Tethering Our Thoughts

“My friends, God has chosen you to be his holy people. So think about Jesus, the one we call our apostle and high priest!” Hebrews 3:1

I think about a lot of things. I have a mind that keeps spinning, chugging away like a perpetual motion machine. If my thoughts became visible, they would look like some Rube Goldberg creation. The first few motions of thought would seem sensible, but after a few moments the connection between the first and latest thought is lost.

Angling Away?

“Luckily, a priest was on his way down the same road, but when he saw him he angled across to the other side.” Luke 10:31 (The Message)

Few of us mean to be apathetic. We do not set out to be cold or unconcerned about the plight of others. Yes, there are the handful of folks who will admit to dismissing other people’s needs for a myriad of excuses. But, for the most part, most folks want to be helpful. At least, that is what we say.

The Blues I've Used

The Blues I’ve Used

(“Our warriors have fallen in the heat of battle.” 2 Samuel 1:25a)

Take these words with you, pass them up the ladder,
carry them paper-flight beyond the roofs, along the arch
helium balloons take unaided by the wind.

Find another chapter to write, quickly lay down the think in ink,
comment on disorderly, wrestle with logicality that
death comes dying to the young to the young who
we thought would battle in the sun in the sun
until they came back home, our very own,
our warriors, our victors, our daughters and sons.

Mama died too early, Father could not face too soon,
too soon perhaps as well.
Me, I’m left writing like I did in school,
leaving off rhyming, limping odd timing,
trying to start out bright and yellow until
the sunny hues are stewed in an instant and
words revert to the blues I’ve used over and over
and never learned to play very well.

Sis is on the mountain, and Sis is in the heat,
Brother is waiting in the windy city,
and I never miss a beat of wondering why
I put off reunions for one more year for cost.

No one dies early, some die barely alive,
No one dies early, we all die on time.
But the battle takes the much too young,
the battle takes the prime and elite,
and I still write like I did in school
pouring ink on the fibers instead of tears,
looking for subscribers to apprehend my fears,
(not of dying, or dying too soon,
but of living too cautiously, venturing only
a day or two from the womb).

Dandelion Potentates

Dandelion Potentates

(“However, they did not understand this saying; it was kept hidden from then so they might not grasp it, and they were afraid to question Him about the suggestion.” Luke 9:45)

Iron is iron, clay is clay,
dandelions are daily,
yellow; then puffs; then;
blown away.

Clay is not smelted, iron is not thrown on a wheel
with thumbs and fingers within; prodding; pushing;
water and spin. Dandelions are not potentate,
voted no more than a day.

God is God, else is less,
humans are yearly,
pink; then gaunt; then;
buried east and west.

Else is not everywhere, God is not carried up a hill
with thorns and wounds and rags; bleeding; bending;
fallen and dragged. Humans are not judicial,
appointing death like a guest.

I cannot hear what is down, cannot see the reason that
rings around the right angles I have drawn neatly since
I was taught geometry. Leave me with gods who rule
and war and I will implore no further explanation.
But tell me His Son will be handed and manipulated,
dominated and stranded on a Hill alone, mandated by
maniacal men with thumbs and fingers….and I…

Christ is Christ, I am sin,
the world was weeping,
void; then spun; then:
reconciled, reaping

The benefits of our misunderstood quotations of
theology.

God's Got Your Back

“Find Jeremiah and keep him safe. Take good care of him and do whatever he asks.” Jeremiah 29:12

It’s nice when God protects His prophets. As a matter of fact, it’s greatly appreciated. When someone puts out the effort to speak for God, especially when God asks you to let people know His is unhappy with their behavior, well, it is just nice to know that God has your back!

Leading Like Jesus

“Instead, {God’s steward} must be hospitable, in love with what is good, sensible, fair, of holy life; self-controlled.” Titus 1:8

This single verse is in no way a complete description of the desirable traits for Christian leadership. But they are telling. I do not think there is a single one of these six attributes anyone would disagree with. We might even come up with some of them on our own, apart from reading what Paul wrote to Titus.

Like Opening

Like Opening

(“If My covenant with day and my covenant with night ever fell apart so that day and night became haphazard…then and only then would my covenant with my servant David fall apart.” Jeremiah 33:20, 21 [The Message])

Opening the morning, like opening a door,
closing the windows, the night falls like each night before;
sleep invites safety,
morning circles rainy or daisy but always arrives
just outside the open door.

Whether we spin or careen, cast our nets or line,
wander wet alone or dry our wit with friends,
undertone or cyclone, Friday or February,
Sunday or moon-defined; we rarely sweat a bead of time
over which side of the bed the sun might rise again.

Though it captured every homestead, outlined shadows,
alley or farm, I like the way it shone on your day some times
more than my own.

While I toiled unnoticed, just across town, quartets and
folk bands sang songs I hoped to write, but I had promised
the seven or eight my full year, no less…too late to join
the train regrouped the same day I signed up for the little work
just across town.

Opening the window, like opening the day,
the nights fall like each night present, each night passed,
each promise given, each role cast.
Find me cautious, see me serene, sun lights not-quites
the same as what might have been.

Speeches are Dust

Speeches are Dust

(“And God’s servants must not be troublemaker. They must be kind to everyone, and they must be good teachers and very patient.” 2 Timothy 2:24)

The birds watched perched on the wires above
an afternoon wedding when the first rain of fall
tapped outside windows waiting for the bride to appear.

Everyone knows everyone’s business in these small towns
and small churches.
Everyone has assumed their point of view, newly acquired on the street,
repeats the truth so much so the repetition wraps it up like
wedding presents,
creased white and silver, and ready to be hauled off
in a limousine rented by the objects of it all.

Once one ranted, once one decanted the fireworks
too close for safety and what the law would allow.
Hit by arrows, sliced by swords, slings and public predictions
carved like reader boards above business doors
complain loudly, some proudly, some rightly, some likely
to be nearly the truth.

And God’s servant stands mid the battlefield, weaponless except
the gentleness, perching with the birds on the wire, hoping to catch a view,
an observation point well marked through no man’s land where
the footprints fade and the pathways recede unpaved.

Less paid than called, the servant stalls, serves the sides that
sat left, sat right, stayed away or shivered at the sight of another
fight over nothing. Kind like gentle, snow like soft sans cold,
reloaded with the holy ammunition, firmly where bold love
aims its sights at hearts deeper than wounds. The words sound
like cell phone calls interrupting a movie that has lost its audience
after the first overwrought scene.

Speeches are dust, anger is rust, eyes are darts
piercing; eyes are stars parsing the universe in words
unspeakable. We lay down our arms at the inconceivable
wrapped around our certainties like honeysuckle summer.

Do You See Her?

“Then turning to the woman, but speaking to Simon, he said, ‘Do you see this woman? I came to your home; you provided no water for my feet, but she rained tears on my feet and dried them with her hair.’” Luke 7:44 (The Message)

Simon was a Pharisee who had invited Jesus to dine with him. During the meal a woman who was a known sinner entered the house with a jar of perfume. She knelt next to Jesus’ feet. As her tears fell on His feet she dried them with her hair, kissed his feet and anointed them with the perfume she had brought.

Simon was aghast! The woman’s reputation was well-known and he couldn’t believe that Jesus would let such a woman touch him. Especially if he was truly someone who spoke with God. The holy and sinful simply do not mix! Or so Simon thought.

Jesus’ response to Simon’s thoughts is telling. Looking at the woman he says to Simon, “Do you see her?” Of course Simon saw her. Isn’t he the one who was horrified at the way she wantonly approached Jesus.

“What do you mean, ‘Do you see this woman?’”, he must have thought. “I’m the one who pointed her out to you! I’m the one who cringed when she barely had entered the room. “Do I see her?” I’m the one that had to point her out to you, Jesus! You’re the one with poor eyesight, or perhaps you just haven’t heard what type of woman she is. I know you would never allow anyone with such a immorality even come near you. Well, unless you are not who you say you are, Jesus!”

But Jesus meant it. He meant for Simon to take another look at her. He meant for Simon to notice how she had indeed touched him. He wanted Simon to take a good long look at her. He wanted him to lay aside his presumptive nearsighted view of the woman and see her as a fellow human being.

Of course, that would be hard for Simon to do. She was well-known for her sin, and Simon was well-known for his devotion to religion and morality. Now Jesus wants him to look at the woman, and to notice something peculiar. She, so unholy and sinful could not stop washing Jesus’ feet and drying them with her own hair. Meanwhile Simon had not even supplied so much as a towel!

It is so unfortunate that we can be just as misguided as Simon. We look at people and we think we have them pegged. “There’s that liberal democrat over there. I’m sure he’s godless, has no morals and supports aborting every baby in sight.” “Did you see that conservative? I bet she hates gays! He’d probably rather see people burn in hell than love someone different that him.” We peg the poor as lazy, the hard-working as gruff or the well-educated as smug.

Jesus says, “Simon, do you see that person?” No, we are much like Simon. We do not see the person, we see our assumptions, our prejudices, our boxes all categorized so we know exactly what to do with each sort of person we come in contact with. “Do you see that woman?” Do we really?

Human eyes tend to see surface groups and classes, the eyes of faith see the individual made in the unique image of God. Jesus eats with a religious big-wig, but it is the lowly sinner lady who can’t keep herself from gushing love and devotion for Him. What happened to our presumptions now? What box should we put her in? Or Simon?

Jesus takes the opportunity to let Simon in on a secret: serving God isn’t about being the best, it’s about being the most forgiven! Simon, like many of us, assumed he wasn’t quite as bad as the worst of human miscreants. He might admit a handful of common missteps along the way, but his need for forgiveness was tiny compared to someone like this woman!

Or so he thinks. Or so we think. I had someone recently; in admitting they had done something they shouldn’t have, say, “I guess I sorta made a mistake.” That’s our problem! We only think we have “sorta” sinned. So, for those who sorta sin, they sorta get forgiven!

I’m starting to see now, why it is important to take long looks at people. It isn’t so I can see how dirty they are; but it is to remind me that I’m as far from God’s best as “they” are. Or, at least, as I sort of think they are.

Simons are people who have only “sort of” sinned. They are glad they are forgiven, but it’s not really such a big deal. People like the woman have sinned with all their vigor. They don’t care, everyone knows. And, grateful at such overwhelming forgiveness, they love unreservedly.

“Sort of” addicts never get help. “Sort of” sicknesses never get fully healed. People “Sort of” out of tune never get adjusted.

I don’t care anymore, I need forgiveness. I need it now, I need it full, I need it right out in front where everyone can see. And, I need to take a new, long look at people I’ve boxed away. Maybe some of them are just now drying the feet of Jesus while I sit merely writing about Him.

An Underdog Story

Goliath said: “If he can kill me, our people will be your slaves. But if I kill him, your people will be our slaves. Here and now I challenge Israel’s whole army! Choose someone to fight me!” 1 Samuel 17:9 10

David and Goliath is probably the greatest underdog tale there is. It was common practice to have one “Champion” represent on nation’s army the opposing army’s Champion. Goliath, ranging anywhere from seven-and-a-half to nine feet tall, challenged the Israelite armies to send such a Champion against him. His sheer size, combined with his fighting expertise, froze every potential opponent in their boots.

Among the Noises

Among the Noises

“[God] first saved us and then called us to this holy work. We had nothing to do with it. It was all his idea, a gift prepared for us in Jesus long before we knew anything about it.” 2 Timothy 1:9 [The Message])

Banish the velvet thrones, the lookout points above the rest,
Bulldoze the silver stands, the pulpits of pretense undressed;
And plant in their places, build common spaces,
quads and plazas, parks and picnics
where gifts are shared at sea level,
work is hands upon hands passing the plans
initialed before notions of my,
authored above contests of why.

Ears to the sky, eyes flying in reply to
the request sent pre-echo,
the orders cast, the Word applied,
the first are last, the down upside,
and few find their way, and pass the
narrow gate with their furniture too wide
to carry home.

Build me a legend and I’ll feed you hungry,
story upon story, we covet the sky,
Tell me your hero and I’ll know you roughly,
conquest upon success, we conspire to buy

Our way home.

But bought before us, and called last and first,
the Beginning of beginnings, the Author of earth
tracks us down, subtracts our precious,
counts our zeroes and calls us total when we
step down from our thrones and all other self-owns,
to find our voices among the noises of the redeemed.

Rule Over Me

Rule Over Me

(“Someday I will appoint an honest king from the family of David, a king who will be wise and rule with justice.” Jeremiah 23:5)

Rule over me in Righteousness,
Reign over all my merciless,
Sing into me Your Lovingness,
Wash away all my passionless.

Declare Your Name, Decree my shame
has been swept final away, and the fury of my
misspent gain is bankrupt fully subtracted.

Linger over me in green-hill joy,
Loom far above my gray-back alley,
Command perfection, ban my collections
of gods who whipped me into shapeless and
goddesses who laughed my ghost.

Subject, silent, awake and aware,
I am all unclothed, unstable, unable
to bear the touch the broken wool against my skin
one day longer without Your dominion
within.

Laugh at my handy attempts, my exempt petitions
that beg Your permission for one more misstep, one more
toe across the line. We were doing fine until
I kinged me acute one sunny day.

Humbling upon the harsh reality,
mocking my own rewritten legality,
I kneel this time face-first in my sorrow and joy,
Righteous King, Rule over me; all Your Lovingness Sing.

Taking Things into My Own Hands

”So I took things into my own hands, and sacrificed the burnt offering.” 1 Samuel 13:12b

Saul acts outside his authority. He was supposed to wait for Samuel who was coming in a week. It was nearing the seventh day and Saul got anxious; no sign of the prophet, the sacrifice was waiting, something had to be done.

How many times have we given in to that thought: “Something has to be done!” There is no doubt that certain situations demand action. To be frozen into inaction, our hands hanging limp in a crisis is never to be preferred. But there is also great wisdom in not overreacting. There is great strength in showing the restraint to resist the impulse to force a situation forward.

Saul yields to his own impetuous nature and takes things into his own hands. It was, first of all, never the king’s right to offer sacrifices. Secondly, Samuel had told Saul to wait for him. Saul had actually told Samuel he never wanted to have the priest’s prerogatives, but, the first chance he has, he does exactly that. He sacrifices the burnt offering! His actions betray a desire for power that his words tried to mask.

We may well say we support someone’s decision, but the test truly comes when we have the chance to put our hands in the mix. If we truly support what the person has done, we will resist the temptation to make it happen quicker, better or more precisely. It is their project, and our actions need to line up with our words. Forego your impulse to need control. Let the person pursue their assignment without feeling the need to tinker with it yourself.

Saul’s misstep seems to be such a small infraction, yet it costs him the kingdom. The act is the symptom of a greater deficiency of character. Saul does not trust anyone. He thinks David is trying to kill him and imagines his own son Jonathan is conspiring with him. He is jealous of the attention David gets when he returns from battle to the point of enraged tantrums. He is what we would call a “control freak” today. Even as king, he didn’t feel like he had enough influence, and tries to take the priests’ duties as well.

He could not control the hasty prompting of his inner nature and listen instead to the methodical and certain movements of God’s Spirit. How could he any longer be God’s representative when he acts only out of what is expedient, and not out of faith? How could he be a man after God’s heart, when he was a person of constant haste and restlessness?

And how about us? Do I respond to the hasty prompting of my lower self? Does impatience drive me to act well before any action is required? Does fear cause me to speak sharply and harm relationships with those around me? Does paranoia cut me off from full and open relationships with people who care about me?

When I was young I did what many other ten to thirteen year old boys did: I put together model cars and airplanes. Impatience was my downfall. My first few attempts I just glued and fit things together the way the pictures showed. Leaving a steering wheel out, or realizing the seats had to be put in before the body was glued together, next time I actually read the instructions. Still my haste won the day. Because I couldn’t wait to see what the finished product looked like, I left the painting till last. I know now how foolish that was. The tiny inner pieces have to be painted first, before it is assembled, or paint is splattered over every part of the model.

As followers of Christ, we have even more motivation to wait. God has promised that, if we wait on Him, we will gain more strength. And, to wait, we must slow down; to slow down, we have to get our hands off the situation and show God we actually trust Him.

God's Words: Our Heart's Delight

God’s Words: Our Heart’s Delight

(“When your words came, I ate them; they were my joy and my heart’s delight, for I bear your name, LORD God Almighty.” Jeremiah 15:16)

One of the delights I look forward to each summer vacation is tasting food I might not ordinarily eat. Whether in ethnic restaurants, a gem of a hole-in-the wall we simply stumbled upon, or the home cooking of good friends, we often get to share unique and uncommon meals together.

Once the Daylight

Once the Daylight

(“Samuel served as Israel’s circuit judge all his life.” 1 Samuel 7:17)

It is never the work that makes timing worthwhile,
It is the light, cutting through the shadows, that fetches
the smile from our face and supplies the grace better replacing
duty after duty, place after place.

It is never the rounds, the ups and downs, that pile up word into an epitaph,
It is the way the house smells when you come back home, the second half,
the journey after the roam, the phone calls who wondered,
the generations who pondered who you were and how you
came to enter their morning and never leave unknown.

It is hardly the paycheck, the raincheck, the wages set in stone,
It is the habit of salutation, wayside with pets on the porch,
proprietor on the phone;
wife out back with the children organic and homegrown.

It is rarely the talent, the quickest fingers, precision’s boast,
it is the song unrehearsed, cradle to epilogue, by every customer
around the edge-of-town trading post;
the words you remember, the melody never lost,
you can pick it out in an instant, public domain,
traded across, handed down, taught by mama,
hummed by papa, danced by cousins round the
Friday night bonfire while the babies sleep their
first lullaby on the dusty blankets and sheets.

It is never the plaques or trophies, but the places filled
with worlds within a village, universes lit behind
golden shades on a cabin fall night. The men in rockers,
the women whispering children, the dancers gazing lightly

Content.  Who knew the visit, duty bound as last year’s sojourn,

Could aim the handwriting well-early in the day that all would read
once the daylight was done.

Like Fire to the Friend

Like Fire to the Friend

(“Jesus gave Himself to rescue us. God showed us this at the right time.” 1 Timothy 2:6)

I want to run like fire to the Friend who shines
so sharp the sun fades way. I want to rush like water
to the Lover who fills so full the
rivers look dry. I want to gust like wind to the
Hero who wisps so sure the hurricanes
lose their names.

I am poor, I am needy weakness, I am sore, I am solitary abandon,
I am long on requests, short on answers, quick to share my certainties,
slow to list my failures.
Quick to see yours, (finger pointed silently), dim about mine,
(letters written defensively).

What I mean to say, what I’ve always said, is I’m sure I’m a sinner,
as sure as you are one too! It’s the sinning I find hard to admit to,
the daily habit of missing the mark. I will hide my mistake
year after year, while confessing my sinfulness bleak!

I need to fall like fever into the Hands of the Healer
so precise surgeons mime His work. I need to sleep like
a second son next to the Father whose purpose is complete.
I need to stand like a man in remission, disease and death
conquered
by rose petal strength,
reclaimed
by creation-length hope,
restored
by resurrection rule.

I hear the call of the Music which sings
so honey and milk I stop all I am writing,
my muses go to sleep,
and I am loved like Love in all its softness and clout,
by the Brother, Mother, Father, Son;
all-in-one…three-in-all, fully above me,
around me, below me and in me. The distance once eternal
has been closed by redemption’s rugged smile.