Some Thoughts on Wisdom
We were wandering the Barnes and Noble bookstore in Sioux Falls when John kindly proclaimed, “I want to get you something poetic for your birthday.” I was flattered, though not hopeful, that the corporate bookseller would have anything I wanted, but I was wrong. I hunkered down in the café with a stack of “poetic” volumes to consider. One of which was a memoir of sorts. Poems, lyrics, fragments and sketches from the prolific writer and singer-songwriter, Leonard Cohen.
I was compelled to buy it primarily because of what his son Adam had to say in the forward. In it, he described his father’s vast collection of notebooks. How as a kid, he’d ask for candy money, and upon pilfering through his dad’s coat pockets, he’d find notebooks with lyrics and poems scribbled on them. Later, as a young adult, he’d bum a smoke off him and inevitably find cocktail napkins or notepads with ideas scrawled across them, stuck there with the cigarettes. Once, when hoping to make a cocktail, Adam Cohen found a chilled notebook next to his father’s tequila in the freezer.
As a writer, I appreciate these snippets about the late legend’s life. I think that was what drew me to his published journal. I imagined those notebooks in the hands of a young novelist, a middle-aged singer, and then, even as an octogenarian, admittedly ready to welcome his own death; or so it would seem from the album he released just three weeks before he died.
That same weekend, per my request, we attended evening worship at our church in Sioux Center. I wanted to go because it was a communion service and it felt like it had been ages since I’d received the Lord’s Supper. That night, I anticipated communion, but I also appreciated our pastor’s sermon on Proverbs, chapter 2. He focused in on the arguments that begin with “if” and conclude with “then.” For instance, if you seek understanding, then you will find wisdom and it will illuminate your path.
As I let this rich sermon from the wisdom literature of the Bible wash over me, I also thought about my book purchase earlier in the day. Cohen’s life had been marked by tremendous opportunities, honors, experiences and awards. But it also seemed full of loss and loneliness.
The Old Testament Proverbs, from which our pastor preached, are a book of sayings from one generation to another. They are written in a tone that is instructive and protective. They are delivered with a firm gentleness to the reader who is addressed as “my child.” And the wisdom from its pages are nourishment and strength; beauty personified, and in the feminine. I love this about the Proverbs. In the guidance offered, there are two paths: the one to take and the one to avoid. To heed the wisdom of the author of Proverbs is to choose the path of “Lady Wisdom,” not of “Lady Strange.”
Last Sunday, I had another occasion in which Leonard Cohen came to mind. Our pastor had begun a new sermon series on the generations of the biblical patriarchs. He started with Joseph and worked forward and back, recalling the faithful activity of God among his beloved children, calling those who walked with him to bear witness to his goodness. It was a message painted in broad strokes, stemming from one brief verse: Genesis 37:2, “These are the generations of Jacob.” But in the family tree that spreads from that verse, a legacy of God’s provision stretches to incredible heights and depths.
Pastor Kurt closed his sermon with an excerpt from the Belgic Confession, extolling the sovereignty of God. The line that caught me was this one (emphasis mine):
“He watches over us with fatherly care,
Keeping all creatures under his control,
So that not one of the hairs on our heads
(For they are all numbered)
Nor even a little bird
Can fall to the ground
Without the will of our Father”
(Belgic Confession, Article 13).
Recently, I became familiar with a song Leonard Cohen wrote for the late, great Janis Joplin. In it, the singer struggles to admit how much he misses her, how often he thinks about her. In fact, the song itself betrays what he is trying to admit. He refers to Joplin – who died young and tragically by drug overdose – as a “fallen robin,” and, because of these words from Article 13 of the Belgic Confession, that is the image that struck me during Kurt’s sermon.
At our best, as sinful humans, plagued by wrong desires and haunting memories and regrets, we cannot amend nor reconcile every ill we’ve inflicted. Leaning on the wisdom of the world, we are shackled by collateral damage, and we are hopeless.
But when it comes to our Father in heaven, we are known; deeply known, truly known. Our generations, our struggles, our walks with the Lord and our departures from the path. Indeed, we worship a good God who knows us all, each numbered hair on our heads, and even those tragic scenarios that make no sense. He holds these in his infinite wisdom which is too lofty for us to grasp.
As I get older, the tenet of faith that is expressed in the words of this Confession resonates more and more. As I grapple with my own finitude and flaws, I am humbled, but stand firm on the steadfastness of a good God. The Lord who sits with us in our sorrow and draws us close. That is a foundation to trust in. Yes, were he around today, I would assure Leonard Cohen that our Lord knows “every fallen robin.”
Thanks for Reading.
The Cafe in My Head 
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div dir=”ltr”>I continue to be amazed