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.

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.

 

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.

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.

First Light

Response to the query: "How did you first become aware of the light?"

The reflection of flames pulsated off the walls of my bedroom, and the scent of smoke filled the air. Distant sirens did nothing to calm the panic I fought as I lay there. I was nine years old, and that summer the brush fires surrounding my Southern California community raged out of control. Although told we were in no immediate danger, I was terrified.

Our home was not Christian, although my parents were good, educated and loving people. We didn’t go to church as a family, said no grace at meals, and the Bible was up on the shelf alongside Dante, Shakespeare and Omar Khayyam. Good Literature, there for reference but not necessarily for reading.

But when we first moved to this small town, my parents decided we three children needed to go to church and learn Christian values. They were drawn to the Friends, mostly because of the underground railroad and how Quakers had treated the American Indians. So when I was seven, my mom started taking us kids to the local Friends church.

And it was there, in the second grade Sunday school class, that Mrs. Kunkel taught us about Jesus and about confessing our sins and asking him into our heart as our personal savior and friend. I already trusted grown-ups, so I was predisposed to believe her. And it sounded good, like something I might want to do someday. Mrs. Kunkel put no pressure on us, and as my sense of sin was totally undeveloped (remember, my parents actually liked me and told me so), I was in no rush. She did tell us that people who did not know Jesus went to hell.

So laying there that night, with the sirens and smoke feeding my fear, the thought of hell popped into my brain. I decided that I never ever wanted to go there, and that I’d better do something about it quick. I knew just what to do. I said that little formula Mrs. Kunkel had taught us. I was not motivated by any need to repent of sin or any deep sense of longing for God. I was simply afraid of fire. So I pulled the covers over my head, whispered the right words and waited to see what might happen next.

What happened was—he showed up. Without great emotion, without tears or repentence, I quietly became aware that I had a new friend. He really was there. I had no doubts. So I began talking with my new friend, having no idea that this was called “prayer.” After a while, I noticed that I was no longer afraid of the fire.

He’s been my friend ever since.