Poets reflect on the quake
Taonga News
| 28 Feb 2011
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Where is God in Christchurch?
By the Rev Andy Eldred, Vicar of St Luke's, Greytown
As the tears run down the dusty faces
and the earth shakes beneath frightened feet
When the clouds of smoke from ruined places
rise over destruction so complete
There is a question
Where is God?
Some believe that God's not there Or entirely non-existent
Some are angry that it's so unfair that God's love seems inconsistent
Some believe that God is mean and made the earth to shake
Some believe that Judgement is the reason for the quake
Still others cling to hope and faith as cathedral spires fall
For they understand what Jesus taught about God's love for all
The answer to the question is striking in its clarity
God is in the hearts and minds of all who think with charity
God is in the hugs of love and comfort in the sadness
God is in the words of hope that speak above the madness
God is in the rescuers who work all through the night
God is in the leaders who are trying to do what's right
God is in the food that's given lovingly at no cost
God is in the businesses who choose to take a loss
God is in the neighbor with a shovel in his hand
God is in the gifts that come from all across our land
God is in the parent's arms that hold their children close
God is in the wisdom to know what matters most
There is another question we should ask ourselves today
When all the graves are covered and the rubble is cleared away
Will things go back to normal to the way they always were?
Where profit more than people is what makes us feel secure?
Perhaps the saddest thing will be after all the grief and fear
Is that it all go goes back to normal and we forget that God is here
What the Drummer Said to the Drum
By Gary McCormick
You miserable low life bastard.
We saw you on the fourth of September calling into town on your spineless spine, giving us a flick and looking us over.
It was an earthquake then for the yellow pages. Remember the torch, the bottles of water.
In September you were just the piano player, tinkling the ivories. In moustache. Pretty out there. Eyeing the women on the dancefloor.
Then my o my you waited!
I saw you the other day run up a blind alley full of hatred and dark breath. Black clouds only pity us.
You held us down on the jagged ground. You shook the streets and the city buildings. You tore the spire from the cathedral.
And all those people.
The tourists taking photographs, the babies taken in pairs, the hikers in the hills.
The ones buried beneath us still.
You miserable bastard of a thing!
The time has come.
Said the drummer to the drum.
When I can make no sense of it
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