planned

All we had prayed

It was now worthless to you

I hope you have what you wanted

A church all for yourself

Sadly your only reward

I fear the Lord left

Long before we did.

Lampstand removed?

Though you wrote us off

Once friends, now enemies

I would welcome you, I think

If you began to reach out

And seek to know

more than 

Your Theology

Your Control

Your Influence.