The Best Way We Met Each Other

 The Best Way We Met Each Other

(“Lord, your name will be famous forever! Lord, people will remember you forever and ever.” Psalm 135:13)

Was there something so unruly it threatened to get lost in the mud
of high-sounding words that no one understood? We can tangle our
language in ways that they knots are impossible to tie. And then
no one knows the message, no one knows the time. We just throw
out proclamation sky high and miles wide and figure everyone would
understand
everything we have to say.

It’s not for a lack of good material. We have had a miracle or two
come our way. We passed the daunting chemistry test. We got the
promotion at work. We found parking places at Walmart twice in the
same week. If that’s not God watching out for us, I don’t know what else
it would be.

Is there a quieter pain, is there a memory that is more plain; are their
tender moments when we knew God showed up invisibly but perceptively?
Did a mother reconnect with her own family; did she find that words
had been distorted
and they all could speak differently now out of time? Did a lifelong friend
cry over his wife’s dangerous prognosis and find a distant friend who
reached out to fill his heart again. They had been inseparable, but time
and distance worked against it. When hardship that was beyond anyone’s
ability to change, was there a friend who, over the miles, offered a simple
hand and hope for better all in Jesus’ name?

I remember the dark day in my living room, at the bottom of every
uncertain turning of the earth and the quakes it was threating to bring.
Two men entered, and bowed before me, took of my shoes and humbly
took my feet into their hands, washing them of the grime of the day,
They were once Superintendent at the highest point in our religious district.
They had left the band and now played solo. They expressed sorrow over my
demise. I listened and cried.

The blues still subdued me, the rancor and pain still grew within me,
and friends gathered round, a redheaded fellow musician who loved all
the music I adored,(she turned me) a drummer who could hold time and also hold to opposing
thoughts in one head (he was to be commended for that), a single mom who
needed to know she was not failing her kids, and a widow who simply drank
her full supply of friendship around our dining room table every other week.

And we have not forgotten; we know the name. We will always remember;
we will not forsake the name. We will share cocktails, stories, songs and
poems. We will elevate the best way we met each other and the best way
our healings had begun.

How can we, how can we ever forget the way the sun shined on our
tentative gatherings, some of them around food lovingly prepared. We
were a haven for the hurting. We were a space for the unsure.
And we just tried to act like Christ to each other, as impossible as that
sounds.

We cried, we giggled, we dug in deep, we floated freely, we sang
and learned songs as full as a Christmas morning.

We cannot forget, we will always remember. We were grateful
that healing permeated everything we tried and every time we met.

Everything Universal

Everything Universal

(“After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands.” Revelation 7:9)

The tickets were free and the air was clear.
The arena was packed and I knew very few who were there.
But I showed up because of the invitation;
I drove to the top of the hill to get a better view of
where we were going.
I saw lawyers and doctors,
servers and chefs,
crutches and joggers,
every kind of human I believed.

I made my way down quickly not wanting to miss a minute.
The road was crowded, the line was slow, but no one was
impatient as we waited our turn. I noticed an old friend,
one I did not expect to see at such a raucous and holy moment.
He looked the same and spoke the same,
and I remembered his name the moment he waved at me.
Neither one of us expected to see each other here.
It had been 30 years since we played tennis together
on the weekends.

We parked near each other and walked to the entrance together.
I felt as if her was escorting me. But neither of us had any idea
about what we would hear and see. Myriads filled up around us,
circling the round rainbow throne.

We looked at each other before the singing began. This was the
most indiscrete moment we had ever lived. Millions, and maybe
billions outside the doors were all dancing like the world had
just begun. So many languages but we sang the same song.

We spent the time like we were levitating from the ground.
Gravity gave up its heavy bonds. 

And the Lamb. And the Throne. And our joy. And the Home
we learned we could call our own. Not a single wall,
not a impenetrable barrier kept any of us away. Our
tongues rehearsing native songs that we all understood.
Voices creating a new song from the old. Everything that was
universal
felt local that day.

Love that Bid Us to Stay

Love that Bid Us to Stay

(“Hear my voice according to Your faithfulness; revive me, Lord, according to Your judgments.” Psalm 119:149)

Daily the cracks in the sky open to help us feel
how the love of God can burst into flames and warm
our quiet and cold early morning pensées. The night
before
we had felt the zero that loneliness brings, sitting by a
fire
that no one else sees. We stayed outside till midnight,
just two of us exchanging stories we had told each other
a hundred times before.

Waking the next morning in our separate houses,
I don’t know if we dreamed the scenes we had painted
the night before. I wondered if the embers had turned to
ashes
overnight.

I pondered how many beliefs we left behind to find
their remains in the firepit we had constructed? Did
our stories match? Did our songs matter? Did our
recitations of memorized liturgies make a difference
today?

It was love that invited us, and it was love that
bid us to stay.

We wish we had kept our sense of humor
intact.

The Road was Darker

The Road was Darker

(“My life is stuck in the dirt. Now make me live again according to your promise!” Psalm 119:25)

The road was darker than usual
and I was unsure about the corners that wound
through the hills. I had spent the day wishing the
sun would shine more brilliantly to drive the
sludge away from my mind.

I had sat in the middle of incomplete and
run-on sentences that wanted to be certain that
I served my time.

And so, I left that small circle that surrounded me
with more weight than I could carry.
The night had fallen and I only wanted to find
somewhere that felt like home.

They were made of dust and so was I. But
beyond the wall of rocks they built to teach me
who to exclude,
they were certain they were building a temple when
instead
it was armory always preparing for war.

My anxiety grew, my skin turned white,
my voice caught in the back of my throat.
Mark my words, I had no syllables to say that
would make a way out of the imprisoned improvisations
that used “no” in ways that nonsense never heard.

There was no one who knew everything about me
so I set out from there on an excursion through the
night that might land me somewhere that left my
humanity alone. I wanted to find a place where
I could close my eyes and know that no one stole
my story while I was not looking.

I found a place to fill my lungs and revive my
fainted heart. Just outside of town there were circles
within circles and tables laden with bread and honey.
I pulled up with my lights on and tested the ground
to see if it would hold the full weight of me.
I turned off the engine and took my time examining the
lightly designed coffee cups being filled for vagabonds like me.

Secrets and Wishes

Secrets and Wishes

(“Because he turned his ear to me, I will call on him as long as I live.” Psalm 116:2)

There always seemed too many barriers erected to
keep you from hearing my pain. Sometimes whispered<
sometimes gravely twisting my words, I had shouted like
a lost child threatened with the universe.
Sometimes I drenched the sofa midnight with the tears
poured out every excuse I ever gave for giving up
on the winding path too steep for my age.

I could point to the overnight fasting I tried one
New Year’s Eve locked inside a local church. I planned
to stay there till noon of the first year. I thought I
would break through, that God would show up and pat
me on the back and clothe me with something that finally
covered my instabilities. Instead, I called my girlfriend at 8 to
come and pick me up while I insisted we get some donuts.

I failed.

I thought.

After decades of clawing the dirt, of bawling at altars with
gray indoor/outdoor carpet, of repeating the same prayer over
and over
in the hopes I would be heard. There were decades I studied
the long prayers of an elder who implored God as long as a sermon.
I could not rule out that I simply could not pray. At least not like
long-winded partners who filled the room with time. I knew I did
not shine nearly as long as the power-players who pointed to miracles
someone else who told someone else had told them.

But once I was out of that cocoon, the echo chamber that jailed me,
glass house that only reflected
what other said within it; once I read the classics again and played
with my kids again,
something softly took me into its confidence.

It’s like when my grandson wants to tell me a secret and so
I put my face next to his with my ear by his mouth. He may mumble
something incoherent, but it doesn’t matter to me at all. He knows
I heard and that is good for the both of us.

God, do you truly bend down like that? Can I stop the crying fits
and the long-winded approaches to your throne? Oh wait, if you
bend your ear like that, you have left your loftiness far behind. Do you let
me whisper what I had been afraid to say in the middle of the moments in the
glass housed churches I occupied?

Can I talk and walk and, between verses of the songs I listen to, share a sentence
or two in your inclined ear? Can we hold court, but right here on the earth where
my feet trod, and the sheets I lay in when I have something more to say?

Maybe I will sometimes need to shout, but not to get your attention.
I may even throw a tantrum when the stars refuse to shine, but I’ll
end up whispering my secrets and wishes into your ear.

We Cracked the Code

We Cracked the Code

(“He has caused His wonders to be remembered; the Lord is gracious and compassionate.” Psalm 111:4)

Our conversations were never empty,
though they ranged from laden to light.
We moved easily from jokesters to philosophy.
Do you remember pouring the wine that
brought solace to our bones? We wielded
the wisdom of toddlers learning the lay of the land.

You walked into the room like an uneasy breath
until we both learned there was nothing to fear.
We wished we had known each other longer
but we forged our way through the summer sludge
that stuck to both of our skins. Happenstance
had its work but never had the last word.

Trained in a different space and time we
might have lit candles for each other at the
silent altars of a lonesome cathedral.
We cracked the code like dual countrymen
raised on either side of the peaks we knew
as children. Somehow, we met in the middle
where I was an immigrant and you were a
natural born citizen. We capture the cadences
as we learned each other’s language. Mostly
we did not need to speak, though. We only
listened like eavesdroppers outside a
phone booth on the corner.

We were desperate for understanding, we were
anxious from too many shredded knees trying to
climb our way to acceptance. We could not leave
that behind.

And though it’s years since we have spoken,
the golden hues of sunset conversations have
not departed my mind. We were decades apart
before we met and perhaps the timing was all
that mattered.

Front Porches and Fire Pits

Front Porches and Fire Pits

(“May mercy and peace and love be multiplied to you.” Jude 1:2)

The negotiations nearly ceased when the
bands battled aimlessly. They played in different keys
and ragged tempos while we listened from opposite
sides of the park.
Gazebo against gazebo,
they played like the day would never end.
Our ears heard multitudes clashing. Those unused
tunes wiggled like earthworms below our feet.
No one planned it,
this disconcerting entertainment. It was merely the
result of too many musicians and not enough direction.

Thunderclouds had been building to the west all afternoon,
And when the lightning took us all by surprise the thunder
sounded out from one end of the day to the next.
It realigned our unrehearsed ragas and turned our attention
toward the rhythm the rain made as it hit the ground.
We had heard there were fires in the grassland and flash floods
in the hills. We counted out the time now, one and two and
three and four. We let the fancy trills and turnarounds go
for the simpler melodies of folks making it all up on
front porches and around fire pits. We put our instruments away
and merely sang. One word, two words, a break,
two words and then three.

We made up songs that sounded like they had been in the
back catalogue for ages. We learned them on the spot and
discovered we knew more than we thought.

We had been afraid that the discord we heard would
divide the afternoon from the giggles of children we were
used to hearing. We began sharing our apprehensions
across fences and learned there was so much more
we could say. We spoke and waved and tried our
concerted passages anyway.

We passed the lyrics on to our progeny.