Pass, Fail

(“But if it comes to that, we’d rather the test showed our failure than yours. We’re rooting for the truth to win out in you. We couldn’t possibly do otherwise.” 2 Corinthians 13:7, 8)

To be honest, the “Message” version of the Bible is not the best translation of the quoted verse. In fact, it is far closer to a mini-commentary than a translation at all. Young’s Literal translation says, “and I pray before God that ye do no evil, not that we may appear approved, but that ye may do that which is right, and we may be as disapproved; for we are not able to do anything against the truth, but for the truth.”

Sleight

Sleight

(“A heartless leader is a fool, but anyone who refuses to get rich by cheating others will live a long time.” Proverbs 28:16)

When we delay the good or betray our bad enthusiasm
for prejudices we’ve hidden,
we fill our pockets with nothing but air from
muddy-bottom rivers at low tide.

Base your words on truth, my leader,
without deception. Your sleight-of-hand is not
nearly as sleight as you believe. Though lovers
always believe the other’s sleight-of-hand tricks,
your cunning is visible as noon masquerading
as the back side of the moon.

When you call your servant in for an interview,
a question or two about his future,
then rake him like dead leaves,
interrogate him like the DA you always wished you could be;
when you mass your troops for his single soul,
why is it you feign such surprise at his silence.

When you offer your hand while he nears the quicksand bottom,
and close future doors with your other hand behind your back,
why, mister wise, are you so surprised when
he feels constantly under attack.

Love never manipulates, never marionettes with camouflage strings,
 but speaks truth about what it knows and hopes to know,
and lets the loved one go without trying to
ghost-write the future.

Speak truth to me and I will find peace in the words,
love or no.
Speak peace to me, with truth well hidden, and I will never sleep
peacefully again.

Poetry is Dangerous

Poetry is Dangerous

(“For they are sham apostles; deceptive workers, wearing the masks of Christ’s apostles.” 2 Corinthians 11:13)

In poetry I am free to make my quotes mean
anything.

In essays and doctrine I
must remove the mask of self-conceit
and think which next word matches and means
the earliest intention of reasonable assumptions.

Poetry emerges untouched except by pencil and hand
without pausing to regret or examine intentions
like a bear sniffing for berries.

Poetry is dangerous then, as mushroom hunting by
novices,
and only hopes the mask it fashions
matches the heart-learned face of a love long known.

I can ask you questions within my refrains
unafraid of right or wrong,
and hope I raised you right, though carrots
resemble artichokes in the garden dug
where I see more compassion in your eyes
despite tears I shed when I wonder why
your doctrine leans so far from mine.

But you must know, having loved you more than
you can know…in poet, song or dissertation…
that tasting the fruit planted on my tongue
(carrots are not artichokes in the fresh fruit aisle)
poetry lets my circumvent the question so I can remember

Lunches across the table from my son, my best friend,
without competition or need to defend a new assumption
about how the world works and how God tends my questions
that I used to fully understand.

Poetry is dangerous, then, but casts a longer shadow
than mere paragraphs of prose proving right or wrong.

What it comes down to, artichoke or carrot, is that both are tasty,
and, handpicked, need no explanations having landed in
my salad.

(And so, I feel constrained to add, that truth is always truth, but
for the day or two I write it, poetry takes me to air less heavy
where can breathe without eternal outcome.)

We Know What to do With Madmen

“When they came to Jesus, they saw the man who had once been full of demons. He was sitting there with his clothes on, and in his right mind, and they were terrified.” Mark 5:15

We know what to do with mad men. I don’t mean angry guys; I mean crazy people. I also don’t mean that we are comfortable with or know how to fix those who seem insane among us. But we do know what to do with them when their madness is obvious.

Contagious

“I know how eager you are to give. And I have proudly told the Lord’s followers in Macedonia that you…have been ready for a whole year. Now your desire to give has made them want to give.” 2 Corinthians 9:2

A friend of mine has a brand new baby. She also has a cold today. Her baby came down with it yesterday and now Mom has caught the same cold from her little on. Contagious! I was thinking of paying a visit but I might wait till both mom and baby are over their sniffles. (I’m kidding; I can’t wait to see her newborn again.)

Garden

(“Some fell on good earth and came up with a flourish, producing a harvest exceeding his wildest dreams.” Mark 4:8 [The Message])

The earth boasts in flowers while the
sun and rain hold their tongues.

We Scrape Creation

We Scrape Creation

(“Our Lord, it seems that you have just begun to show me your great power.” Deuteronomy 3:24a)

We scrape creation like wiggling comets
bursting with snow. There is nothing we know better
than ourselves,
nothing we know less.
Until I find a God who does not mind
that I detest destruction of any kind
I will keep on following Jesus alone
and let my other questions float loaded
with regrets it took so long to see Him
as I do now.

We make believe we believe and become
like the God’s we believe in. Angrier than
we ever become at children or spouse
we make Him wrath-Man full of thunder,
named Destruction, and hating the same enemies
we’ve hated all along.
Oh God of my choice, how glad I am You
chose me instead of the neighbors I’ve learned
to love to hate.

We scratch the surface of the universe like
fingernails of unseen travelers pulling giant Airstreams.
Still we fancy perfect knowledge about where
the imperfect spend forever hotly regretful.
We snub our noses at parents struggling to hold their own,
at teenagers with parents nearly disowned,
and at everything that doesn’t match our 2011
North American Christianese excess that says
you can have it all if you play the game
I’m playing with the rules I’ve invented, recently,
and thought were the rules all along.

Do I sound bitter or discouraged. No, I just know it all
better than anyone else who knows it better than the rest.
But I’ve come to my certainty more recently than you
and that makes me the closest to truth for now, without
counting what may be discovered tomorrow.

We mine the skies like fireflies thinking our tiny shine
illumines the entire firmament.

People are Watching

“People are watching us as we stay at our post, alertly, unswervingly…when we’re praised, and when we’re blamed; slandered, and honored; true to our word, though distrusted.” 2 Corinthians 4, 8 (The Message)

The Christian is constantly watched; especially those in the limelight of ministry. Paul was quite cognizant of the fact that people were aware of everything he did. And, though it caused him to be sure and live up to his calling as much as possible, he was also aware of the possibility of being misinterpreted.

Refugee

“Designate your asylum-cities, towns to which a person who accidentally kills someone can flee for asylum.” Numbers 35:11 (The Message)

God had Moses assign six cities in the Promised Land where people could flee if they accidentally killed someone. This was necessary because the law at that time allowed for the victim’s nearest relative to take vengeance for the killing. There was not yet a “due process” that would help the accused show the killing was unintentional.

There is Liberty

There is Liberty

(For my daughter Sarah, upon her High School graduation)

(“For the Lord is the Spirit and where the Spirit of the Lord is there is liberty.” 2 Corinthians 3:17)

You are a dancer, always have been one,
a performer first given a stage at home,
the mall, the gym, the theater, or friends with
a handycam reenacting the girls’ version of
Huckleberry Finn.

You loved to move while others watched,
applause was worth the cost of crinoline petticoats
and bumps on your socks that rubbed your toes
in all the wrong ways.

Stage fright tore at the four year old
who loved the dance and hated the fear,
mascara was replaced after the scary tears
receded long enough to attach the wig with
curls in place. But take the stage and the smile was

On

Ready to lead as the perfectionist took off.

You are Daddy’s dearest gift, a daisy, a delicate flower
learned to clean-lift her own weight and more.
And the happiest times I’ve ever seen you
are when you are lost in music, in love with the
moment God has given you, without thought of
the finished product or the decibels of applause.

Play your music, Princess; make it up as you go along.
Leave the precision behind, never mind the notes you miss.
Insist upon joy, mastery consists of freedom and excellence
in perfect tandem; precision and abandon writing your
latest dance of liberty.

I will still watch every note you play, hear your steps
(even miles away), and know the cries you make just
before curtain
are because you’ve studied your best
never want to let your own effort down.

I will still stand first at your finish
(you remember how I called out “Sarah” at every parade)
and be the ovation that leads the rest of the world
to know the girl I know. She is vulnerable as the field daisy,
as tough as barbells lifted overhead, as certain as a scholar,
and tentative as a newborn. All the best I’d hoped, bundled
in the tiny frame of the daughter gifted my by Father above.

I wish I had prayed more with you, taught you the Scriptures well,
led you to a steely faith that never feared hills or bends.
But I see, with all my weakness, the image of Jesus in your eyes,
and know you have learned the best part, apart from my
shyness about familial indoctrination.

Now fly, liberty lady, for Jesus is the Spirit within,
and never fear the curtain unveiling the next act
(unrehearsed) of destiny’s production.
You are product of love and intention;
take them and soar as the Spirit leads you
to play like you’ve never played before.

To Wait Until

To Wait Until

(“At once Jesus asked them to come with him. They left their father in the boat with the hired workers and went with him. Mark 1:20)

It does no good to wait until more favorable times
when following is freer from questions about
whether I will follow well or succeed at success at all.

I wish there were patterns for promised infatuations
(there were more than a dozen hobbies I never stayed with
for more than a year).
I wish there were recipes for baking a life just the right amount of time
(I’ve left out more ingredients than I’d like to confess).
I wish there were seminars for messiah-following
(oh…there are, I’ve attended dozens).

I could brag about all that I might have had; boats and extra cars,
dinner reservations and vacations anywhere I please.
I might boast about how quickly I ran after the Voice that
ran after me. But there is no credit in following
such compelling attraction, nor in giving away
what I never intended to have; beside regrets,
and those I would give away freely to the first asker
with no price, delivered promptly, to their front door,
postage paid, no handling charges. I’d even wrap them up
in Christmas paper I bought for next year’s holiday.

It takes me twice as long to name anything a success
as it did when I had people coming out of closets,
clients making payments, and invitations to digress
about current reservations. I used to run after You
and now my feet ache from bone-spurs. I used to
think so clearly about God and His country
and now my head aches with an incurable disease.

I had hoped by this time I followed You better,
but not nearly as well as my first week out of the cradle.
I could say I’m still working on this or that,
but I’ve worked longer than I should have for such
simply variations from the norm. I’d rather be silent
in my daylight, alone with my night-light, and
hope I’d followed well enough to come home

Tomorrow.

When to Avoid Discomfort

“After all, if I had made you uncomfortable, how could you have cheered me up when you were uncomfortable?” 2 Corinthians 2:2

There was a lot about which the Corinthians should have been uncomfortable, and especially in regards to the Apostle Paul. He had to call them out on a number of issues in his previous letter. They had been misusing spiritual gifts, arguing over who was the greatest, wisest or most knowledgeable about spiritual things. They snubbed the poor, made a mockery of times they celebrated communion, and did nothing about a man who was regularly having sex with his step mother.

Substituted Words

Substituted Words

(“Above all that you guard, watch over your heart, for out of it are the sources of life.” Proverbs 4:23)

I substituted words for the words I forgot,
I rearranged numbers for the numbers not
remembered,
and I left uneasy parentheses for action words,
verbs and metaphors I would have used a
decade before.

Then I could do nothing to sleep, my pain fading this
past week,
but new meds may have sucked things I knew
and threw them past the black hole at the back
of my mind beyond retrieval.

I do not mind missing a photo or two,
or misapplying the labels to faces I once knew,
my passion once replaced the empty lags
between the last sentence and the next.

I knew so much when I was young,
few songs were unsung,
fewer words left dangling from my tongue,
with point after point strung in neat array,
a necklace of beads and a word bouquet
to take away with you into the night.

Now I’m not clever enough to offer a single perfume
awaking remembrance of my words. I’m tired
or pained, either one sapping my usual elocution.

Could I transfer my heart strings to yours, I would not,
out of fear the person pain has made me. I have worn out
my apologies and met someone else face-to-face without
words to describe the tears and frustration that have replaced
the man I once was.

Fill me now fuller than I’ve ever requested, for the ink smears
with my tears,
and disappears once I wake without dreaming.

Soil Preserves

Soil Preserves

(“The seed sown is natural; the seed grown is supernatural…” 1 Corinthians 15:44a [The Message])

Soil preserves everything old in a blanket,
cools everything inches below the reach of sunlight,
provides everything to nourish early and new arrivals,
warms everything miles and miles above the core of the earth.

Children dig corners in their yards and sometimes
find
black buttons,
plastic wrap,
spoons and bones left by pet dogs and previous owners.

Potsherds preserved centuries below the floors of
yesterday’s living rooms in tells,
mounds of generation follow generation
never knowing what had come before.

Someday I will castaway my body to the graveyard,
a site slightly mounded with slab marking the spot.
It will become an architect’s hollow room
after I sign another
long-term lease for a studio overlooking
a river bounded by medicine-trees.

Soil may preserve my bones, digits and stones;
and cool my slacking skin. But heaven is more suited
for my soul’s final movement, at home at last,
no sorrow no sin, all is completed,
death is defeated,
life flows boundless and green
through the dreams planted before
the beginning of time.

Heaven's Note

“Shout praises to the Lord! Shout the Lord’s praises in the highest heavens.” Psalm 148:1

A sheep rancher in the remote mountains of Idaho discovered his violin was out of tune. He tried to make it sound the way it should, but without a tuning pitch, he was unable to get it right. A frequent listener to a radio station in California, he wrote the station concerning his problem.

No More Curse!

“I was brought here to bless; and now he’s blessed—how can I change that?” Numbers 23:20 (The Message)

Baalam was a hired gun sought out by Balak to curse Israel. But, God prevailing upon him, Baalam blesses instead; the actual intention of God. Though Balak sought to win the upper hand by employing supernatural means, he could not thwart God’s ultimate destiny for His people.