An unlikely yoking: Poems of the Incarnation (4)

 

For the Harvest
Ask the Lord of the harvest to send out workers…. Matthew 9:38

He doesn’t necessarily want
professional preachers,
TV evangelists,
or super-apostles.
He wants persons
like you and me
who are willing to learn
to say the words
and do the stuff.
Apparently the Almighty
chooses not to do it alone.
Chooses us.

Supporting Actor
… a man with a shriveled hand was there. Mark 3:1

The man with the shriveled hand
was not the hero of his story.
He was given no speaking parts,
his character was not developed,
and only once was he asked
to stand before the audience.
The protagonists—Jesus and his accusers—
took the stage,
moved the plot forward,
and carried off the non-conclusion
with a sense of suspense
for all that would follow.

Yet that silent secondary actor
walked out into the morning,
his hand healed,
his life changed.


To the Jesus I See in Matthew
(to the me I see)
He who does not take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Matthew 10:38

My Lord,
I long to delight you
as you delight the Father,
but I fear your anger.
I can’t live up to your demands.
My heart is not pure.
It’s hard to forgive.
It’s hard to have faith.
My prayers for healing fall short.
My eyes and ears don’t pick up on nuance.
There’s much I don’t understand.
Have mercy on me.
That’s all I can pray.
Lord Jesus Christ,
Son of the living God,
have mercy on me,
a sinner.


An Unlikely Yoking
Come to me, all you who are weary…. Take my yoke upon you…. Matthew 11;28-29

God blesses us with rest,
then places an implement
of work around our necks,
gives us a load to carry on our backs,
and places us in a field.
He makes us his apprentices,
teaches us to rest as we work,
to labor in peace.
We return home
at the end of the day,
strangely refreshed.

Inappropriate Choices: Poems of the Incarnation (3)

I Thought/He Says

Matthew 8-11

I thought it was
honor your father and mother
cling to your wife/husband
raise your children
love

He says
leave them all
don’t even bury your dad
don’t wait ‘til they all grow up
follow me
now

I thought his name was
Mighty God, High-and-Lifted-Up
Don’t-dare-look-me-in-the-face

He calls himself
humble teacher
gentle of heart
says come, learn, rest

I thought labor meant
hard work
competition
sleepless nights
exhaustion

He says
no sweat
let’s do this together

I thought cross meant
pain
suffering
shame
death

He says
hoist it
your custom-made backpack
dying is the easy part
let’s go hiking


Inappropriate
He saw Levi … sitting at the tax collector’s booth. “Follow me,” Jesus told him. Mark 2:14

I’m confused, Jesus,
by your inappropriate choices.
Considering your credentials,
you could be more selective,
adopt higher standards.
Levi? Tax collector, traitor
to his people, collaborator
with the enemy. Come on, Jesus.
You can do better than that.
Do you really want to include
marginal people on your executive
council? Consider the publicity.
It might cost you the election
to whatever post you have in mind.
Think of your image.
  

Invitation
“Follow me,” Jesus told him…. Mark 2:14

It comes when least expected
In the middle of the night
I awaken, dream pictures
drifting away,
and on the edge of consciousness,
“Follow me.”
At my computer
pondering how to respond
to a difficult message,
the reminder,
“Follow me.”
Walking to the office,
head down, worrying
this task or the other,
a gentle nudge,
“Follow me.”
At the moment of temptation
to irritation—the inappropriate
remark, the socially inept
gesture—he whispers,
“Follow me.”
It’s there at the unanticipated
turn, the interruption,
the sudden darkness.
Throughout the day
and into the night,
alone or in a crowd,
when I’m ready
and when I’m not,
the offered hand, 
the quiet word, “Come.
Follow me.”

 

The Lonely Places: Poems of the Incarnation (2)

The Lonely Places

Very early in the morning… Jesus got up … and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed. Mark 1:35; 14:32-42

He sought out the lonely places
in the darkness before dawn.
The wild places drew him—
the desert, a mountain trail,
a spot between the roots
of an ancient oak. A stream close by
gurgled its own prayer.
There in the solitude
he sat in silence
or wrestled with words,
holding the world’s agony
in his heart. There he listened.
Three years hence, he would pray
in a garden. No place
would ever be more lonely.


Indignant
Jesus was indignant. He reached out his hand and touched the man…. Mark 1:41

It was a brief but uneasy encounter.
On his knees and using his beggar voice,
If you want to you could heal me,
the scruffy man pleaded.
It irritated Jesus,
this whining attempt at manipulation.
Even so—the touch.
Leprosy spots vanished,
the man rose to his feet.
With no tender words, Jesus
demanded silence.
Was the man listening?
It seems not. He went out
and bragged so freely
Jesus had to leave town.
It was not the best of encounters.


Willing
Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean. Luke 5:12

The leper had heard of the miracles,
possibly witnessed a healing or two,
but he doubted any of it could apply to him.
Not only miracles, but basic good luck
was something that happened to other people.
And so the face-in-the-dirt
tentative groping, the if-you-are-willing request.
The first miracle, and possibly the greatest,
was that Jesus touched him, laid a hand on his skin
without shuddering.
And then the impossible words,
I am willing. These words reach down
the years, touch my skin and my fear,
tell me my future is as good
as the mercies of God.
He’s willing.


I Am Willing
Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. “I am willing,” he said. Matthew 8:3

I confess I’m like
the man with leprosy.
I approach Jesus hesitantly,
with trepidation.
I’ve had this condition for so long.
I’ve asked before, and nothing happened.
Others have prayed for me.
People with impressive healing ministries
have laid hands on me and ordered
the illness to leave. It stayed.
I’ve disappointed a lot of people.
What do I make of the promises?
Am I the exception to the rule
that Jesus heals every disease and sickness?
I’m still waiting to hear him say to me,
I’m willing.

Poems of the Incarnation (1)

 Understatement
… he was hungry.  Matthew 4:2

Of course he was hungry
after a 40 day fast in the desert.
The emptiness clawed
and his limbs shook.
The adversary waited
until the optimal hunger point
to offer food, miracle, and authority.
Jesus held his temper,
not giving the tempter even that
small gain, and calmly quoted Scripture.
Only once did he raise his voice.
Away from me, Satan!
The devil went.


The Angels Came
… and angels came and ministered to him. Matthew 2:4

Even the Son of Man
needed help and comfort
in the places of pain.
He was like us
in every way.

He Took a Whip
He made a whip of cords, and drove all from the temple courts…. John 2:15

This harsh angry Jesus alarms me.
He makes a weapon,
lifts it against both men and beasts.
He even attacks the furniture.
He throws money about
in what looks like a first class
temper tantrum.
He yells and commands, casts
people out. Apparent entitlement
and a complete lack of trust
in his fellow human beings
round out this ugly portrait
of a man who scares me.
His Father may have
“so loved the world”
but his son doesn’t appear
to even like it.


It Leaves Me Breathless
At once…. Without delay…. As soon as they left…. Mark 1:12, 20, 29

The plot doesn’t thicken.
It stretches thin
with the speed of a rabbit’s race
to the finish. At once the Spirit
pushes him into the wilderness.
Without delay, without a second
thought, Simon, Andrew, James and John
leave their lives to rush
after him. As soon as they left
the synagogue, they hightailed it
to Simon’s house where his mother-in-law
experienced a rapid healing,
with no recovery time necessary.
So quick quick
so slick and sudden.
After all, Jesus said,
Now is the time.
The kingdom’s here.
This is your moment.
Believe it. Repent.


Questions about Demons    
I know who you are—the Holy One of God! Luke 4:34

How is it that the demons
all knew you, were among the first
to call you the Holy One of God,
the Christ, the Son of God?
How could those with twisted vision,
filthy mouth, and scheming hearts
know you when no one else had a clue?
Why did they scream your holy names?
Why did you demand their silence?
Did you not want to be known?
And why, seeing you so clearly,
did they not fall at your feet
and worship?


Another Take on Silencing the Demons
Luke 4

The reputation
of the witness
matters.

A voice in the wilderness: poems of John the Baptist

Like a Jackal
… a voice of one calling in the wilderness…. Mark 1:3

Like a jackal
or a mountain lion,
John cried out
from the wild places.
A survivor, he knew
how to eat off the land,
clothe himself in animal skins,
shelter among the rocks.
He chose isolation
until he knew
his time had come.

Baptism by Fire
He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. Matthew 3:11

No gentle man, this John.
He names the religious leaders
a den of snakes
and calls out their arrogance.
He warns of a fiery baptism to come.
Repent! he shouts
as they turn and walk away.
His ratings as a preacher
couldn’t be lower.

The Message
After me comes one more powerful…. Mark 1:7

John’s message
was simple, two-fold.
Turn from your sins.
And, It’s not me.
It’s him.
His voice
echoes down the years.

It’s him.
It’s him.
It’s him.

Grace to Step Aside
He must become greater; I must become less. John 3:30

Teach me to step down, my Lord,
to rejoice when I see your Spirit
poured without measure
on other writers, speakers, teachers,
on my children and grandchildren,
on those much younger than me.
Teach me the joy of praying
from the sidelines, “Thy kingdom
come. Thy will be done.”
Let me move with grace into
my changing role.

Even Herod
Herod feared John and protected him. Mark 6:20

Bad press to the contrary,
Herod was drawn to the light
he saw shining through
the rough desert man.
In spite of the harsh
words against his marriage,
Herod liked to listen to John.
He tried to protect
the vulnerable prophet
from those who would silence him.
Yet it was his own foolishness,
haste, and fear of what people would say
that brought on  the mockery
of the head-on-a-platter scene.
Drawn to the light,
now swallowed in darkness,
he had come so close.

Celebrating with the archangels

 Today is my birthday. It’s a big one—80 years old. Some time ago I discovered that on the liturgical calendar, September 29 is the feast of the archangels. We Quakers don’t pay too much attention to the liturgical calendar, but, even, so—what a day to be born! I’ll take it. Here’s my song of celebration:

 September 29
(The Feast of the Archangels)

Every year on September 29
they gather.
Raphael brings the drinks,
while Michael and Gabriel
raid the pantry for caviar and taco chips.
They congregate in the fireside room,
spread the food on the table,
pull out the Parcheesi board,
and take off their shoes.
Then they sing.
They start with the old songs
--Psalm 100, the Magnificat,
"Behold, I bring good tidings"
(a favorite after all these years)--
work their way through Gregorian chants
and Martin Luther to New World
Yankee Doodle, Southern gospel,
and somewhere in the process
they sing Happy Birthday to me.
With voices like whales
or arctic wolves,
strange, far, and wholly holy,
the archangels celebrate.
"Don't be afraid," they tell me.
Planets realign.
The juice of the sun flows free.

Of Deity and Bones

“Does God have bones?”
David asked me that today, Lord,
and I couldn’t answer him.
Well—do you?
Have bones I mean.
His question was serious, you know.
He wants to know who and how you are.
And where, too.
And if you’re like us.
I don’t always know.

Bones?
You did have bones once, didn’t you?
Bones and muscles and fingernails
that collected dirt, feet that tired
from miles on dusty roads
and hands that bloodied
from driven nails.
You became like us, didn’t you?

Thank you for reminding me.
Now I know the answer.

Tomorrow I’ll tell David again
that old old story
that even a child can understand.
About a God who filled his lungs
with earth air, tasted bread,
listened to cricket song at night,
held other four-year-olds
on his lap and personally
answered their questions.
About a God who loves so much
he put on bones
and more, much more.

Tomorrow I’ll tell him.