Daylight Comes Shining

Daylight Comes Shining

(“Jesus turned on Peter and said, ‘Get away from me, you Satan! You are a dangerous trap to me. You are thinking merely from a human point of view, and not from God’s.’” Matthew 16:23)

It is true; my posture often discloses the poses
I take to motivate you to see what I so guardedly hide
inside.
I hope to be clearer come the morning,
with new sun shining through invisibility, not glass.
I desire the fresh air bathing tomorrow, not past.
I tip my hat to the next step I take with better vision,
the next portrait unmistakably unretouched, no airbrush,
only bad haircuts, crooked ties, unbuttoned sleeves, and
colored t’s with bob dylan or the cookie monster postered
up front.

Teach me to dance, easier, Jesus. You alone leave me unlonely;
Your love only has cured my unlovely. I never did like any photo
(black and white and waited for development, or digital and tossed
in digital packets across the wifi world), except for one: I was caught
by surprise,
my granddaughter in my arms, her face full of chocolate and my eyes,
full of messy joy.

When Your suffering is over, Lover of my soul, teach me fully,
(I fear the request) what it means to suffer and die with you,
too. Perhaps I will not cringe the unhinged photos that make me believe
all can see
each impurity and the next unearned wrinkle.

You are all the whole, and I am the cog with broken teeth
I always wished had been straightened. You are the only,
I should know your Daylight comes shining and my heart
leaps like summer’s first day after the best sleep of the year.

"If You Forgive"

“He breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you withhold forgiveness from any, it is withheld.’” John 20:22,23

I can only try to imagine what it must have been like to be one of Jesus’ disciples after the resurrection. I really have nothing to compare it to; I have no one who has died and come back to life. I have not even been fooled; thought someone was dead, then found out later that they were alive. April 1 is only three months away, though. That would be the greatest prank ever.

Hammers and Saws

Then (Jesus) said, ‘Are you also still without understanding?’” Matthew 15:16

The Pharisees had missed the point once again. They knew the “Law” so well, it was always easy to find offenders. This time those irreverent disciples of Jesus ate before washing their hands. Jesus, as He always did, confronts them with their own hypocrisy, pointing out their own disobedience to a far greater law.

Only Finding

Only Finding

(“There was just enough for everyone. Those who gathered more had nothing left over and those who gathered little had no lack! Each home had just enough.” Exodus 16:18)

There is no hunting, there is only finding,
there is no searching, there is only gathering,
the elusive we seek is the want that demands tomorrow,
not today; next year, not this short radius of time.

There is no hoarding, there is only supply,
there is no hiding, there is only open sky,
the stockpiles we concrete and padlock
are fear’s sleight-of-hand, our fingers of
calloused. We think too much of the thorny
succulents to celebrate fresh today and today.

There is no tomorrow, no future, no long-range plan;
today is the habitation of earthly dwellings. The smile
I intend for tomorrow,
subtracts from the one you needed today.

There is sadness, there is laughter,
there is feasting, there is hunger;
we speak and only memory captures
the sounds into tomorrow.

We sing the songs our grandfathers taught,
today; they sound new. “Masters of War”
was Dylan through Pearl Jam and every Christmas
carol
is gospel harmony with electronica’s assistance.

There is feasting today, tomorrow more,
but today’s feast will not be tomorrow’s meal.
There is celebration, tomorrow new provision;
today we will sing while our ancient anxieties

(their constant hum)

Are brightened by love’s now and only,
a minute divided by 60,
a second split into infinity,
one breath begins, and ends,
behind us again.

Very/Slowly

Very/Slowly

(“Don’t be afraid! Stand still, and see what the Lord will do to save you today.” Exodus 14:13)

I am writing this to be read

Very

Slowly.

I/Mean/It!/

Take every word a-part a syllable at a time,
do not waste one single letter, do not subtract the
smallest integer. Every cluck of the tongue matters,
every vowel breath baritone will not be repeated.
The consonants cutting off air will speak once; listen

Very

Snail-pace.

/Frame/It!/

Now Moses meant it when he said the fear was in their heads
and they need only stand and watch to see (the victory) when
(in the Red Sea) overbearing chariots drowned. Moses spoke
it, perhaps wrote it,
and bequeathed it  for us to sift the leftover junk and pain
we fear might smother us like Job.

Now, I am serious, take this word by bird, beat by cheap seats;
it will not be repeated.

Moses meant it when he said the fear; Job felt it when he
saw the declaration written upon his the ridges of his dried skin,
God was his enemy, God held the winning cards, God had trumped
every bit of righteousness Job had every painted or sung. The
(bottom rung) was squeezing the life out of the affair He adored,
the GodHead, still beyond worship’s reach, had now besieged
the days of grace, replacing them with salt-herbs, potsherds and
pain.

Listen to my eyes roll slowly now. Moses meant it, Job spent
his pain divided/between love’s praise and the dazed questions
when God refuses to play fair.

Though Moses saw the chariots sink, Job’s tears splattered
the same pages; and I am left thinking

We all need to

Take it so/much/slower.

So Small

“The Kingdom of Heaven is like a mustard seed planted in a field.  It is the smallest of all seeds, but it becomes the largest of garden plants; it grows into a tree, and birds come and make nests in its branches.” Matthew 13:31-32

The mission of the Pioneer 10 was to reach the planet of Jupiter. Launched in 1972, the probe set out on its three year, 700 thousand mile journey. Twenty-five years later, more than six million miles from the sun, the little probe was still beaming back radio signals to scientists on earth. With only an 8-watt transmitter, it continued its mission far beyond expectations. Those eight watts…about enough to power a bedroom night light.

No More Mundane

No More Mundane

“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace on earth to those with whom he is pleased!” Luke 2:14

One year ago the Hurricane Sandy barreled into the East Coast with a fury unrivaled in recent history. The largest Atlantic hurricane on record, estimates assess damage to have been over $68 billion, surpassed only by Hurricane Katrina. At least 286 people were killed along the path of the storm. It affected people from Jamaica and the Dominican Republic, to 24 states in the United States.

I Must Object

I Must Object

(“I tell you that everyone will have to answer for all the careless things they have said. This will happen on the day of judgment.” Matthew 12:36)

I have no memory of those words, your honor;
nor harm the proffered evidence sliced and left
wounded. I heard you call it “blunt force trauma”, sir;
spiderweb bruises from the point of impact extending
to the this judgment seat.

I must object that I could have used my fists or any weapon
at the ready. Though I do not own one, I could have fired a gun
and done more damage. You’ve seen the broken bones and
blackened eyes and canceled the debt called self-defense. I
must object.

I recall none of those sentences or tones, obscenities or
sticks and stones;

And, for the record, I never wrote down a single word
(how could they have heard what I did not record?)

The evidence is slim, the decades dim the syllables any
of us spoke over the din of recycled epithets.

The jury is in? I have no more words to say, having no words
to summon. They are just air and consonants, stops and vowels,
puffing air and clucking tongue, breaking up the air and
meaning nothing until tickling someone’s eardrum. They
bounce between atoms, the elevated hum of thought and syntax.

My mind is a revolving reservoir; I can remember every word
like cannon shot ever fired my way. But, for the life of me,
I cannot remember the word the accuser insists I spoke to
him

Yesterday. 

The Friends without Words

“They feel but the pain of their own bodies and mourn only for themselves.” Job 14:22

We all are stymied when it comes to the right words and expressions to aid a friend who is enduring chronic pain or a life tragedy. What words are there when a man discovers his brother, barely a year older than he, was just found dead and had no indications that his body was giving out. What do you say to the family who lost their jobs, moved to a new city, and within two weeks lost 75 percent of their belongings in a house fire? What do you tell the father young son in his mid-20s just fell at his wife’s feet, succumbing to heart failure?

Its Second Encore

Its Second Encore

(“From the time of John the Baptist until now, violent people have been trying to take over the kingdom of heaven by force.” Matthew 11:12)

From the begun at the report of the starter’s gun,
to the oval offers around the next lap pounding,
the perfect machine, the human exchange of
lubrication for dreams; knees, ankles, soles and hips;
the multi-levered propellant marches round the
feet at the bottom of progressive hills.

From the first-story explosion until the taking of the kingdom,
notions have risen, clouds have gathered, rain has splattered
the fields with emotions secretly untethered from the ancient
posts of propriety.

Suitable for classrooms, to be sure;
required for the next sales brochure,
but never intended, and far too much baggage
for a global central nervous system cure.

Dad set up the 2x4 on its side, as a test, as a Scout,
for balance, for badges, for 4 yards, and I fell. I walk
the thin white line inborn like a slalom. I stay on my feet

That way.

Color within the lines and hang the purple hippo on the fridge.
I preferred blank and white; glue not crayons, twigs not colors,
and a plastic letter or two from my brother’s alphabet game.

We run, or climb the rungs, or break down walls, or
divine the combination. Hungry for air, the heart
drives the legs beyond dog-park walks and demands
a hike halfway to the treeline where,
crayons and balance beams forgotten,
we kick up gravel (thunder and rebound)
while the sky swallows our hoots down whole.

No one knew how we arrived while the heavens
played its second encore of the day.

The Easy Speed

The Easy Speed

(May “the angel who has redeemed me from all evil, bless the lads.” Genesis 48:16a)

Sitting behind me sometimes,
watching my tears off track sometimes,
speaking the time and the day and the place and the way
in divine intersection; all coordinates meeting at the same spot,
sometimes.

Without berating my sometime fright,
“fear not”, the first words, first light, late night,
so whether my shiver began at their appearance or
was a chronic response to the disappearance of one more
cornerstone,

The strong words were safety and so large their echo
invited the grand canyon depth to meet K2 heights,
all at the easy speed that sends every heavenly declaration,
constellation and alpine, perfectly to its purpose.

No doddle, no off ramps for souvenir bracelets,
no quick milkshakes at the famous café,
no half-day excursion to climb a darkened mound
of volcanic debris.

Angelic messengers, for all I know, laugh the best
at their messages’ delivery.

So, sometimes, after sitting behind me,
and sometimes, after speaking time and tears,
I have envisioned the leaving, side by side,
a holy pair, nodding at a job well done,
and sometimes, joking about humor
I dare not hope to understand.

Though envisioned, instead, I’ve have looked,
I have sped to the spot they spoke, surrounded
by floors and ceilings and walls; not windows or doors,
and have found only the air barely ruffled where once they
spoke to me.

And, for a sky-time second, I think I may, almost;
I think I see, nearly, I think I am, mostly; in on the joke.

A Rich Harvest

“The harvest is rich, but the workers are few. Pray that the Lord of the harvest will send out workers to gather in his harvest.” Matthew 9:37b, 38

To me, this is one of the most counter-intuitive sayings of Jesus. In fact, my ear almost always hears Him saying, “The harvest is rich, the workers are few. Pray the Lord of harvest to send out workers…and make sure you are one of them!” But that is not what He says at all.

The Air Changes

The Air Changes

There before you, right out in your front yard,
do you see it, do you take it in? Just beyond the
first step past your porch

The air changes.

You breathe slower, your pace is measured,
you notice the difference between soft moss
or the crack of a latent branch underfoot.

I need to send you a letter because I think you’ve missed it,
trying so hard to prove your intelligence
you breathe the same air

Everywhere you go.