Take the Curtains Down

“After hanging the curtain from the clasps, bring the Chest of The Testimony in behind the curtain. The curtain will separate the Holy Place from the Holy-of-Holies.” Exodus 26:33 (The Message)

Our first house was a tiny two bedroom shack in Sulphur, Oklahoma. But, as with all first-time homes, it was our palace. As small as it was, we never felt cramped. There were just the two of us; no babies so far. Plus, we had accumulated very little furniture to fill up the miniature floor plan.

Half-way Over

Half-way Over

(“Also have them construct for Me a sanctuary, so that I may dwell among them.” Exodus 25:8)

It occurred to the five-year-old friend
that God was everywhere, start and end;
in the air, below the ground, God was everywhere,
up
and
down.

It occurred to him and to me,
while we kicked up our legs and knees
back and forth on our swing hung from the tree,
that God was everywhere we could daylight see,
and farther than darkness, and behind the breeze,
and where we could imagine, and beyond what we
dreamed.

It occurred to us, bright young scholars at play,
that God was everywhere, plainly night and day,
but more; the invisible takes up space; earth, universe,
my house and his. God takes up space, no less
my swing (spring morning) than his.

It occurred to us both, without an inkling of doubt
that, God being everywhere, faced and about,
Upon us, like Spirit over water, would hover
and incite us to scoot sideways in our swings
at least

Half-way over.

On the Island

On the Island

(“Your Father in heaven feels the same way. He doesn’t want to lose even one of these simple believers.” Matthew 18:14 [The Message])

Now fall asleep on the island of disconnect in the late winter
and isolation. The later the day, the
more acute the angles,
until the corner closes in on
your final remaining choices.

Fastened to your memory, the daylights of a hundred previous friends
light one moment where tears fall like crystals loosely from
grandma’s costume necklace.

The winds scatter your artwork, photos of you and the cast,
the actors who seldom diluted affection in the days we thought
we had captured every treasure and the jewels we would ever need.

Now where are we, island upon island, waters so swift
we only wave between the ships floating loaded
past our cinnamon bread morning? The winds howled
last night and noon the same; afternoon’s laughter
may find broken sunshine teasing our hope.

I know we spoke years ago, and you have forgotten my name.
I know we read the lines, fastening new disguises on our faces,
never knowing the actor; we played the parts so well.

But today I‘d give everything I have to know you over again,
to keep you closer again, to speak you truer again, to let love
find me, find you, find the entire cast and crew, newly
loved like older we were. I would find the courage
to never lie; you would find the smile we packaged
when we heard the story you once only told. We would
light a campfire, scan the smoky hills past dusk

And wait the Father’s voice to bring us all back home,
the voice we waited a lifetime to recall.

Facts or Truth?

The disciples, “Why do the religion scholars say that Elijah has to come first?” Jesus, “I’m telling you, Elijah has already come but they didn’t know him when they saw him. They treated him like dirt, the same way they are about to treat the Son of Man.” Matthew 17:10, 12 (The Message)

How do you size up the truth? Sometimes truth and error sound very similar. Someone can flatly lay out the facts of a situation in such a way as to leave out the kernel of truth. “The boss fired me,” may be the facts. “I was embezzling and got caught red-handed,” might be the truth.

Thrill Us Alongside

Thrill Us Alongside

(“Then Moses prayed to the Lord, ‘What am I going to do with these people? They are about to stone me to death!’” Exodus 17:4)

Thrill us alongside our easy beliefs,
be the jester for our fear’s relief,
magic acts explode and smoke,
banquets of miracles or we will revoke
your prophet’s license here and now!

Presume the definition lives up to your own hunger
and every flower means zero if it cannot be eaten.
Measure goodness by your own myopia
and every lantern is a black hole on a sinking boat.

Tell us what will make us cry for the moment,
not what makes us brood over undone reconstruction.
We are ready to release in buckets full of emotion
our agony to spend the rest of the day
lightly playing like no neighbor hungers like me.

Fewer faces, decrease the spaces between the
Kingdom Come
and the words our tongues make our
world become.

Hunger, let it grumble in me for you;
pangs and fasting, let them answer on earth
as it always is in Heaven.

We might drop the rocks, bruise our toes,
before we ever again refuse another step
that refuses to see Father’s love that chose
our provision tomorrow before we ever slept

Today.

He Healed Them

He Healed Them

(“Moving away from there, Jesus went along the sea of Galilee, climbed the hill and sat there.” Matthew 15:29)

We bring limps and aching, words we wasted,
fantastic thunder we thought was ours for the taking.
We bring our latest, our untasted seasons flavorless
for all our hot explanations.

We bring our tears and breaking, feuds we blooded,
brothers and sisters flooded by our dogma, our determination
to force the joints into place before You could touch them true.

We bring our sight and blindness, knots we tightened,
abrasive blindfolds we put over pretenses of kindness.
We bring our boil or freeze; we bring our luxury and ease,
We bring cuts and sharp; we bring dreary, we bring dull,
We bring our unfinished; we bring our diminished
proofs signed by the same ghosts You’ve named from
the beginning.

We bring our ending, we bring up the rear,
we bring up the past, we ring up the clear notes
we hope prove us innocent at last.

Who do You see, on the hill, under the tree,
as we elbow our way, morning to finally?

Who do you heal but the sick and maimed,
and why do we submit certificates of health: claimed, certified, insane.

We bring our innocence, broken at last;
we bring our signature, erased at last;
we bring our only hope, emptied at last.

And at last as first Your touch is birth and life,
we bring our claims and bury them,
our boasts and surrender them,
newborns breathing as first.

Eat My Words?

The food that you put into your mouth doesn’t make you unclean and unfit to worship God. The bad words that come out of your mouth are what make you unclean.” Matthew 15:11

“You are what you say”. That’s a little riff on the popular slogan, “You are what you eat.” Jesus makes no mistake about the powerful effect words have. We often refer to the damage they can do to the hearers. It is widely known that a spouse who is belittled year after year will eventually see themselves exactly as they have been spoken of. A person who was once confident and lively may, after a time, become reclusive and unsure.

Fierce Compassion

Fierce Compassion

“When Jesus got out of the boat, he saw a large crowd of people. He felt sorry for them, and he healed the ones who were sick.” Matthew 14:14

What crosses your mind when you see a large crowd? The “large crowd” of vehicles during rush hour has been known to cause road rage. The large crowds at the mall might cause someone else a bit of social anxiety. And, large crowds like the Occupy movement might elicit a whole range of emotions depending on our political leanings.

Not a Fly Left

Not a Fly Left

(“God did what Moses asked. He got rid of the flies from Pharaoh and his servants and his people. There wasn’t a fly left. But Pharaoh became stubborn once again…” Exodus 8:31,32a [The Message])

There is no more time to wait, swatting
midges that land on my sandwich near night.
There is little room to talk, faking
human while the smoke’s aroma indicts.
There are far too few moments, flicking
mosquitoes that hide behind patio lights.
There are hardly any words, poems
opening (I swear) hidden tombs oddly white

Washed like

A clock with hands set back half a day,
a book halfway read and put away,
a plea for clemency, honest truth’s escapee
slapping the neck and scratching its false identity

Until no one believes there is life in the tomb
and the midges and mosquitoes paint the sky black

While we wait (there is not time for that) for one fact
to bubble out of the sweaty tomb, death’s admission that

Leaves the patio free for picnics and sweet iced tea
on another summer afternoon.

Like Treasure

Like Treasure

("The kingdom of heaven is like treasure that was hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again. He was very happy. So he went and sold everything he had. And he bought that field.” Matthew 13:44)

Never expecting a muddy day; sun across every field
burned the fog and left the dirt crusty above the tangle of roots below.
I wore my black loafers and navy dockers,
walking sidewalk straight, hearing the crazy blackbirds
pretend to threaten, the faint frogs attempting their songs,
and the wide river a slow bass legato run.

Across the field, one third of the way in, was a mound,
just an emergence of soil, not enough to cast a shadow,
not enough to catch my eye, except today.
For sounds and sights, time and place, this day,
without reason other than my meandered pace,
I noticed what I would not, what anyone would not,
notice any other day.

I kicked off the cracked mud opening from the top
that spidered down from middle to bottom, not suspecting
a find,
just a lump to kick the time away.

So as I scraped my second foot over the late-day clay,
a wink from the dark caught my eye. I had been fooled before,
a child of 7 or 10, when the same reflection revealed only
a broken neck of a dr. pepper bottle.

I reached inside the dark, careful not to slice my fingers on
someone’s busted drink, and blue! Or violet! Or jade or emerald!
Oh joy; the colors would not be defined! Within my hand it was
cold and warm to my eyes.

The sun stopped shining, the field disappeared, and the afternoon
once lively now existed no more! There was only a moment full of all,
a day pregnant with every, and a gem too heavy to have weight or any.

Within a week I sold all I could see, rented the rest and bought that field
in spite of myself. My slices of five out of seven flew beyond the dawn

And the price I paid, in spite of myself, never matched the radiance,
the laser, the fluorescent, the flame and the spray of the never-changing
gem, though it seems, the colors are clearer with the day. And lately

After decades of wander, full knowing my foolish transaction,
there is nothing more precious, even on days of hunger,
than the beauty I found caked with earth’s transitions.

Shine Like the Sun

“But everyone who has done right will shine like the sun in their Father’s kingdom. If you have ears, pay attention!” Matthew 13:43

The great painter Vincent Van Gogh said, in a letter to his sister Wilhelmina, “it is obvious that putting little white dots on the blue-black is not enough to paint a starry sky.” If you take a few moments to view his famous painting, “The Starry Night”, you know exactly what he means. These are not stars as they “are”, they are stars as they affected the painter. This are not mere twinkles of light, these are luminaries with fierce and beautiful power.

Can I Borrow a Cup of Gold, Please

“But each woman shall request from her neighbor and from the lodger in her home silver and gold articles, and garments with which you will dress your sons and daughters. You shall strip the Egyptians.” Exodus 3:22

What would it mean to you if you knew that God intimately cared about the pain you experience? What difference would it make if you knew that He is moved deeply by injustice? What would change in your life if you were convinced of God’s ability to turn unfair situations around in this world?

Come

Come

(“On Judgment Day, the Ninevites will stand up and give evidence that will condemn this generation, because when Jonah preached to them they changed their lives.” Matthew 12:41 [The Message])

Come and fill me up, this empty scatter that hums like ease;
empty me please, of the matter, the mass that pretends peace,
leaving a vacant ocean.

Come and size me up, this giant ego that bumps the wind;
decrease me please, of the stature, the peak that cartoons me,
late night and shrill fulfillment.

Come and sing to me, this nursery rhyme that tunes the fright;
rewrite me please, of the refrain, the song that fools me short,
like flat and sharp copyrights.

I am still too silent with dust the quiet on the downside of the dam,
I am still too noisy with waves the strident on the upside of the dam.

I am empty I am full.
I am genius I am idiot.
I am flowing I am moss and in another moment
I may cost your attention and buy your affection.

Come and preach to me, this ragged phony that bows for show;
re-see me please, of the actor, the mask that pretends peace,
and leave Your divine presence;
the thriving ocean, midnight hope and plainsong devotion,
a patchwork piece of reality

Please.

The East Knows Nothing

The East Knows Nothing

(“Then He said to them again, ‘Peace to you! Just as the Father sent Me forth so I send you.’” John 20:21)

The east wind knows nothing of the west
until it arrives with sands from the gorge
and dust from the sleeping grain in the fields.
Yet it scatters its cargo along the way,
shore slough and yard,
against the custom
of westerlies off the coast.

Bent into the breeze that eases overcast lockdown, the river
waves butterfly downstream livelier than the silent fog.
Swept along its face, long for two days after ten of rain,
the east wind knows nothing of the west.

Here we stand, not bereft, yet uneasy about the change of weather;
what foreign flowers will bloom once the rains return, the gloom
we know famous, the pounding against the panes of
storms on the west wind’s claws?

But the day of east brings a day of sun
too early; winter will not depart so easily.

The east wind knows nothing of the west
but early greets our eyes, (to tease?), to bless
a morning blue and bright, a night black and shine;

the reminder of longer days and dry that,
for now,
refund our winter waiting.

Burned Out

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest.” Mark 11:28 (The Message)

It takes brutal honesty to admit that our faith may be the very thing that is wearing us out. We may feel we are promised “heaven on earth” but experience little of it here or we believe heaven awaits us when we die and we have to trudge through until then. So, in one method we look for those few and far between experiences that others share with us where glory comes down and fills their soul. Or, in the other, we dutifully carry on, bucking against the tide until finally arriving “home.”

"Going to Hades"

 “And you, Capernaum, will you be lifted to the heavens? No, you will go down to Hades. For if the miracles that were performed in you had been performed in Sodom, it would have remained to this day.” Matthew 11:23

Capernaum was Jesus’ center of operations, being called “his own city” often in the gospels. This makes his denunciation of Capernaum and comparison with Sodom even more striking. Sodom’s infamy, of course, is because of the wicked and violent attempt to rape the angels who resided with Lot. God destroyed Sodom, along with Gomorrah because “the outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is so great and their sin so grievous.” (Genesis 18:20)