Oct | 16 | The Evocations of Bagpipe Music & Other Weird Skirlings

Dream Word – OBEY

Jeremiah 18:15 "Because My people have forgotten Me, They have burned incense to worthless idols. And they have caused themselves to stumble in their ways, From the ancient paths…” NKJV

The Evocations of Bagpipe Music & Other Weird Skirlings

Today, I was again reading one of the best devotionals ever written, Nicholas Albery’s, ‘Poem for the Day.’ I came across a piece by British poet, Louis MacNeice, called ‘Bagpipe Music.’ The poem is most certainly a crashing and crusading, inviting and indicting, cacophony of skirling and moving music! I loved it, I enjoyed it, I was moved by it and read it several times whilst wondering what on earth that it meant!?

One of the wonderful aspects about poetry is its evocative nature. The poem itself might present itself to be so complex and full of colour that even a third and fourth reading may still leave you with the sense that you ‘didn’t get it,’ or you ‘missed the point,’ never the less, it stirred something in you, it revived that something which was almost a remembrance of something else and for a few moments, it hooked you, it took you somewhere into your past, into a memory, into a sound maybe, a smell, a sight, a circumstance and it reminded you, it warned you, it warmed you, it caressed you and maybe even comforted you. Yes, one of the wonderful aspects of poetry, even if you don’t fully understand the totality of the piece itself , is its evocative nature.

Sermons too have an evocative aspect to them. Many times folks have left me in confusion, when coming up to me after a sermon they say, “I really was blessed by that point you made….,” or “It was so helpful when you said….,” or “God really spoke to me when you made reference to….” Yes, it has been confusing because often I wasn’t making that point, or wasn’t speaking on that matter and certainly had made no reference to the thing they thought I had! Yes, though not half as much fun, listening to a sermon is like listening to poetry, in that though the point may be missed, some other new spiritual synaptic pathway is never the less being burrowed into the brain, or more often than not, an old way of remembrance, like an old mine shaft, is being surprisingly opened up again! The new spiritual synaptic pathway will bring all the connectivity of light and life and joy whilst when the latter happens, that is, when old mine shafts are opened up by words, ghosts are released, sometimes weeping, sometimes screaming, sometimes laughing but always, yes always bringing the haunting to a close. This is good, for when a haunting’s over, then the rubbish can be removed, the wells can be unclogged and fresh air allowed to circulate once more in the inner recesses of our being.

Sometimes, often times, in both poetry and in sermons, it’s O.K to miss the point, as long as you let the words do their most wonderful of works. No matter how poor the human messenger, let God do His evocative burrowing, and His sealed mineshaft-revealing.

Listen: - Your words were found, and I ate them, And Your word was to me the joy and rejoicing of my heart; Jeremiah 15:16 NKJV

Pray:- I am called by Your name, O Lord God of hosts. I did not sit in the assembly of the mockers, nor did I rejoice; No, I sat alone because of Your hand, for You have filled me with indignation. So, why is my pain perpetual and my wound incurable, why does it refuse to be healed? Will You surely be to me like an unreliable stream, like failing waters? No, I know that if I return, then You will bring me back; So Lord, in all Your words, come and stand before me and reveal the hidden shaft and help me take out the precious from the vile, yes, with all your evocative drilling, come burrow in my brain right through to my 'knower', in Jesus name I pray, amen.

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Bagpipe Music

It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw,
All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow.
Their knickers are made of crepe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python,
Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with head of bison.

John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa,
Waited till it came to life and hit it with a poker,
Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whiskey,
Kept its bones for dumbbells to use when he was fifty.

It's no go the Yogi-man, it's no go Blavatsky,
All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi.

Annie MacDougall went to milk, caught her foot in the heather,
Woke to hear a dance record playing of Old Vienna.
It's no go your maidenheads, it's no go your culture,
All we want is a Dunlop tire and the devil mend the puncture.

The Laird o' Phelps spent Hogmanay declaring he was sober,
Counted his feet to prove the fact and found he had one foot over.
Mrs. Carmichael had her fifth, looked at the job with repulsion,
Said to the midwife "Take it away; I'm through with overproduction."

It's no go the gossip column, it's no go the Ceilidh,
All we want is a mother's help and a sugar-stick for the baby.

Willie Murray cut his thumb, couldn't count the damage,
Took the hide of an Ayrshire cow and used it for a bandage.
His brother caught three hundred cran when the seas were lavish,
Threw the bleeders back in the sea and went upon the parish.

It's no go the Herring Board, it's no go the Bible,
All we want is a packet of fags when our hands are idle.

It's no go the picture palace, it's no go the stadium,
It's no go the country cot with a pot of pink geraniums,
It's no go the Government grants, it's no go the elections,
Sit on your arse for fifty years and hang your hat on a pension.

It's no go my honey love, it's no go my poppet;
Work your hands from day to day, the winds will blow the profit.
The glass is falling hour by hour, the glass will fall forever,
But if you break the bloody glass you won't hold up the weather.

-- Louis MacNeice (British Poet - Northern Ireland - Father - A Rector- Written in 1930's)