Golden Mouth, Golden Fire (for Saint John Chrysostom) by Jeff Callaway

 

Golden Mouth, Golden Fire

for Saint John Chrysostom

By Jeff Callaway

Texas Outlaw Poet

Born where the Syrian sun would blaze,
Antioch dust marked his early days.
Soldier’s son, mother’s prayer,
Childhood carved with Heaven’s care.
His name was John, but the ages spoke—
Chrysostomos, Golden-Mouth that broke
The silence with a voice that burned,
A prophet’s tongue the world had earned.

Before he preached, he trained his mind,
Libanius taught him speech refined.
The pagan wept when John chose Christ,
For he had lost his star, his brightest light.
John fled the world, the desert called,
Fasted till his body stalled.
Knees like leather, prayers like fire,
Sickness struck, but not desire.
Back to the city, sharper than steel,
A sword of truth no crown could kill.

In Antioch they made him stand,
A preacher forged by God’s own hand.
He cracked the Word like breaking bone,
Fed the marrow to hearts of stone.
Told the rich to sell their gold,
Told the lazy work, be bold.
Told the priests be holy, clean,
Or leave the pulpit, sight unseen.
He named the sins by name and date,
He called the emperor to repent before it’s late.

And Constantinople heard the fire,
Dragged him north, their new desire.
In 397 they placed the crown,
Made him bishop, nailed him down.
But power hates the prophet’s cry,
He stripped the palace, let gold fly.
He told the Empress truth to face,
Condemned her pride, her court, her place.
They schemed, they plotted, drove him far,
But the city rioted like a war.
Lightning struck the church with dread,
They dragged him back as if from dead.

He thundered louder, voice unbound,
Till they exiled him to frozen ground.
Through mountain roads and bitter cold,
His body broke, but faith stayed bold.
He died in 407’s dawn,
His final breath a whispered song:
“Glory be to God for all,”
Even as the shadows fall.

Rome calls him saint, the East agrees,
Doctor of the Church, a man on knees.
Patron for preachers, fearless and true,
For every soul who dares the pew.
Because soft words cannot save the land,
Because we need fire, not sleight of hand.
Because palaces still sell their souls,
Because the Gospel still shakes control.
Because the poor still cry for bread,
And tyrants still crown their heads.

And still his Liturgy fills the sky,
Still the angels’ wings beat by.
Still his words ignite the grave,
“Fear not death—Christ came to save!”

So on his feast, we strike the drum,
We preach like thunder when we come.
No crowns, no titles, just burning breath,
Truth that outlives tyrants’ death.
We call the world to Christ’s own side,
We lift the broken, crush the pride.
Golden Mouth still shouts today,
Repent, believe, prepare the way.

~ Jeff Callaway

Texas Outlaw Poet

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