United in Love

United in Love

“I want their hearts to be encouraged and united in love, so that they may have all the riches of assured understanding and have the knowledge of God’s mystery, that is, Christ himself.” Colossians 2:2

I’ve always loved a good mystery. In fact, one summer during junior high I read one Hardy Boys Mystery book a day! Good mystery authors leave clues throughout their story but are not obvious about them. Hopefully, by the end of the story you look back at characters and plot twists and go, “Aha!”

What God has done in Christ is called a “mystery” by Paul. It is a term borrowed from surrounding religious language. At the time it referred to initiation scripts or rites that allowed only those who were specially trained to access the “hidden” things of their religion. So, people were always on a quest for more knowledge, more understanding and the deeper things of God. Of course, this created classes among the devotees; those who were new to the faith, those who were gaining knowledge, and those, at the top, who had gone to “the next level.”

It is important to note, there is no such language as “the next level” when it comes to Christ. There is no experience that initiates us into another stratosphere of acceptance in God. There is no deeper knowledge that puts us above less mature Christians. There is simply no level of attainment to boast about at all.

What Paul does, in hijacking the term “mystery”, is to turn it upside down and inside out. The “mystery” is what he has already freely proclaimed to them: “this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.” You see, there is no deeper level in Christ; he already dwells within you by faith.

That leaves us free to do exactly what Christ would do: love. Paul says he wants our hearts to be encouraged and united (or knit together) in love. That is the true nature of the church. The greatest mysteries are the simplest ones.

Martin Sheen tells a story about a conversation with a priest. “I was traveling and went to confession in this very remote place, and suddenly he said, ‘Well, we don’t know what God is, do we?’ …Every time we try to identify God, we are sure to identify what she is certainly not. And the genius of God is that he dwells where we would least likely look, within the depths of our own being, our own shallowness, our own darkness, our own humanity.”

The relentless presence of Christ is to be found within each of us! That is why being “united in love” is our highest value. Every time we complain bitterly about another brother, we are complaining about someone within whom Christ dwells. Every time we tell a sister how wrong she is, and insist she change to our expectations, we are mistreating the very temple of God.

That is why I urge people to stay in fellowship where they may have a disagreement or conflict with someone. If the highest value is love, and you feel others are not loving, then you be the loving one! What if, every time our ego got knocked around a bit, we responded with the love of Christ? What if, every time someone challenged us about our abilities, our intelligence or the depth of our commitment, we responded with the love that God showed the world in Christ?

The church is united in this love. That is why so many churches are dying. We have turned love for Christ into rules to follow. We have turned His grace into legislation we want to enforce. We have turned the wonder of worship into a popularity contest for good music. I’ve seen people divorce themselves from fellowship over female ushers, greeters not dressed nice enough, children being too noisy (oh that more churches had that “problem”), not enough “hell” being preached, a “sugar coated” gospel. You can add to the list I’m sure.

What if every group of believers made a six week covenant to be “united in love.” And, what if that was ignited by the simple realization that Christ Himself dwells in each of us? Going further, what if, instead of “helping” those on the margins, we began to actually identify with them in love?

I can tell you what will happen; we will experience “the riches of assured understanding and have the knowledge of God’s mystery, that is, Christ himself.” In other words, the spiritual experience you crave, the “next level” you keep hoping to attain, the “higher knowledge” you think you need will be richer than you can imagine.

So, though there is no “deep mystery” for those who follow Christ, if you truly want a next-level experience; love. It is then that you and I will truly experience God’s mystery, Christ himself. Do you understand? We experience the riches of Christ to the extent that we are being and acting united in love! It is that simple. No deep symbolism. No higher knowledge. Just the hard, day-to-day work of loving your neighbor as yourself. Oh, and Christ is in your neighbor.

You Cannot Outwit the Pain

You Cannot Outwit the Pain

(“The Lord was angry with Israel again, and he caused David to turn against the Israelites. He said, ‘Go, count the people of Israel and Judah.’” 2 Samuel 24:1)

It is impossible to outsmart the pain,
no matter your reinforcements, the arrows outwit your
finest strategies.

Rally the troops--and head, feet, lungs and heart
will still beat with the impulses; the grated shards of the brain.

Line up your best defenses, pray, sleep, cry, weep or sing,
and the pain will laugh once the amen is hummed; the sting awaits
the next unguarded thought.

The broken leg instructs the brain to crawl,
the broken arm presses the brain to scrawl,
the broken heart shatters the brain’s defenses,
and pain wraps it all with aching for the deep
and moats too wide to cross.

Suffering is only denied to those who throw their pain away,
who; anger and heat, judgment and fire, lies and deceit,
platitudes and bromides--setting the world ablaze to heal
the burn they will not feel.

You cannot outwit the pain.

But the aching know the pain is wiser, higher, wider,
and uncrossable. It is inscrutable and hidden behind
cupboards and bookshelves, prayerbooks and hymnals,
climax and nadir, silk and sackcloth, others and our own;
it will not retreat though we have assessed the enemy,
completed our military census,
and called its name out plain.

It is impossible to outsmart pain.
And perhaps that is why such willing wrists
took the iron spikes as a scepter,
took such abusive cries as a coronation song,
and cried like we all cry when pain makes us feel

forgotten.

Why have you forgotten?

It is impossible to outsmart the pain.

A Touchstone of Remembrance

A Touchstone of Remembrance

(“Suddenly, God, your light floods my path, God drives out the darkness.” 2 Samuel 22:29 [The Message])

The lonesome daughter, with her parents halfway across the country,
drives to the home where she grew up, sits on the vacant patio and feels
closer than before.

The troubled father, with his career now over, wanders the sidewalk in search
of connections in a suburb of strangers. His nightmares are full of failures.

He ponders that on his journey home he will visit the town of his birth,
the tiny west Texas town where his own father killed a rattlesnake outside the
church where he was pastor.

He researches the church, hopes to remember the pews and the baptistry,
(the one he shouted about going swimming in with his dad), but discovers
it is no longer on the map. Yet, he still makes plans to stay a day on his return.

The placid mother, in a new career, winds her way through themes and students,
questions and computers, becoming fluent in the language learned on the
steepest curve of her life.

She plans to visit her brother, matching comp time with 3-day weekends,
so he knows she was there, remembers she was there. She will bring a cheeseburger
so he knows she was there.

She will spend a day with the lonesome daughter, hug her, laugh and stick their
toes in the sand or have their toes painted, or paint the town with root beers and tacos.

She will tell her daughter to go to the old house anytime she is lonesome, and before
she flies home, leaves a new pot of shasta daisies hanging from the vacant patio roof.

We all want home, acceptance, a touchstone of remembrance. We want to taste
the bread that mother made in the mornings, the sun tea steeping on sunny afternoons.

We want to visit the home, the church, the school, the old building with broken windows
where people we loved once filled us with undeniable existence.

And Master, that is why, now and truly, it is amazing that You have visited me.

Heritage and Identity

Heritage and Identity

When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus’ knees and said, “Go away from me, because I’m a sinful man, Lord!” (Luke 5:8) “Don’t be afraid,” Jesus told Simon. “From now on you will be catching people!” (Luke 5:10)

It is a well-attested truth that our self-concept strongly affects our behavior. In this interesting passage we see Peter calling himself a sinner, and Jesus’ answer that allayed his fears.

Peter and his friends had fished all night and caught nothing. Jesus tells him to put his nets into the deep water and prepare for a catch. Peter tells him of the previous night’s failure yet acquiesces saying, “But at your word, I’ll let down the nets.”

Doing so, they hauled in such a catch that their nets began to tear. There were so many fish that they had to signal their partner to bring the other boat for help. Filled to the brim, both boats nearly sank with their load. This is when Peter falls at Jesus’ feet, calling himself a sinner, and asking Jesus to go away from him!

Every family has its stories about ancestors and origins. My family had two; one related to my father’s side, and the other on my mom’s.

My last name is Phillips. But I had been told throughout the years that Phillips was not our original family name. Indeed, it was only four or five generations old. As my parents told it, my great-great grandfather was named Phillip Rhein. Because he lived during WWI and prejudice against Germans was so high at the time, he had his name legally changed. And so, he was now a “Phillips” and not a “Rhein”.

Or so I believed until just a few months ago. I had lunch with my uncle Veril, my dad’s only brother, and wanted to get as many family stories from him as possible. Dad passed away over 10 years ago, so my uncle is the only living source. We began to talk about the generations; his dad Lyle (my grandfather) and mother Frances (my grandmother) whom I called “Bampaw” and “Mamaw”. Veril didn’t remember much about his grandfather, but then told me about his great-grandfather, Phillip Rhein.

I stopped him and told him I knew the story about the name change during WWI. Veril said that was impossible and we both did the math. He was correct, Phillip would have lived in the mid-19^th century.

Veril went on to tell his version of the story. Phillip Rhein had apparently been accused of stealing a horse. (No one knows if he actually absconded with one or not.) But, hoping to avoid arrest, he changed his name.

I was dumfounded. I had never heard this story. But it made far more sense than the one I had believed my whole life. The dates just didn’t work otherwise. The story is a bit ironic, though. I asked my uncle, “You do know what the last name ‘Phillips’ means, don’t you?” He said he did not.

I replied, “Lover of horses!”

So, I no longer am descended from someone who faced ethnic prejudice, but instead from a potential horse thief!

My mom had always told us we had Indian blood. In fact, the story went that somewhere back in our lineage we were descended from a Cherokee princess. Imagine that! Not only did I have a Native background, I was royalty.  I played that to the hilt as a child. In my junior high school there were two “gangs” (gangs meaning: a group you belong to because you are more special than others.) They were the Animals and the Indians. You can guess which gang I chose.

I was always enamored of Native American history and culture. I loved traveling the Southwest with my family and seeing the Navajo reservations, the Hopi cliff dwellings and the Kachina dolls of the Pueblo people.

The first church I pastored was on the Fort Berthold Indian Reservation of the Three Affiliated Tribes. There the Mandan, Hidatsa and Arikara dwell together on about 1500 square miles in North Dakota. I never knew how my Native friends would respond when I said I had Indian blood, even the tiniest bit.

But they usually responded with great encouragement, asking me what tribe? When I said, “Cherokee”, they almost always laughed, “Yeah, every white guy that has Indian blood is Cherokee!”

Twenty years after leaving Fort Berthold my wife and I took a 23andme DNA test. I was anxious to see what it showed about my Native American heritage. We tore into the box, found the web address to view our results and waited for the page to load. I scanned it over and over again, trying to make sense of it. It was all as I expected: mostly Northern European. But there were zero markers for Native American ancestry. None! Now I felt I needed to go back to all my good friends at Ft. Berthold and give them a public apology.

So, now I’m the descendant of a possible horse thief, and I lied to a myriad of friends about my Native American heritage.

“Go away from me, because I’m a sinful man, Lord!”

I don’t really feel at that sinful about these stories. For one, I was acting only on information I possessed. But, if I had based my self-worth on either of them, and found out they were false, it could have produced quite a negative effect.

Peter had done nothing particularly sinful either. He fished, caught nothing, did what Jesus said and caught two boatloads of fish. But, in the presence of Jesus’; the presence of Jesus, he felt himself a sinful man.

Many people turn this into a story of what one must do to be saved. So, like Peter, they want us to exclaim how sinful we are and how afraid we are to even be in Jesus’ presence.

But, for this story at least, I do not think that is the purpose. What does Jesus instantly say to Peter? “Don’t be afraid.” Hmm…Doesn’t sound like a “sinner in the hands of an angry God”, does it?

Jesus doesn’t want Peter wallowing in fear. He wants Peter to live up to the purpose God has for him. This doesn’t minimize sin, don’t get me wrong. But sin is simply when we try to hit the target of God’s best and miss. And we all miss.

Coming to that realization is when we can hear Jesus say, “Do not fear.” It is not God’s desire for any person to be so afraid that we want the Divine presence as far away as possible.

Jesus essentially tells Peter that he’s not going anywhere, saying, “From now on you will be catching people!” In other words, “Peter, no, don’t ask me to go away. I’ve got a job for you!”

Do you realize that my friend? Jesus came to show us what God is truly like. Oh yes, we need to be honest about our failings. But we do not need to be afraid of God because of them. Instead, hear Jesus say these two things. First, “Do not be afraid.” Why would the one who is love itself want any of us to be frightened in his presence? And second, “I’ve got a job for you to do.” That’s right, he chooses you before you even get one doctrine correct, one verse memorized or attended one Bible study.

I don’t know what’s in your past. My past turned out different than I had imagined anyway. Today, in the present, hear Jesus say, “Do not be afraid”, and then, go be the person He is calling you to be. Don’t find your identity in your past, no matter what it is. Hear Jesus inviting you to an identity as someone called to a significant purpose by God himself.

Caught by the Breeze

Caught by the Breeze

(“But Ittai said to the king, ‘As the Lord lives, and as my lord the king lives, your servant will be where my lord the king may be, in death or in life.’” 2 Samuel 15:21) 

I.

It was a muggy morning; trash day in the suburbs.
The dogs had been out scrounging hamburger wrappers and
pizza boxes. And the wind blew.

A plastic lid from a large soda was caught by the breeze. Separated,
and turned on its side, the wind pushed it like a wheel down the asphalt
for a block and another. Twice and more it nearly fumbled in the moments
when the breeze was catching its breath. But just as it looked like the lid
would takes its rest within the gutter alone,
a gentle puff started it rolling again.

I watched this airy motion, the lid, the breeze and silent neighborhood trees
as witnesses to the same. Animated by atmosphere alone, the circle of plastic
crossed the street and barely crawled up a concrete driveway a quarter mile
from where it began.

Then, as if the universe had planned it, the solitary lid lay down on the
grass in front of the driveway’s home. And the fan of air blew elsewhere.

I’d rather been moved by the Spirit than coerced by a strong man.

II.

Come walk with me again, friend, life is shorter now than when we began.
Let the Spirit bring you to me again. We have less days to talk about the
ways of compassion, healing, love and revealing the light we both share
in common with all.

In these days of pain the light barely affects the chain of events that memory
brings like a waiter with the same burger I’ve eaten every Friday for years.

But sounds, the sounds jangle. The sounds are worse than toll bells, shakier
than cannon balls, fiercer than jet decibels on the ground. They shake my
nerves until the synapse explode in flame.

But your silence is like a hammer on the anvil of my mind. Your absence has
inverted solitude so I do not know which I should choose: the shock of a
shout across the room, or the weight of silence across the years.

There is more compassion left than holes in our clothes. More forgiveness and
amends,
than sand in our pockets.

So, return my call, answer my letter, let me know that you are better and
we will observe together what
the power of compassion can do.

One Breath

One Breath

(“The Spirit of the Lord is in me. This is because God chose me to tell the Good News to the poor. God sent me to tell the prisoners of sin that they are free, and to tell the blind that they can see again. God sent me to free those who have been treated unfairly, and to announce the time when the Lord will show kindness to his people.” Luke 4:18-19)

One breath is the same as the next breath,
oxygen and CO₂. Babies and prisoners,
muslims and christians,
immigrants and presidents,
technicians and politicians,
beggars and moguls,
capitalists and socialists,
pilots and pedestrians,
teachers and pupils,
travelers and tour guides,
dying and birthing,
sinners and saints,
the Messiah and myriads,
foolish and serious.

So if the Spirit leads you,
she will lead you to the ones whose breath is just a little more
labored than your own.

and the time when our God will punish evil people.

I Am Not Strong

I Am Not Strong

(“To end my letter I tell you, be strong in the Lord and in his great power.” Ephesians 6:10)

I wanted to meet you well before the end of the road.
The stones are sharp, the sun watches my every move,
the winds have vanished and everywhere I look
I see the absence.

I am not strong. This journey has taken its toll and
I’ve run out of change for the next payment to cross a bridge.
I don’t mind saying, I’ve heard trolls are ready to catch the last breath
of travelers who went too far in their search for faith.

I’ve heard the trip is worth it, the travel is the holiday.
But I’ve hit another dead-end, a skip in the record that keeps playing
a lyric half-spoken over and over again.

I hear nothing, feel less. The air even presses upon me like
an anvil from the sky. The friends who once listened are hiding
or have traveled the opposite trail from me. My afflictions

Are self-inflected

They would say.

If strength is shaking when I’m backed into a corner,
then I’m as strong as you’ll ever see. Even a piece of cheese
from an unexpected raven would be enough for me.

Dearest Father, let one of my own speak in a language I’ll understand;
send words that will fill the stillness before the storm;
hail a cab for me, rid me of all misapprehensions
and send me to a long afternoon of merriment simply because
I’ve made it this far.

I’m stalled, I’m stuck, my wheels spin in the rut as I
await a new name now that I exist halfway between one tribe
and the other.

I am not strong, the friends are further than sound can travel.
And when I write this honestly I fear they wonder what’s wrong with me,
dearest Father. This is it, this is me. Weak and dependent,
hoping I have not expended the final words that finally write me off.

Dearest Father, it is true, I will not refuse your power. Yet you must know,
more than that, my strength is lagging for a lack of travelers
who simply know me. Who simply see me. Who simply love to walk
even when the strength has fled from our words.

Blind Spots

Blind Spots

(“Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low.” Luke 3:4-5)

Way back in 1973 I was in my first major car crash. Only 18, I was driving home from my job at a pharmacy in Lafayette, Ca, to Concord. I was on the freeway and approached the split that veering left would take me home or to the right, take me further south. In those days I drove a blue Volkswagen van with tie-dye curtains. I had not merged into the left lane soon enough.

Driving in the second lane from the right, I needed to make my way one more lane to the left. I glanced in my truck-style sideview mirrors, then my rearview mirror and once more to the left one. I saw no cars. I had already set my blinker and began to merge into the next lane.

Suddenly I heard the angry honk of a car almost immediately to my left. I quickly turned the steering wheel to the right, applied the brakes a bit, and went into an out of control fishtail. I was now beyond the median that began to separate the two freeways.

At around 50 mph my right tires hit the median, and though it was no more than six inches high at this point, my van flipped to its side and skid across two lanes of traffic stopping on the right-hand shoulder.

Inside the van I was scared to death, and the whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion. A coffee mug lost its attachment to gravity and cracked into my forehead. Pencils, papers and a couple of books were suspended around me for what couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. Besides a scratch to my head, I was unhurt. I did call a friend to take me to the hospital and got to wear a lovely foam collar for a few weeks. Things could have been much worse. As the van skid across two lanes of traffic it was also leaking gasoline. The frame metal was sparking like the Fourth of July. I was extremely fortunate to escape a conflagration.

John the Baptist is telling people to “Prepare the way of the Lord.” He doesn’t specifically mention blind spots, but I think the image may be useful when we think about our own heart preparation.

He speaks of two things that should happen (among others): every valley should be filled, and every mountain should be made low. I think there may be blind spots associated with those who feel like their life is in the lowlands, and other blind spots for those who think they live on the mountain.

The valleys need to be “filled”. I think the valleys can refer to any disparaging thought about ourselves that keeps us from receiving the Lord’s best into our lives. Imagine someone who has constantly been told that they will never measure up, or they don’t have enough talent to pursue a dream. Or even worse, that God will punish them if the do not change. (So, they try with all their might to change, find they cannot, and determine they are outside of God’s blessing.)

I am reading a biography of the American First Ladies. Do you know that two of them lost children; one in a railroad accident where she saw a piece of metal take off the back of her beloved son’s head. For the rest of her life she believed God was punishing her because she had not been a good enough mother to that son!

She was a valley that needed to be “filled”. But imagine someone coming to her and saying, “I’ve lost a child too. You’ve just got to buck up, get on with your life. Stop complaining. I never complained.” Or, even worse, someone who has lost two children tells her the same thing. Think about it. Will these comments “fill” her valley? No, they dig it only deeper.

This person will now believe that, not only is God punishing her, but that she doesn’t even have the inner resolve to make life better. Those in the valley need to be filled, not given an earful. People are in valleys for may reasons. Mental illness can contribute to it, so can addiction, and of course, indulgent sin. But the answer for the one in the valley is filling.

Their blind spot is the inability to see God’s grace and mercy that are just up the road for them. If you are in a valley, please trust God wants to fill you with His grace. Examine the gospels and see how Jesus treated everyone who found themselves in the low places of life.

The other blind spot is just as prevalent and maybe harder to self-assess. When we are the mountain that needs to be made low, we usually feel like we are doing just fine in life. We may be a successful businessperson. A doctor with a burgeoning practice. A politician who is winning. We may even be and average man or woman, but we are pleased that we have kept all the rules that we think are important.

Nationalism is such a mountain. So is a strict reading of certain Bible passages that attempt to make other people submit to them. If it is “Israel first”, we have excluded 99 percent of the world’s population. If it is “America first”, the blind spot is just the same. And, when you are on the mountain, you have little empathy for anyone who, for whatever reason, is still down there in the valley slipping upon mountain trails.

Mountain people are the ones who lecture valley people about how to get out of the valley. Mountain people do not venture down, they wait for others through sheer effort, to make their way up the rugged slopes.

But that is not God’s solution. His solution, in preparing our way for the Lord, is that the mountain must come down! It’s as if He is saying, “If you won’t come down off your high righteous peak, then I’ll have to bring you and the mountain down to everyone else’s level.”

What is your blind spot today? Do you think you do not deserve anything from God? Well, you are wrong. You deserve love from the very One who created you. And you don’t earn it, you already have it because of God’s nature. That is why Jesus came; to show us the nature of Father God. Let Him fill up the low place, breathe again, and step into life.

Are you on the mountain? Have you lived surrounded by a Christian mindset for so long that you can no longer identify with people who struggle? Then hightail it off that mountain as quickly as you can! Sit with the mentally ill. Love the outcast. Welcome the immigrant and stranger.  Comfort the transsexual who struggles to know their way in life. Stop playing it safe.

Once valleys are lifted and mountains are torn down, that puts us all on the same level, doesn’t it? And guess what, that is exactly what God intended.

Over the Distant Hill

Over the Distant Hill

(“Don’t let any evil talk come out of your mouths. Say only what will help to build others up and meet their needs. Then what you say will help those who listen.” Ephesians 4:29)

Just over the distant hill and away
from the dusty syllables
of everyone who knows better than
everyone else…

Just beyond the dewy field and away
from the chiseled orphanage
where children walk in their sleep
and repeat the refrain of their adoptive’s martial songs…

Just beyond the last eucalyptus and away
from the fits and starts that
memory holds tighter than a baby blanket…

Just above the final crest and away
from the fatal consonants
of every lecture delivered like icy proverbs
from enthroned tongues of the allies of
insinuation…

Just there the final step, the last footprint in the
warm mud waiting,
the vagabond, with his heart packed high upon his back,
sees the fire of affection and

Sets his heart upon the brow of the hill that loves
truth more than judgment. And he sits awhile in
the embrace of warm; he drinks awhile in the
pastures out of harm
of the words propelled like daggers from behind.

He still wonders, though, an immigrant in a new land,
why so many “amens” at the words used to
shrink others down to size. Why so many
“hallelujahs” when dangerous barbs quote
scripture, and reduce it all to rules

Only the initiated have never broken. Having spoken
their piece,
they slap each other on the back, have a potluck and
evict the homeless boy sleeping in the shed.

He will never leave this new country, for, in truth and love,
he knows it is his native home.

The Floor Was Slanted

The Floor Was Slanted

(“…being diligent to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.” Ephesians 4:3)

The second the door closed behind us we noticed
the floor was inclined like a piedmont and we had not
quite reached the top.

We were a small band, travelers in the night, roaming in search
for the moments we had lost waiting in the cities.

We knew each other only by reputation then, now we knew each
other by name. We heard stories and gossip then, now we saved our breath
for chatter along the trail.

We were neither success nor failure, we were noticed and sometimes invisible;
clerks, nurses, nuns and writers of verse. We were teachers who had learned
far too much.

Passing a stream, we held the water in our hands. Passing a stream,
we knelt with each other, our knees buried in the sand. Passing a stream,
we waited and appeased our thirst thoroughly watching the sun between
the black branches of overhanging trees.

Some sang, some whispered, some laughed, some blistered in the afternoon sun;
some nurtured, some led, some murmured, some fled their past
along with the rest of us.

But our faces all looked ahead, our feet at last free of concrete and steel,
with no cross streets or street lights, we happily accepted the pain
that accompanies pilgrimage and took our turns at both sorrow and joy.

The second we saw the roofline pointed toward heaven, the
second we noticed the double glass doors with reserved parking out front,
the second we saw the well-suited smiler handing out greetings,
the second we stepped toward the sloping porch and saw the
benches for sitting in the sun

Was the second we discovered our Jerusalem, our Mecca,
our Zion, our Cathedral and we entered quickly to find a
permanent home.

The second the door closed behind us we noticed
the floor was slanted and we soon began to congregate
where the building demanded we go.

The corners were filled with people like us
who argued over the best view from the places up front.