This week we launch our third animated reading. The next five weeks of blog posts will draw from themes in the poem. If you like the video, please share with others.
The Potter and the Flute
There once was a Potter
Who formed a clay flute.
˜
Up to His mouth
He would place it and blow
And through it would gush
The warm wind of His love,
And out would flow music
So gloriously sweet.
˜
As happy as happy could be
Was the life of this flute.
It knew nothing else but freedom
Untold and liberty absolute.
˜
Day after day
The Potter would play
As his music gave life
And hope to the world.
˜
Then one day
The flute became selfish.
It wanted the music all for its own
And was not content
With the joy it had known.
˜
Next time when music was made
It sealed all its holes
In hopes the music
Could be claimed as its own.
˜
The old Potter was patient
As patient could be.
He adored His little flute …
That channel of love.
˜
So there He did sit,
And there He remained,
And never once
Did He even complain.
˜
He hoped and He hoped
This channel one day
Would again open up
And allow Him to play.
˜
In seeking to possess
What it never could own
The flute lost the life
That once it had known.
˜
With the sealing of all holes
And the music caught therein
That proud little flute
Thought its life was now set.
Not a care did it have…
Save the guilt of its sin.
˜
It was not long
‘Till the music did cease,
For fresh wind is vital
For music to be.
But change it would not,
For the sealing of its holes
Made it sadly deceived,
Claiming the echo inside
Was the real thing indeed.
˜
So days turned to months
And months turned to years,
And still sat the Potter
Now shedding some tears.
˜
Finally, one day the echo did cease.
Its sound fluttered down
And faded away.
Deception then broke as
Truth gushed in release.
˜
“Oh help me!” cried the flute.
“I was wrong all along!
If only I’d known
You own the song!”
˜
“I’m here!” cried the Potter.
“I never left you alone.”
˜
In sobs of remorse
And repentance unleashed,
The flute asked for the music
And life it once had.
˜
“You can have what was lost,
But you must be renewed.
Not only have you sealed
The holes I ordained,
But inside you’re corroded,
Cluttered, and stained.
By this blockage you’ve made
My breath will not blow through.”
˜
“Can You fix me?
Can You change me?”
Cried the flute.
˜
“Yes I can, but it truly shall hurt.
I must soak you and scrub you and scour you smooth –
Then, only then, will you be
What I made…
An uncluttered channel for My mercy and grace.”
˜
We too like the flute
Have gone our own way,
Seeking to own what we
Never could hold.
God’s glory is holy;
It cannot be bound.
˜
This is our privilege –
Through us blows His sound.
But we have this treasure in jars of clay ….
II Corinthians 4:7
This poem has been adapted from the poem by the same name in David Trementozzi, Light for the Dark Night: Embracing a Heart of Holy Desperation (Maitland, Fl.: Xulon, 2005).
