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.

More poems from 2 Corinthians

Swallowed
… what is mortal [will] be swallowed up by life…. (2 Corinthians 5:4)

I can hardly imagine.
These skinny legs, wrinkled hands,
broken promises and disappointments
will one day face the wide open
mouth of Life.
One huge slurp and mortality dissolves.
Swallowed up.
What happens next?
Like I said, I can hardly imagine.


Now
Now is the time of God’s favor, now is the day of salvation. (2 Corinthians 6:2)

Good morning, world.
Here I am, ready to go,
ready to stay, ready to leap
over a wall, ready to find a shovel,
dig a while and crawl under that wall.
I’ll find a way.
I’ll be the way.
Today is the day.
With nothing on my schedule,
I know without a doubt--
my time has come.


Blessed Contradiction
… having nothing, and yet possessing everything…. (2 Corinthians 6:10)

I’m a genuine imposter;
I take my clown act seriously.
I’ve forgotten my name
but I claim my fame
and enjoy the limelight
here in my dark corner.
My body tells me I’m dying
yet I’ve never been so alive;
every tendon vibrates.
Sobs or songs can erupt
at any moment, simultaneously.
I’m a penniless spendthrift,
a shameless millionaire
without a bank account.
Having no wings,
see how I fly!


 Recipe
… their overflowing joy and their extreme poverty welled up in rich generosity.
2 Corinthians 8:2

If you wish to be known
as a richly generous person,
here’s a sure-fire recipe:
take two pints
of overflowing joy,
pour them into a gallon
of extreme poverty,
mix well, and serve
to those who need it most.
Expect left-overs.


Cheerful
God loves a cheerful giver. 2 Corinthians 9:7

George Fox told his followers
to walk cheerfully over the earth.
St. Paul tells his to sow their seeds
generously, enriching the atmosphere
for miles around. And so we go,
poor as we are, enriching the poor,
humming like happy bees.
Pollinating our world.



Armed and Dangerous
The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. 2 Corinthians 10:4

Girded with gentleness
I enter the field of battle.
Humility is my bullet-proof vest.
Fastened to my belt
grenades of truth and justice
are at my disposal.
The Holy Spirit does reconnaissance
as I advance slowly,
with calm confidence.
I’m armed and waiting
to wage war against war.
Against injustice, deceit in high places,
and the futile stubbornness
of an army of devils
with many faces, many names.
They don’t stand a chance.
Any time now, ready or not,
here I come.


Thanks for the Anomaly
When I am weak, then am I strong. 2 Corinthians 12:10

Thanks for making me an introvert
then putting me in leadership roles
for setting me on the front row
telling me to get up and talk to the people
be creative, be funny, be wise
and all of it out loud.

The mouse inside peaks out,
shudders and scurries back in.

None of this is natural.
None of this is me.

Yet here I am.
a behind-the-scenes creature
in an up-front job.
Privately quiet, publicly articulate.
Not bold. Obedient.
Gifted they call it.
Your gift doesn’t fit, my Lord,
but the package says, “No returns.”

Even so, thank you.
Comfortable or not,
I am, as ever, at your service.

Some poems from 2 Corinthians

 A Simple Conversation on the Trail
No matter how many promises God has made,
they are all “Yes” in Christ. 2 Corinthians 1:20

We head down the canyon trail,
the one we usually take.
He smiles and tells me, Yes.
I know, I reply.
We pause at the bridge
and again, Yes, he reminds me.
Water gurgling over rocks
supplies exclamation points.
I think I’m beginning to get it.
We round the bend and start to climb.
It comes this time without sound.
Yes slips through the branches
along with winter sun.
And so it goes as we walk
through the forest.
Yes yes oh yes, I respond.
All morning long.

Captives
Thanks be to God, who always leads us as captives
in Christ’s triumphal procession…. 2 Corinthians 2:14

I love a good oxymoron
so learning that I am
a triumphant captive
makes me smile.
A giggling slave,
a precious prisoner,
at least I know
whose side I’m on.
Lead on, King Jesus!
I lift my chains
and skip.

Worn-out
While we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed. (2 Corinthians 5:4)

Groans and burdens aptly describe old age.
My tent has become threadbare with time and trauma.
Soon nurses will expose me, wipe me, wash me
as I silently lament my nakedness.
No one wishes to be unclothed.
So I groan and long for home.
For my new body.
For my new clothes.

Perfect Fit
… to be clothed … with our heavenly dwelling. (2 Corinthians 5:4)

I look forward
to putting on my new house.
The outside walls, of some strong and flexible fabric,
fold my body in heavenly comfort.
I don’t worry about curbside appeal
for the beauty is obvious.
The door is sturdy redwood
and always open.
A wall of windows lets in light
and more colors than I knew existed.
No need of artificial electricity,
and the plumbing works
though the pipes are invisible.
Living water is instantly and eternally available.
My house clothes me well, blesses my body.
A perfect fit.

Some poems from Psalm 119

Psalm 119 is the longest of all the psalms at 176 verses. The theme is love for the laws of God and a determination to follow them. Laws is also expressed as word, precepts, commands, decrees, statutes, and ways. It’s God’s plans for human flourishing and serving, communicated to us.

The psalm is divided into 22 stanzas, representing the 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet. Each stanza is made up of eight verses. I wrote a prayer/poem for each stanza and will share a few of them here. It’s best to read the actual portion of the psalm along with the poem, although each poem could stand alone.

Sometimes I Delight
“I rejoice in following your statutes.” Psalm 119:14, BET

How can a young person
stay on the path of purity?
Even more pertinent,
how can an old person
faithfully follow you?

I have hidden your word in my heart
so well that some days I can’t find it.
I delight in your word
sometimes. I smile.
I hold it in my hands
and cherish its contours
and patterns. I giggle
at the colored specks of light.
I laugh out loud
and the unimaginable
nuances of love.

I will not neglect your word,
with your help, of course.
Like the old hymn says,
I’m prone to wander.
Hold me to my intentions, Lord.
Do whatever it takes.

Open My Eyes
“Open my eyes that I may see….” Psalm 119:18, GIMEL

Open my eyes, Lord,
when the Bible gets boring.
When familiarity stiffens my brain cells
and my heart feels paralyzed;
when legality repulses
and the light grows dim,
open my eyes, Lord.

I am a stranger on earth,
an alien among ordinary people,
an imposter in church—
unsanctified, blind
and mostly silent.
How will your commands bind my wounds?
Will they bring me
to the place where I can say,
Your statutes are my delight!?

Running in the Path
“I run in the path of your commands.”
Psalm 119:32, DALETH

I run in the path of your commands.

Every morning I get up, put on my sweats
and my running shoes,
then open the door.
It's cold outside but the air is fresh.
I head out of town and up into the hills
where your path twists and climbs
among the pines and Douglas firs.
You’re doing great, you tell me.
Just keep going. Follow the path.
I do. Mile after mile.
I seem to gain strength as I go.
Legs pumping, arms swinging,
my heart beats to the rhythm of your ways.
The scenery only gets better ‘round each bend.
Your commands energize me, cheer me on,
keep me chugging higher and higher,
closer to the finish line
at the top of the mountain.

In the Night
“In the night, Lord, I remember your name….” Psalm 119:55, ZAYIN 

Last night I got up three times
to go to the bathroom.
I worry I’m not getting enough sleep.
I long for the night to be over.
I check my watch. 12:30. 2:30. 3:30.
Last night I dreamed of a green hill,
freshly manicured grass,
scattered wildflowers—a cemetery. 
Death with beauty. I woke up.
I think it was my death.
Should I be distracted?
The middle of the night
always invites fear in.
It's hard to resist.

When I’m tempted to indulge,
remind me, Lord,
to remember your name.

Let It Be Everywhere
“The earth is filled with your love, Lord….” Psalm 119:64, HETH

Everywhere I go and all places
where I stay, your love is already there.
When I drive to the grocery store, I pass it
walking down the sidewalk, peeking out
apartment windows, and sitting beside me
in the car, keeping me company.
When I spend the day indoors,
your love looks out at me from my book,
reminds me I’m not alone.
Your love connects me with the refugees
I see on TV. It hovers over
the war zones of Gaza and the Ukraine,
rides the Santa Ana winds above Los Angeles.

Please, Lord, let this love of yours,
that so comforts me here in my little town,
rain down in more obvious doses today
on Gaza, Ukraine, and the City of Angels.
Fill the places of terror with the love
that fills the earth. Comfort the refugees
with your presence, just as you comfort me.

Some poems about David from 1 Samuel

 The Total Package
“He was glowing with health and had …
handsome features” (1 Samuel 16:12).

Like Michaelangelo’s David,
this one had it all—healthy, good-looking,
musically gifted, and, now, chosen.
Although God told Samuel,
it’s not good-looks that impress me
but the heart, David’s handsome features
apparently helped.

Exorcism by Music
“David would take his harp and play …
and the evil spirit would leave….”1 Samuel 16:23

Better than wrestling with the devil,
shouting, Out! Out! damned demon!,
David merely plucked his lyre.
The evil spirit didn’t stick around
to enjoy the concert.

Shining
“He chose five small stones from the stream.”
1 Samuel 17:40

Seven shiny stones
sit on my window sill.
A generous granddaughter
gave them to me
from her own precious collection
one Christmas morning.
Polished in a machine,
rubbed smooth, their sparkle
is artificial but pretty.
The blues and reds
are slightly unnatural,
but I treasure them nonetheless.
The five stones David picked
from the stream bed
felt smooth in his hand.
Polished only by the swift
natural flow of water,
they didn’t glitter
like mine do.
That morning
the only things shining
were David’s eyes.

Peace in the Desert
1 Samuel 27

David escapes, so we’re told,
into enemy territory, sidles up
to the Philistines with his appealing grin
and his entourage of hard-bitten
desert warriors. The Philistine prince
generously grants David a town,
name of Ziklag, where the fleeing
Israelites make themselves at home
for a year and four months.
We’re not told what happens
to the citizens of Ziklag.
Do they share their homes
in a spirit of resigned hospitality?
Are they relocated?
Since this is irrelevant to the plot,
no mention is made.
Having long left his sheep-herding
ways and having no experience
in agriculture, David survives
the year and provides for his own
by doing what he does best—
raiding neighboring villages,
exterminating the inhabitants,
and bringing home the lamb chops,
donkeys, and winter garments.
That’s what a year of peace
in the desert looks like.