No rats in heaven: the Sermon on the Mount (1)

 Salt

You are the salt of the earth. —Matthew 5:13

A grain of salt is too tiny
to be of use, but when joined
with other grains
an energy compounds,
a sharpness emerges.
Even so, salt doesn’t
draw attention to itself.
Sprinkled or poured out,
the focus shifts to the object
of its intention—the roast,
the potatoes and carrots,
even the chocolate cake.
No one relaxes after a good meal
and says, Wasn’t that salt delicious!
I am a hidden ingredient
for making this world
a sensually marvelous place.


Light

You are the light of the world. —Matthew 5:14

A particle or part of a wave,
my identity is confusing
even to myself.
It's weird being invisible.
You may not see me
but by me you see everything else.
The redwood tree across the street,
the one with a chunk cut out
so the telephone lines pass through.
The telephone lines.
The birds that perch on top.
Your neighbor’s smile.
The broken glass on the sidewalk.
The path ahead.
Whether you know it or not
you owe your awareness
of all of this
to me and my companions.
We light up the world.


No Rats in Heaven
But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy—.  —Matthew 6:20

No rats in heaven.
Jesus said so.
That means no nasty diseases,
no rat poop on the floor,
no government condemnation of your property,
and plenty of space to store your heavenly treasures.


Healthy Eyes
If your eyes are healthy, your whole body will be full of light. —Matthew 6:22

It's not cataract removal surgery or new glasses
that will do the trick.
What I really need is a tree,
at least one tree a day
and not through a window
but out in the air, close enough
to touch bark, hear leaves rustle,
smell resin, and fill my eyes
until tears wash them whole again.
Medicine for a healthy body and a holy soul.
Light coming through trees.

 

Poems of Passion Week

The Stones Talk It over
… if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out. Luke 19:40

All was quiet
on the street
and in the city hall.
Why are they silent?
a small rock asked
a boulder.
Why don’t the people
praise God?
Don’t they see
what we do?
Doesn’t the light
from the northern skies
strike wonder,
ignite fire
in their bones
as it does in ours?

Beats me,
said the boulder.
Let’s sing.


Asleep
Couldn’t you keep watch for one hour? Mark 14:37

I understand.
Fasting for a friend going through a serious operation,
I wake up in my easy chair and wonder
about the weakness of my resolve.
I went to sleep three times during last Sunday’s
sermon, hoping no one saw my drooping head
and the upright jerk when I came to.
Before majesty, in the face of glory, before agony,
here am I, curled up on the rug,
oblivious.


I Am He
When Jesus said, “I am he,” they drew back and fell to the ground. John 18:5

I am he is the seismic center.
It spreads in expanding rings.
The bodies fall outward,
circle a setting sun.
Torches, lanterns, weapons,
a bloody face, arrest
and betrayals spin,
but the center holds.
Even so, night deepens.
Even so, this unbearable cold.


No Way
And he went outside and wept bitterly. Luke 22:62

Lord, there is no way I can make poetry from this story.
No way I can barter with Judas, you as my merchandise.
I can’t sit at the table with your disciples, drink your blood, eat your body, even in metaphor.
I also love to pray in gardens, but this bloody sweat makes no sense.
I’m angry at the kiss of death and the rough seizure with you refusing resistance, at the mockery and the insults.
And I’m dumbfounded when you look at me, just as you looked at Peter.
Forgive me.

 
The Politician’s Question
Pilate said to him, “What is truth?” John 18:38 (NKJV)

What is truth?
the politician asks,
not sticking
around for an answer.
The question hangs
in the air while
the man born
to be king awaits
his coronation
in silence.


Cowards
But they kept shouting, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” Luke 23:21

Like beach volleyball
played with a live coal,
Pilate and Herod
toss him back and forth.
His innocence scorches.
As the crowd grows
angry and restless,
they drop the coal.
The crowd wins.
Jesus loses.
(The whole world wins.)


From His Side
… one of the soldiers pierced Jesus’ side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water. John 19:28-42

Out of the pierced side
of the God who is dead
flow all the terrors
of all the nights
the rapes the abductions
the children lost and
the mothers mourning
sirens and sleeplessness
thunder in far off places
the confusion of the archangels
and all my tears, all my sorrows
carried in the stream
that flows from his side.

Blessed are the poets of peace: poems of the Beatitudes, part 3

 

 Blessed Are the Pure in Heart
(for they will see God)
Matthew 5:8

Blessed are those who see the best,
who refuse to judge vagrant or neighbor
without hearing their stories,
who do not claim in their hearts
to love their enemies
while training to shoot them.
Inner and outer person tango,
keeping perfect time,
even when no one is watching.
They hold the treasure
of an undivided heart
that seeks nothing less
than to love God and serve neighbor.
Their bandages have fallen off.
No cataracts obstruct.
With heart and eyes wide open
they see God.


Blessed Are the Peacemakers
(for they will be called children of God)
Matthew 5:9

Blessed are the poets of peace,
word artisans who craft songs for the market,
the road, and the gathering places.
Those who stride the in-between spaces
and fill them with dahlias,
who wander the ruins
scattering seeds for tomorrow.
Blessed are the poets of peace,
the seers and sayers, dreamers and doers,
lovers of syllable and sound.
Foolish as children, all of them.
Children of God.

Blessed Are Those Who Are Persecuted
(for theirs is the kingdom of heaven)
Matthew 5:10

The blessed gather in ordinary houses
all across China. They keep the curtains drawn.
Their ranks are rumored to be in the millions.
In Turkey the blessed disappear
without warning, leaving the children bereft.
Egyptian jails host the blessed.
The Russian blessed still worship
in ancient cathedrals,
but they keep their voices low.
Across Northern Africa, in Southeast Asia,
Afghanistan, and Iraq,
the numbers of the invisible blessed grow.
Is it joy?
Do they begin to see what they own?

A longing that burns in the gut: poems of the Beatitudes, part 2

Blessed Are the Meek
(for they will inherit the earth)
Matthew 5:5

I was a shy child
and an awkward adolescent.
In a group of over four people
I was the silent presence,
mute and stupid.
I’ve outgrown most of that
but I still feel the pain of the meek.

Not likely to get ahead in life
or claim the American Dream,
they give up their place in line
and end up sitting in the back.
They never rush the door on Black Friday.
You never hear them asking questions
at the end of a lecture
or see them marching the streets in protest.
They will never be CEOs
or own prime property.

The thought of the meek
inheriting the earth
is patently ridiculous.
Your up-side-down
spun-around kingdom
dizzies me, Lord.
Makes me want
to be a child again,
get on the merry-go-round.


Blessed are Those Who Hunger and Thirst for Righteousness
(for they will be filled)
Matthew 5:6

Hunger and thirst are radical words.
Words for earthquake victims,
and war refugees who lack clean water,
for those who wait outside their tents
for the aid vans that may or may not come.

Don’t ever tell me you’re starving to death,
my mom told me, ‘cause kids in China are.

Is it possible to so hunger for personal holiness
or social justice that the longing burns in the gut,
makes you useless for normal endeavors,
abnormal, obnoxious to your peers?

I long for things to be made right,
things inside me and things around the world,
but the longing is short-lived.
I can go for stretches of time
with no thought of holiness,
no remembrance of immigrants or abuse victims.
I’m much too bland for extremes.

Forgive me.
Make me abnormal and obnoxious. Hungry.

Blessed Are the Merciful
(for they will be shown mercy)
Matthew 5:7

Blessed are the merciful
for they will be hoodwinked,
bamboozled, and taken advantage of
from every possible angle.
Blessed are the merciful;
their bleeding hearts
and inappropriately generous ways
will keep wealth and fame
forever out of reach.
Blessed are those who weep
for what no one else even sees.

Blessed are the merciful
in the topsy-turvy kingdom of heaven
for against all odds
they will swim in an ocean of mercy.
They will find themselves at home
in a universe of wonders.
They will rest in love.

This rag-tag crowd: poems of the Beatitudes, part 1

 The Mountainside

Now when Jesus saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside…. Matthew 5:1

I love your classroom, Lord.
When I was a kid in Ramona Elementary School,
in that old yellow building just off Main Street,
I would gaze out the row of windows,
longing for recess, wanting the freedom
of grass and trees and open skies.
Your outdoor classroom sounds perfect.
I imagine myself in that crowd,
sitting on the grass, looking up at you
there on the side of the hill,
your voice clear and strong
in nature’s amphitheater.
I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

 Blessed Are the Poor in Spirit
(for theirs is the kingdom of heaven)
Matthew 5:2

My friend Sarah is perpetually depressed.
She whines and simpers so much
it's hard to be around her.
Can I talk to you? is prologue
to at least an hour of listening
to her litany of woes: parents
who didn’t like her, a failed
marriage, a son’s suicide,
and a grown daughter who, like me,
doesn’t enjoy her company.
Poor in spirit seems a mild description.
So how is Sarah blessed?
How does she possess the kingdom of heaven?

For that rag-tag crowd of people gathered
around you on the hill, and for all us
pilgrims gathered now around you in Spirit,
we hear you tell us, The kingdom of heaven
is at hand! It’s here! It’s available
for anyone, especially the most unlikely.
It’s waiting for Sarah
to enter and be blessed.

Blessed Are Those Who Mourn
(for they will be comforted)
Matthew 5:4

The earthquake in Turkey and Syria
dominated the news for weeks.
Images of villages decimated,
tall apartment buildings brought down,
and in the midst of rubble, the people.
A mother, tears tracking the dirt on her face,
tells the cameraman, I’ve lost everything. She has.
Grief hangs heavy in the dust.

Hope is scant among survivors who have lost
loved ones, homes, their means of making a living,
and all sense of security in a world
gone dark and dangerous.
How are these the faces of the blessed?
Who dares tell them, Be happy;
comfort is coming.

So many questions, such complexity
under the surface of this simple statement.
You call for human feet and human hands
at the service of your kingdom, but
how can I be a part of what I barely believe?
How can I say to you, Here am I; send me?
To them, Be blessed?

Traveling light: poems of the Incarnation (5)

Good Soil
… other seed fell on good soil…. Matthew 13:8

I’m all the soils.

Sometimes I’m so flat and dull
that the seed of God’s word to me
becomes bird food. A flutter
of distracting feathers
and everything’s gone.

Other times I’m rocky and full of thorns.
Prickly, temperamental,
and entirely entitled.
I block the sun.

Only you can turn me
into good soil, Lord.
Little by little
soften my heart.
Render it tender
and open.
Give me eyes that see
and ears that hear.
Able to abide in you
and bear fruit
for the world.


Don’t Cry
When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her…. Luke 7:13

When my daughter was just a few weeks old
and cried, her three-year-old brother
would urge me to there-there Kristin,
there-there being the natural
thing to say while patting
a crying baby’s back.
When Jesus encountered
the weeping widow accompanying
the corpse of her only son,
my version of the Scriptures records
him telling her, Don’t cry.
In the vernacular he well
could have put a hand on her shoulder
and said There-there.
My baby girl grew up.
She no longer cries for her supper.
The widow, too, stopped crying
when Jesus restored her son.
And I hear the God of all comfort
sometimes telling me, There-there.

Weeds or Wheat
… [the] enemy came and sowed weeks among the wheat…. Matthew 13:25

Please, Lord,
deliver me from the arrogance
of judging which of my acquaintances
is wheat and which is a weed.

You get to decide that.


Traveling Light
Take nothing for the journey except a staff.  Mark 6:8

When we left for a term of missionary service,
we counted two suitcases per person,
plus carry-ons and travel bags.
We shipped the crates separately.
I would calculate the kids’ ages
three years in advance and purchase
appropriate clothes and toys.
And books! Can’t forget our resources!
Their weight drove up the shipping costs
but aren’t missionaries supposed to be poor?
Being prepared was crucial
and making sure our kids
(who were not called) were well provided for.
We never even bothered to pack a staff.

  

Refugees: Advent poems 4

 The Star

… the star they had seen when it rose went ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the child was. Matthew 2:9

Strange travelling star,
you baffled the magi.
They followed you,
anxious to solve your mystery.
You continue to baffle.
How could you have led
the travelers from Jerusalem
to Bethlehem? How could you
have stopped over a specific house
where a mother nursed
her baby? Were their instruments
so sophisticated?
Were you a comet
flying low and slow,
on a special mission?
Are you a metaphor
for how hard it still is
to follow the Light?
And how possible?

Refugees
“He got up, took the child and his mother during the night and left for Egypt. Matthew 2:14

They fled in the night. Warned in a dream,
they had little time to sort and pack. They grabbed
what they could, bundled the baby,
and quietly slipped down the alleys
and out of town. The trek across the desert
was brutal, water at a premium.
Egypt was a strange far place to them. 
Did they experience resistance at the border?
Did Egypt have a policy of mercy for those seeking political asylum?
Maybe they found an unguarded spot and slipped across the border
unseen. Once inside, where did they stay?
Did they find room in some foreign inn?
Years later, back home in Palestine,
did Jesus remember his refugee days?
Even now does he have a place in his heart for others
who flee across deserts and borders, seeking a place to call home?
No doubt.

 

Peasants and Astronomers: Advent poems 3

 Peasants and Scholars
There were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks by night. Luke 2:8-22

Not one angel,
which would have been startling enough,
but a numberless host
delivered the message
to this community of sheep-herding peasants.
Overwhelmed by the information
and its bearers, they nonetheless
engaged their rationality
once silence had been restored.
Such a message begged verification.
They left their fields
to do field research
in the town of Bethlehem.
The investigation bore fruit.
They saw for themselves
that the news was true,
although it would be years
for the evidence of its meaning
to be forthcoming. Even so,
they left research behind
for the moment, joyfully
reported their findings
to the wider community
and praised God, voices ringing
in the new day’s dawning

Ancient Astronomers
We saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him. Matthew 2:2

They had been waiting
and watching—for what, they
weren’t sure. When at last
the distant sun throbbed in the west,
it drew them like a lover.
They left their towers and set out,
trekking through desert
and mountain pass.
The star led them
to the backwaters of the empire
where they discovered,
not a new land,
but an invisible kingdom.
They gave their gifts, worshipped,
and began the journey home,
guarding the secret.
Nothing would ever again be the same.

Infant praise: Advent poems 2

 

Visitations
“Be it unto me as you have said.” Luke 1:38

Both respond
with intelligent terror.
Gabriel tells them,
Be not afraid.
Two prophecies of impossible pregnancies,
Zechariah’s old age and Mary’s virginity
posing problems.
Both ask,
How can this be?
Zechariah’s question
is framed in frank incredulity,
while Mary is filled with wonder.
Neither of them understand.
Zechariah becomes mute
while Mary’s heart grows large
along with her belly.
She keeps her words.
She sings.


Annunciation
“You will be with child and give birth to a son.” Luke 1:31

Spirit’s message to Mary
while cryptic
was not a staccato telegram as in
--a death has occurred
--an accident has happened
--a disease has spread
--a war has begun.

Overshadow, says the preacher,
is not a nothing word.
It’s what Spirit did to Mary.
It’s the form the message took.
It meant, Get ready. God’s coming.

It also meant
--a death will occur
--a war has begun

with Mary herself as
collateral damage.


Infant Praise
… the baby leaped in her womb…. Luke 1:41; Psalm 8:2

David prophesied that infants
would praise God,
establishing a stronghold
against the enemy.
Elizabeth’s babe shows
how it’s done from the womb,
leaping a wordless hallelujah
to David’s heir. Sensing vibes,
the enemy begins to tremble.


Choosing the Name
And he gave him the name Jesus. Matthew 1:25

Not Mary but Joseph
got to name the baby.
Jesus, he called him,
instructed in a dream
by an angel.
Gentle Joseph,
shocked,
but easily persuaded
by God’s messenger.
Accepting the mother
and the child, banking
his passion, willing
to wait.
He named the baby Jesus.

Naming the baby: Advent poems 1

 

Isaiah 9:6    
And His Name Shall Be Called…

1.   Wonderful Counselor

Jesus,
you are
finder of lost objects,
restorer of broken relationships,
source of wise decisions,
revealer of hidden motives,
strike breaker,
code cracker.

Lying there in a feeding trough,
disguised in swaddling cloths,
the Uncontainable contained
for our need.
Wonderful Counselor,
we bow.

2.  Mighty God

What kind of name
is "Mighty God" for a baby?
The cards and crèches immortalize You
as Infant,
manger-bedded, shepherd adored.
But helpless.  New.

Enable us, now at Christmas,
to see beyond the stable
-- the Man,
         healer, miracle-worker,
         teacher,
-- the Broken One,
         wounded, lifted up,
-- the Risen Lord,
         defeater of darkness.

Baby Jesus, almightiness
         made vulnerable,
         we adore.


3.  Eternal Father

When Dad died
a light flickered
and went out.
That was years ago
but I still dread
the empty house,
regret the kids
never knew their granddad.
Though time blunts pain,
I guess I still need a father.

"Eternal Father" seems a strange
name for a baby.
To parent, protect, nourish
and educate?
To tell me secrets,
discipline me,
urge me toward growth?
The Baby?  My Father?

Yes.  Of course.

I feel like I've come home.
I lift my hallelujah chorus,
a hilarious lullaby
to joke and mystery.
Father, forever yet new,
accept my laughter.


4.  Prince of Peace

"Silent night," they sing.
"Sleep in heavenly peace."
A story book song
for a star-studded dream.
That night wasn't silent
(pax romana not withstanding).
Bethlehem teamed with people,
impatient, demanding,
wanting to be in their own homes.
Inns throbbed with activity,
wine flowed, and in one dim corner
a woman moaned in childbirth.

That night wasn't silent,
and neither are ours.
The world convulses
in a chaos of crises.
The newscaster's voice is grim,
and people fear the dark.
Here at my house
my grandson cries out in nightmare,
and insomnia stalks these rooms.

Prince of Peace,
you came to Bethlehem
in the clash and crash of life
as it is.
Show us your face.
Teach us the strength of your tranquility,
the power of your humility
         that bent to babyhood
         and still bends to us.

Prince Jesus,
baby and Lord,
we kneel.
Be Shalom to us.
Here.
Now.

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.

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.