The time of the prophet: the Sermon on the Mount (2)

 One or the Other?
You cannot serve both God and money. —Matthew 6:24

Is it true that if I love God
I will hate money?
Is the line stretched so taut?
Are there no shades of grey?
My life’s ambition is to love God
and enjoy his presence forever.
But a little money on the side
would be really helpful.

 

Too Much of a Good Thing
. . . every good tree bears good fruit—. —Matthew 7:17

A lemon tree graced the yard
of the house where I grew up.
Its fruit was just the right mix
of sweet and tart, a subtle savory
that perfected the iced-tea
on a summer day. I loved to sit
in the shade of that tree
and suck on a lemon,
my mouth puckering in pleasure.
Once I consumed eleven lemons
in one afternoon
and later paid the price.
Which only goes to show
that even a good prophet
needs to practice discretion.
Sometimes silence
is the truest word.

 

The Time of the Prophet
Watch out for false prophets—.  . . .by their fruit you will recognize them. —Matthew 7:20

This is the time of the prophet.
At least some churches are declaring
a comeback of this reputable spiritual gift.
Prophets abound.
I’m sure some are true prophets,
speaking forth a precise word of the Lord
for a certain people in a determined
time and place. Mixed among them,
it's likely that a few false prophets prowl,
pulled by their own purposes.
I imagine also a few innocents
who, thinking themselves prophets,
speak too much and too loudly,
trying the saints with their puffing and panting.
Too bad it takes so long
for a tree to bear fruit.

 

Look to the Ground
. . . a foolish man who built his house on the sand. —Matthew 7:26

I’m attracted to tiny houses,
at least those on YouTube.
Clever use of space,
open-concept design,
cozy lofts, and designer faucets
all say smaller is better.
The organic garden outside
confirms superiority.
I am, nevertheless, bothered
by its foundation on wheels.
What happens in a tornado?
Is the sustainable lifestyle
enough to survive
a heavy wind?
Does size matter,
or designer faucets,
when your house is built
on sand?

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?

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?

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.

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 from the Book of Leviticus

 The Long Lobe of the Liver

“The Lord called to Moses and spoke to him from the tent of meeting.” Leviticus 1:1

In those infrequent times when God speaks to me,
it seems vague—a sense that I am to do
—or not to do—some thing. Most times
the inner nudge hovers just on the edge
of discernment. Briefly so.

With Moses it was different.
A loquacious, long-winded, and very specific
God gave Moses all the details he could ever want
and then some. Consider:

--do it at the entrance of the tent. No where else.
--the people do this; the priests do that. No confusion of roles.
--here’s the recipe. Follow it to the letter. Don’t dare leave out the salt.
--include the long lobe of the liver. You’ll know it when you see it.
--cut off the fat tail close to the backbone. Not a centimeter further.
--give the fat back to God. Don’t ask why.
--sprinkle the blood seven times before the curtain of the sanctuary.
Count on your fingers if you need to.
--Memorize the categories of sin and guilt. Chose the right offering.
Don’t mix them up.
--break the pot that boiled the meat.
--banish anyone who eats fat or blood. Don’t be wishy washy about it.
--wear clean linen underwear.

Sometimes I’d like a specific word from the Lord.
Just not so much.

Fire on the Altar
“The sons of Aaron are to put fire on the altar.” Leviticus 1:7

I remember when the Sintons, Irish Quaker evangelists,
visited our small church and preached the gospel.
It was fire on the altar. They invited all of us
—habitual church goers, old, and young like me—
to come forward, surrender all,
and kneel in the flames. I let the Holy Ghost
consume me. I carry the scars to this day.

Holy Theater
Leviticus 8

The consecration of the first high priest
demanded high drama with a captive
and captivated audience.
The setting needed impact—
the entrance to the tent of meeting,
the holy place where God came down,
where decisions were made, destinies determined.
The costuming needed to be elaborate—
tunic, sash, robe, ephod, fancy waiste band,
breastplate bearing the mysterious Urim and Thumin,
turban and sacred emblem. No matter
that Aaron would hardly walk under the weight.
It dazzled. The special sound effects—
the lowing, braying, screaming, grunting
of the supporting cast of beasts held beholders
breathless. Nothing left to the imagination.
Then came the sensuousness of blood
splashed on the altar, painted on the priest’s big toe,
poured into the base. Followed by the fire.
And the aroma of burnt fat, the homey smell
of baked bread. Pleasing. It engaged all the senses.
All in all, the seven-day extravaganza
was a performance no one would ever forget.

Strange Fire
“Aaron’s sons … offered unauthorized fire before the Lord.” Leviticus 10:1

God vindicated his holiness
by holy consummation.
God was right, of course.
Aaron’s sons had offered strange fire.
Yet God’s fire seemed strange
to this father.
God seemed strange,
his holiness harsh and sharp edged.

Forbidden to publicly grieve,
the human father
banked his sorrow,
sat at the gates,
shivered with more than cold,
and gazed into the wilderness.

Poems from 2 Samuel

 Take Not Take Not Your Holy Spirit
2 Samuel 11-12; Psalm 51

1—David

You call me to be king
yet you made me human.
You gave me the eyes of a man.
How could I resist?
It was the middle of the night
and sleep eluded me. I went
to the roof, as I so often do,
to pace and pray, and there she was
below me. Once again, flesh
trumped spirit. It’s so easy,
Lord. I’m king. I get what
I want. And I wanted her.
And now—the remorse,
the bitterness of soul.
Forgive me, forgive, forgive.
How can I be who you
want me to be? Do not take
your Holy Spirit. Restore Joy.
I bring you my brokenness.
Change my heart.

 

2—Bathsheba
I had no choice.
When the king’s servants
came for me, I knew what it meant.
I didn’t protest. We exchanged no words.
I submitted to him as had others
before me. Honor, shame, and longing
did battle, with no winners.
Now I carry his child and my future
is uncertain. I’m frightened.
I’m so sorry, Uriah.
I’m sorry for all of it.

3—Uriah
The king honors me, sends for me,
has me brought in from battle
to inquire of the war. Who am I
that he should show such favor?
Me, a foreigner, an adopted son
of Israel. I don’t deserve this furlough.
In remembrance of my comrades
in the field, I will not go home.
I will sleep at the palace gates.
I am a soldier. I am a servant.

4—Nathan
Rank means nothing when the word
of the Lord comes walking.
I will go to him.
I will approach from behind
and tell a story.
I will say, You are the man!
and wait for the fallout.

Five views of the lions' den (Daniel 6)

1 The Satraps

Petty politicians,
irritated by integrity,
consumed by mongrel jealousy
that an upstart immigrant
should get the biggest bone,
they schemed and deceived,
then smirked when it worked.
But it didn’t.
In the end,
the only bones being given
were theirs.
To the lions.


2 Daniel

Integrity, honesty,
devotion to God—
all of this was true.
Even so we can’t assume
that Daniel wasn’t afraid,
that as he prayed in the window
he was not stinking with fear,
throwing up to God
his panic. Help me!
We can’t even assume
he was sure
God was listening.


3 King Darius

Friendship with the Hebrew
had subtly changed him.
Exposure to light
in a dark place
does that to people
over time.
Thus his distress
at his own foolishness,
thus his sleepless night,
thus the mixture of doubt and hope
in his anguished question,
Daniel, did he rescue you?


4 The lions

What was this scorching ball of light
thrown down so suddenly,
causing them to scatter to the peripheries?
What terror drove out hunger,
shut their jaws?
Or did the glory so overwhelm them
that God’s dumbstruck beasts
simply went to sleep?

5 The people

Forced by royal decree
to add the God of Daniel
to the Persian pantheon,
how did the citizens respond?
Did anything eternal happen
in the homes and streets
of downtown Babylon?
Perhaps a ray of light entered
the collective consciousness?
Did the foreign deity ever
become more than Daniel’s God?
Or did he only add another hue
to their already rainbow spirituality?
Does conversion by coercion
ever work?

Poems from the book of Colossians

 Last year I adopted the spiritual discipline of meditating, praying, and writing poetry through the books of the Bible. I'm building up quite a collection. I'm not sure how good the poetry is, but the practice is causing me to read Scripture in a new way.

I begin each early morning time with the prayer from Proverbs 119:18: "Open my eyes that I might see wonderful things from your word." After reading and spending time listening in silence, I converse with God about the portion I read. That's the poetry part. Simply conversing with God.

Recently I spend several weeks in the book of Colossians, Paul's treatise on the doctrine of Christ. Here are a few of the poems (likely to be edited and polished in the future).

Hold Fast
Colossians 1:17, "...in him all things hold together."

Jesus is the gravity
that keeps our feet on the ground.
He's the centripetal force,
the reason we don't fly
off into space, lost forever.
He's the magnet
that binds us to faith, hope, and love.
He's the compass
that heads us down
the true path.
He's our superglue;
we need never come apart.
Someday all things
will join in him,
a vast and holy reconciliation.
In the meantime,
Jesus is what keeps
you and me
together.

Unselfish
Colossians 1:24, "...I fill up my flesh what is lacking in regard to Christ's afflictions...."

Christ suffered
for our sakes,
but he didn't keep
it all for himself.
The bucket of miseries
is not yet full.
We get to add to it.
We get to fill it
because Jesus knew
we'd want to suffer
for his sake.
So as we carry the good news
to all people, we weep,
we laugh, we bleed,
we bind our wounds.
We serve with joy.


Well Dressed
Colossians 3:12, ..clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience."

They many not be the latest fashion,
but your new clothes fit perfectly.
You've never looked better.


"Masters...
Colossians 4:1

"... Provide your slaves
with what is right and just."
Free them.


Remember My Chains
Colossians 4:18

When you pray
include those in prison
paying for the harm
they've done to others
and to themselves.
Include those
unjustly imprisoned
for faith, race, or human error.
Imprisonment has a way
of dismembering people,
ripping them from family,
values, and life's normalities.
Re-member them
in vision and petition.
Re-member all the broken ones--
refugees, victims of war or rape,
neighbors beaten down
by domestic violence,
loved ones battling cancer or addiction,
those suffering rejection and divorce.
The lonely.
People have so many ways
of being enchained and broken,
of being torn and dismembered.
Your task is to remember them.
Remember them everyday.

 

Just Asking: Some Poems from Ephesians

Subject to Editing
Ephesians 2:10

There is no such thing
as good writing, the gurus tell us,
only good re-writing.
Apparently that even applies
to God. I may be his poem
but he’s not finished.
Here and there in the manuscript
I come across phrases like delete,
stet, find a better word, needs
development, even an occasional
yes! The continual polishing
hurts but I believe
I’m beginning
to shine.

 

Just Asking
Ephesians 4

Was it optimistic naivety
when Paul told the children of God
to make every effort
to keep the unity of the Spirit
in the bond of peace?
Church history suggests that.
More than geography
and the accidents of birth
have divided the body
of Christ. While Jesus
wisely responded with silence
to Pilate’s question,
What is truth?,
the church has squabbled,
spit, and splintered its multitudinous
answers down through
the centuries. Even we Quakers
in the northwest corner
of a country once known
for its open arms
have sacrificed our reputation
as people of peace
and made every effort
to propound our separate versions
of gospel truth. Now, victims all
of the resulting divorce,
we seek revival and hope
to once again walk
worthy of our calling.
Lord, have mercy on us all.

 

Please, Lord, An Answer
Ephesians 6:5-9                                                                                                                      

How does Black Lives Matter
read Ephesians 6?
Paul’s words of submission,
respect and fear
with sincerity of heart,
obey obey obey,
leave no room for protest,
give integrity of personhood
no place to stand.
To acquiesce with a smile,
to say, It’s Ok to be less
than human in your eyes
‘cause I know God loves me
and is preparing a place for me,
is somehow not enough.
Unless there is justice for my here-and-now
neighbor
hood, how could such a heaven
ever be home?

A Poetic Walk through the Scriptures

At the beginning of the year, I committed to the spiritual discipline of waiting in silence each morning until a poem came to me, asking to be written. (This is not some weird automatic writing, rather openness to the Spirit to capture the idea, with a willingness to later do the hard work of crafting.) Some of these poems are in the form of personal prayers and they will stay safely hidden in my journal. Others are worthy of bringing out into the air.

I am coupling this with a practice of reading the Scriptures, focusing on one book at a time, alternating between the Old and New Testaments. I sit with the book for as long as it takes to begin to understand on a deeper level what God is saying through this portion. Much of my poetry of late comes from meditation on these Scriptures. Some of the poems are interpretative. Others are reflections from my experience, bouncing off a phrase. Some are simply wondering and questions.

I just spent a couple of weeks in Joshua, always a challenging book for Quakers. (I’m now beginning the book of Romans. Gulp.) Here are just a few of the Joshua poems.

Shittim
Joshua 2:1

I remember an adolescent Bible study
when my turn came and the portion
I was to read included
the town of Shittim. I stopped short
of the word. I couldn't read it out loud.
The other kids giggled. The leader,
a no-nonsense grown-up, made me
continue and I somehow mumbled
my way forward. Later I learned
that Shittim meant acacia, that the city
was probably near an acacia grove.
A tall acacia tree stood in the front
yard of the house where we lived
and I used to climb it. My secret place
was hidden in the upper branches.
I loved that tree, that acacia tree,
without even knowing its name.

No Survivors
Joshua 10:40 

In terrible obedience
Joshua subdued the land
      hill country
      the Negev
      western foothills
      mountain slopes,
together with their kings.
The target, by holy command—
any being that breathed.
No beast, no baby escaped
the brutal blitz.
A challenge, yes, but
not too hard for a band
of soldiers seasoned to kill,
not nearly as hard
as God’s latter command
to warriors of a new regime—
love your enemies.

This time, Lord,
you go too far.  

Old Testament War Revisited

As a sophomore
our daughter made the coveted
cheerleading squad.
Some of the chants underscored
the brutality of high school sports.
One afternoon, I watched
as the girls waved their pom-poms,
danced, leaped, and led
the crowd in
      Kill kill
      Hate hate
      Murder murder
      Mutilate
      Go, Team!
I was glad when the school
year ended.

Choosing life: letters from prison

I need to begin with a confession. Choosing life is hard. It’s hard during normal times (whatever “normal” may mean). It’s certainly hard now in this time of pandemic. Everyday I struggle with lethargy, some inner resistance to reaching out to communicate, to being creative, to expressing gratitude, to simply being positive. At the end of each day as I take the time to look back and reflect, I have to confess my failures, as well as thank God for the small triumphs.

Even so, I choose to choose life. Part of it is this blog. I write to myself as well as to any readers out there in cyberspace. I write as a way of groping for courage, hoping to encourage others along the way.

So, on to another way of choosing life: through the Holy Scriptures. Paul calls them “the word of life” (Phi. 2:16). It occurs to me that Paul’s prison epistles (Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians) might be good reading material for such a time as this. Talk about isolation and restriction! A Roman prison was probably worse than what I am facing. And Paul’s context, the persecution of the early Church, while different than ours, was every bit as fraught with danger.

I start with the book of Philippians and find that it focuses on joy. Paul rejoiced in the midst of his hardship. He exhorted the believers in the city of Philippi to rejoice at all times, even as they suffered for the cause of Christ. He repeats the words “joy” and “rejoice” at least 12 times in this short letter. He encourages us to follow his example. He tells us that this is not a grit-your-teeth-and-endure-it time. Even now, this is a time to trust and rejoice.

I’m going to need some help doing that. Apparently, that help is available.

A living hope

A friend of mine in California is reading 1 and 2 Peter this year. Only 1 and 2 Peter. He is focusing his heart on what the Spirit might be saying to him through these two books.

He inspires me. So in my morning exercises on the elliptical machine, I’m reading 1 Peter. Over and over and over. It actually makes the exercise less painful, keeps me from ticking off the minutes. This morning I read the first chapter in English, Spanish, Portuguese and Aymara, all while running nine laps around the football field. (Pardon me, but I feel so virtuous!)

I’ve noticed some interesting things:

1)      ---The book clearly presents the Trinity: “…chosen according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, through the sanctifying work of the Spirit, to be obedient to Jesus Christ….”

2)      ---Like James, Peter talks about the Father who gives us new birth. I find that fascinating. A father who gives birth. It shows the inadequacy of our anthropomorphic images of God. Both Father and Mother, but neither the one nor the other. Mystery.

3)      ---I love the “living” references: a “living hope” (1:3), the “living word” (1:23), the “Living Stone” (2:4) and us as “living stones” (2:5) in a spiritual house.

Especially the living hope. Right now in the middle of the break-up of Northwest Yearly Meeting, hope is hard to grab ahold of. What is a living hope?

Spirit, sow that kind of hope in me.

Here’s an old poem, come back to help me now.

Meditation on 1 Peter 1:3-4

Rooted in red-rich dirt,
resurrection soil,
my hope is a green and living thing:
a wide willow
offering respite from summer’s heat;
a blossoming sorrel
left to surprise squirrels and deer mice;
a licorice fern.
It has texture and hue;
real edges define it;
its roots are credible.
Tiny fingers stroke moisture/life
from ground.
Each single cell drinks light and air,
releases an energy green and good.

My hope is a young sequoia.

Slender now,
its trunk will thicken
in a larger garden--
a sure inheritance.

My hope enriches Eden’s slopes.

Abounding love and the history project

It’s Sunday morning, and I’ve just returned from the early service of the New Jerusalem Friends Church in La Paz. This service, running from 7:00 to 10:00 a.m., is in the Aymara language, while the later service switches to Spanish. The large meeting room gradually filled up with around 200 people. It was wonderful to once again worship God in that most lovely of languages. Later today we have our first meeting of the committee dedicated to researching and writing the history of the Bolivian Friends Church (INELA). I’m prepared with the traditional box of chocolates.

About a week ago, as I was reading through the book of Philippians, I sensed a new focus for this history project. What I first understood to be a challenge to me personally, I now see as an encouragement for our whole team. It comes from Paul’s prayer for the Philippian believers. Paul writes, “And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of God” (1:9-11).

The heart of this prayer is the phrase, “that your love may abound,” and I’m reminded that love needs to be the motivation behind this huge project. First, love for God: I’m reminded of the sense of call to this task that I responded to, and that obedience to God springs from love. We follow the Lord because we love him. Second, love for the church: Our investigation is revealing all sorts of information, not all of it positive. While the church belongs ultimately to God, for some reason God chooses to use human beings in her formation. And human beings, all of us, are full of flaws. It’s easy to criticize the church, and since a negative outlook is typical of the Aymara mindset, criticism often floats to the surface in our conversations. We wonder, how can we write about this or that?

Here’s where I find God’s word to us so important. We are called to love God and to love God’s church, with all her imperfections and flaws. We are to be amazed at how grace and mercy triumph over judgment, again and again. This is an immensely helpful perspective at this point in our project. We need to deal with the mistakes and problems that are part of our history, but from the perspective of faith, hope and love.

The verse continues: “that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight.” How appropriate for a history project! Knowledge can refer to the fruits of investigation, to the facts we’re trying to uncover, to the truths that we’re trying to get right, to the discoveries we hope to make. Depth of insight refers to the interpretation we as a community of investigators and writers give to those facts. Apparently, love will abound in knowledge and wise interpretation.

I’m encouraged and grateful. These next two months will be full of hard work and good times of fellowship with our team. With love to fuel us and the Spirit to fill us, it will be possible.