Why The Tempest was written
The tempest was brewing, a hurricane to be precise, located about
200 miles south of us in the Gulf of Mexico.
I said to my wife, why don't we run
down to Galveston and take a
look at the Gulf, it might be interesting, she
agreed.
As we parked and got out, we could
see the water crashing against the
seawall and the taste of salt in the air
was distinct.
As we watched for a few moments I began to think
of the Disciples as they were being storm tossed and
the
fear they had in their hearts.
The
Tempest
Cold winds across the open sea
Force monstrous waves upon the deep
Awakening those that sleep.
Hearts race as they grope in
huddled fear
Kneeling there upon the deck unclear
Awaiting deaths
sure snare?
The brightness of the lightning's
flash
The booming thunder's awesome roar
Will we be here no more?
The sting of spray upon their face
The crashing of the waves to shore
Can our fate be certain sure?
There, a glimmering of hope
Walking to us still afloat
On the water to our boat?
A ghost we're sure as we surmise
The waters calm as we arise
And Are we still alive?
My eyes were fixed upon his face
As he walked toward the place
Wherein we sat.
I decided then and there
To
walk upon the water's fair
Toward my master.
I removed my eyes from him
And
my heart was filled with sin
And I began to sink.
He reached a hand toward the place
Where I had lost my grace
And pulled me to him.
He looked lovingly upon me
As
he asked this question of me
What have you faith or fear?
Russell R
Cranmer Jr.
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