Strange Menus

“You blind guides! You strain out a gnat but swallow a camel!” Matthew 23:24

People are fond of pointing out the hypocrisy among church-goers. On a recent Family Feud broadcast 100 people were asked, “Where would you be most likely to find the most sinners?” The number one answer was “the church”, with 29 people giving the response. Nine answered, “in hell”. I’m sure a few viewers sighed, huffed, or threatened to boycott the game show. I am certain many other were quite tickled and laughed out loud.

Don't Hold Back

O Lord, don’t hold back your tender mercies from me! My only hope is in your love and faithfulness. Psalm 40:11

Yes, there are times when it seems God has held back His mercy. Today is one of those days. Or, should I say, this season is one of those seasons. I have always been healthy, if not the most athletic; although up until about six years ago I played tennis or racquetball about four times per week. When helping move some furniture during that time, a well-muscled teen said, “Wow, Pastor, you’re stronger than you look.”

The God who Sees

"You have seen it, O Lord. Do not keep quiet. O Lord, do not be far from me.” Psalm 35:22

Let’s be honest, most conflicts are hardly black and white. We humans are gloriously flawed and there is both freedom and responsibility in accepting this. Knowing we can be wrong, off base, way out in left field or not even in the ballpark actually frees us from having to prove how right we must be.

All is Completed...

All is Completed…

(“Moses inspected the work and saw that they had done it just as the Lord had commanded. So Moses blessed them.” Exodus 39:43)

The noise surrounds every paint sprayer squeak,
nailgun blast, stiff-broom swoosh, and snap-line
pencil drawing one last straight-edge design beforeall is completed.

From the frost of the morning until the toasted afternoon,
every discussion at the cutting table, firing of aching muscles,
edging tight corners, and stripping the blue tape from dried paint,
all is amateur love of a divine masterpiece.

What blueprint attached ligament to bones; we are originals, not
tracings on onionskin. We are freehand, we are a sculpture begun
from within the stony interior; all dust and passion fashioned in
One Warm Breath and declared so good, the Son took the form
upon Himself to inspect the underfoot creation.

I played with tinker toys, and never liked the instructions. Wrestled
the erector set
and every tower fell flat. The pyramids still stand, and yet, will not
stand forever; the Sphinx is half-faceless, the guardian of the dead.

But we are not the toys of the gods, but the Master’s expression,
the Father’s poetry left with open stanzas; the pen passed on from
one to one to add the next line of completion upon the never-finished
opus of time spinning over time.

Let us write well, dance precisely, create the next impossible
salutation to the One who left us here with dreams in our pockets
and eternity in our hearts.

Dusty Portraits

Dusty Portraits

(“And He said to them, “It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer’; but you are making it a robbers’ den.’” Matthew 21:13)

Take it down off the shelf, the dust has dulled the first surprise
of twirling light that danced off the portrait. Do you remember the day?
No, I do not mean to say the day you first viewed the captured image
all framed and retouched, your hair and his perfectly swept with baby
boys balanced on your laps, saliva gluing their hair to their foreheads.

No, I do not mean that moment. Do you remember the day the photo
was taken? Dressed up like you were going to church, or out to the restaurant
you could only afford a time or two per year. You wore the dress he
always told you matched your perfect eyes like the sky. He put on
the shirt and vest, dressed up, but still autographed with his personal style.
You chose the boy’s clothes, nearly identical. Do you remember

The photographer’s name?

Do you still hear the patience as he focused lights and reflectors,
tilted chins up or down, tickled the boys to erase any frowns,
and then tried to capture the moment between tears and laughter
that left all of you ready to capture a second of a day 25 years ago

That you probably do not remember.

And, my Father, will You look at me like You looked at me then?
She still is my first true love, me her finest work of art. And we
added a last one, the smiling and serious princess of the clan.
She is miniature in blue in the next year’s portrait with boys nearly men now,
the shutter caught us all making faces at her tiny mouth.

And, my Father, will You hear our shyness then that
sometimes resembles regret just now? We thought we
knew every instruction and every how; we showed off
our certainty to every individual and every crowd (though
clouds darkened my private dreams). So, my Father, will
You please Be and please be the Why; I leave my Try and Because
behind, crossing the line into the First Love and Breath of
faith like

The first portrait we took on a day we probably
do not remember.

Everything I Need

“Because the Lord is my Shepherd, I have everything I need!” Psalm 23:1

Our 20 year-old daughter called me in tears on her way home from work and college. Living 20 miles down a winding road that hugs the curves of the Columbia River, Washington Highway 4 sees its share of vehicle accidents. Sarah had hit a huge rock only about five miles from home and damaged her tire. Since I was sick in bed with the flu, her mom drove out to keep her company until AAA arrived.

When I Listen to James Alley Blues

When I Listen to James Alley Blues

(“Let Bezalel, Oholiab, and every other skilled worker whom the Lord has given skill, ability, and knowledge for the work of building the sanctuary do all that the Lord has commanded.” Exodus 36:1)

Play the music within, the rhythm, the one step, two step;
run your fingers, slide them from fret to fret, hammer down,
bend the strings, the portamento of meadow birds seeking a mate.

There is no audience, there is no band,
the chairs are silent, the club stands at the bus stop in
the middle of another white choking blizzard. All the snow
has been shoveled, one corner to the next, and piled high in front
of every venue’s door.

No one can make it in tonight, no one is leaving home;
only those trapped within tonight, will sing and man the phones
that will not ring; midnight until gray dawn.

Play the music again, the ivory as yellow as granddad’s dentures,
the keys full of sidewalk cracks. The blues is invented on nights like these,
the grace notes on granite uprights are more good-natured with the oil
of a thousand fingers anointing them from smoky goodnights until
unexpected hellos.

Honestly, I would rather sneak up and play with those who stay behind
and find the songs that mother taught mother once her aunt and uncle
passed down the tempo that history insisted upon. I had heard it all speed
and trap; they played it lazy and snapped just behind beat number three.

And I sat there, relearning the songs I thought I discovered back between
Berkeley and Haight-Ashbury. Instead it was Carolina and the Virginias
where the skilled workers passed the simplest movements down through
vinyl and time.

No Masks

 “When Moses came down from Mount Sinai carrying the two Tablets of The Testimony, he didn’t know that the skin of his face glowed because he had been speaking with God.” Exodus 34:29

It is often said that couples begin to look like each other the longer they are married. It is even suggested that people also start to resemble their pets. I have a dog, a cat and a wife, and I’m not entirely sure how all that works out for me. My wife and I have known each other for over 40 years now, my dog six years and our cat four; so I suspect my wife has had the most influence.

Backtrails

Backtrails

(“And everyone who has given up houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or property, for my sake, will receive a hundred times as much in return and will inherit eternal life.” Matthew 19:29)

It wasn’t a refund I wanted; I had cash enough already.
I could exchange size for color, color for capacity, capacity for brand name
and still be equal to where I started.

I want to posses what no one has sold,
to dwell when no one has lived;I want to dream what never was created,

to hear poetry just like

The first words I thought I heard like sunlight on
Mount Diablo’s golden foothills.

I awake and want to return home. I pass asleep and know
that when the phone rings tomorrow the voice will sound
nothing like
the friends who hiked the backtrails and shared dried apricots
and canteen water.

The home I own is old; the home where we played password
from midnight until 2 slipped from my hands 25 years past.
The floor was our game table and donuts the morning’s food.

I feel like returning; yet places pass through new owners and time,
the siding is replaced, the trees uprooted and, now that I remember

I longed for another place when I occupied the place I long for today.

Who will cash me out now, I am tired of bargain-hunting. Fulfill
my hollow hungers a hundred times over. I want to walk the
dusty paths of undistilled exposure; heart to heart we follow
the old road just like the out-of-town visitors we are.

Knowing God Well

“Those who know your name trust you, O Lord, because you have never deserted those who seek your help.” Psalm 9:10

“I can’t believe George did such a thing. Was he able to afford the money he gave to that family in need? He isn’t wealthy; probably barely in the lowest reaches of middle class. I hope he is cautious and is taking care of himself.”

"From Different Places"

“But we hear them in our own languages. How is this possible? We are from all these different places…We are from these different countries, but we can hear these men in our own languages! We can all understand the great things they are saying about God.” Acts 2:8, 11b

The story is amazing. Jesus told his disciples to wait in Jerusalem until they received the power they needed to share the good news throughout the world. For 10 days the wait and pray together and on the tenth day they are all filled with the Holy Spirit. A sound of a mighty wind fills the room and what looks like tongues of fire stood over each person there.