Mother Wings

Mother Wings

(“Jerusalem, Jerusalem! You kill the prophets. You kill with stones those men that God has sent you. Many times I wanted to help your people. I wanted to gather them together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. But you did not let me.” Luke 13:34)

I am willing,
I am ready,
I need healing,
I need hiding under
the mother wings of God.

When the mask of pain hatbands my forehead,
when icepicks stab my temples,
when every atom in my brain is unrestrained
and knocks against my cranium faster than the
clicking of cicadas,

I need a mother’s hand upon my brow.

I am fading,
I am waiting,
I need breathing,
I need bread and water
made my mother’s hands.

When the day escapes on my bed of pain,
when music shoots my thoughts inflamed,
when every friendship in my arc is unlisted
and no one knocks on my door, though I’ve insisted
I’m not strong enough alone,

I need a mother’s voice whispered in my ear.

The pain blurs everything; these words, the reading,
the vibrations of joy, the location of comrades,
until, though one or two occupy the square footage,
the world is a void filled only with the knife-crease splitting
my head.

I am stating,
I am crying,
I quit breathing,
I need prayer and medicine
made by a best friend’s hands.

I don’t care if they are feathers, or hairnets, or horsetails, or fingernails,
or silk, or satin, or gingham, or the Mass in latin or lingua franca.

Whether you speak or do not speak,

I need a Mother’s care when the world has been invaded by
avoidance and fiery pain.

Sugar-Coating and Muddy Waters

Sugar-Coating and Muddy Waters

“But Naaman’s servants went to him and said, ‘Master, if the prophet had asked you to do some extraordinary act, wouldn’t you have done it? Why shouldn’t you do as he said: “Wash and be clean”?’” 2 Kings 5:13

I have heard and read a lot recently from people who complain about a “sugar-coated” gospel. First of all, I’m not always sure what they mean. But, from experience, it usually means they think other people should abide by certain rules and that too much “grace” will simply let them get away with too much sin. Of course these same people have their own sins to deal with which they either ignore, or for which they are happy to accept as much grace as possible.

There is a delightful story in the Old Testament that can be used to illustrate the idea of grace with zero requirements for reception. Stay with me. I will try to tell the story as concisely as possible.

Syria was a great kingdom and Naaman was commander of the king’s army. He was highly respected and a good soldier. But Naaman had leprosy.

Once, when the Syrians went on raids, they brought a captive girl from Israel. She became the servant of Naaman’s wife. The girl told her that there was a prophet in Samaria (the capital of Israel) who could cure him of his leprosy.

We are going to jump ahead in the story and see what happens when he and Elisha meet. Naaman arrived at Elisha’s home and the prophet sent out a messenger to him, “Wash yourself seven times in the Jordan River, and your skin will be healthy and clean.” The world “clean” in this context means “healed” but can also refer to something that is “acceptable to God.” Elisha was telling him to do a simple act and Naaman would be completely whole.

But Naaman expected a supernatural act. Like many of us, when we think about God doing something special, we expect fireworks, lightning, thunder, voices, doves, or any number of phenomena. “I thought he would at least come out of his house, stand somewhere, call on the name of the Lord his God, wave his hand over the infected place, and heal the skin disease,” says Naaman. He even complains that Elisha didn’t have him wash in his own “home” rivers, the Abana or Pharpar. “They have better water than any of the rivers in Israel!” Naaman turns and leaves in anger.

Naaman’s servant pipes up with some wisdom. (By the way, do you notice how the two “servants” in this story move it along? Never close your mind to the wisdom of the unlikely.) He says, “If the prophet had asked you to do some extraordinary act, wouldn’t you have done it? Why shouldn’t you do as he said: ‘Wash and be clean’?”

This must have been a well-trusted servant because if I was Naaman I might have given him a piece of my mind. “Hey, servant, whose side are you on, anyway? The dude didn’t even come out of his house to greet me! This is insulting.”

But instead Naaman went and dipped himself in the Jordan seven times, as the prophet had instructed. His skin became “healthy again like a child’s skin.” I would have loved to be on the scene for that moment. The muddy waters of the Jordan envelop this warrior from a foreign land for the seventh time, he stands up, his hair and beard dripping in the sun, and he draws his arms out of the water, seeing them smooth and unblemished for the first time. Would he have run to the shore and hugged his servant? Would have dipped himself an eighth time just for good measure? All he did was go underneath the water of the Jordan seven times. He did no “extraordinary act.” This foreigner, this warrior whose king had actually enslaved an Israeli girl, this man was the recipient of God’s healing by simply dipping himself in muddy waters.

Naaman returns to Elisha’s home, finally encountering him face to face. “Now I know that there’s no god in the whole world, except the God of Israel. So please accept a present from me,” he says. Elisha refuses the gift, even though Naaman urges him twice.

So far, notice this: Naaman did nothing to “earn” this healing. He was a foreigner from a semi-hostile state. Indeed, he thought he should do some “mighty thing” to receive it. Instead, he simply bathed in the Jordan River. There was a reason for that, of course, pointing to the God of Israel as the one true God. But Naaman had to meet no requirements for this healing.

And, after he is healed, Naaman wants to give something in return. That is a normal human reaction, and it speaks to his good character. But Elisha strongly refused. There was nothing he did to “earn” his healing before it happened, there was no amount he could “pay” in response to it afterward. It was free!

Now, follow me for a bit more “sugar-coating”. He asks for someone to provide him “as much dirt as a pair of mules can carry.” He promises to sacrifice to the Lord alone from that point on, probably upon an altar built from the dirt. But, he does ask some understanding. He says, “May the Lord forgive me when my master goes to the temple of Rimmon to worship, leans on my arm, and I have to bow down in the temple of Rimmon. When I do this, may the Lord forgive me for this one thing.”

What? No way, Naaman. If your commitment to sacrifice only to the Lord is real, you will quit that job, or tell your boss that you are changed, brother! Dude, God will provide for you. Stop working for that man!

Right? Put in our own placeholder: “Now that you want to serve Jesus, you can’t do….that!” Get out of that ungodly environment. Have some faith, bro. God will honor your faith!

So, what did the prophet Elisha say when Namaan asks that the Lord “forgive me this one thing” when he has to bow in the temple of idolatry because of his job? Elisha responds, “Go in peace.”

Elisha was wise, and so should we be. He left Namaan to work out the details of this new service to the Lord.

Jesus refers to this story in his first sermon in his hometown of Nazareth: “There were also many people with skin diseases in Israel in the prophet Elisha’s time. But God cured no one except Naaman from Syria.” (Luke 4:27) This made the people furious! Why? Because Jesus had announced grace to “outsiders”! Maybe they thought he was “sugar-coating” the gospel?

Nat Turney, lead pastor at Open Table Fellowship wrote on the church's Facebook page:

I have been accused by some of preaching a "candy-coated" gospel…I don't just preach a "candy-coated" gospel, I preach a "Blue Bell ice cream sundae, drenched with hot fudge, buried in whipped cream with a hundred cherries on top" gospel. I preach a "deep-fried twinkie, covered in chocolate, dusted with powdered sugar and drizzled with caramel" gospel. The gospel I preach is so sweet, you'll need to have your blood sugar tested afterwards. The gospel I preach and the message that I have devoted my life to is, as the word "gospel" suggests, GOOD NEWS. So, yeah...the gospel I preach is the "too good to be true" good news that the Creator of everything is especially fond of you. He is more committed to you than you could ever be to Him. He is working all things together for your good and will never, ever, allow an ounce of your pain to be wasted. This is a gospel message that is worth our devotion and that prompts us to shout from the rooftops that He is good, all the time. Be blessed! (https://www.facebook.com/nat.turney)

The story of Naaman is only a shadow of the beautiful GOOD NEWS of Jesus Christ. It is grace, all grace. Yes, lives will be changed and transformed, but not because we get picky with them and start telling them how to apply this grace. The Holy Spirit is oh-so-much wiser than any of us.

Facedown

Facedown

(“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; I will remove your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” Ezekiel 36:26)

Bodies barely breathing,
others deceasing,
the river rising just within view.
The sun baked them and
the wind raked them as they
tested the cracks and mud
for the best way to freedom.

Bodies breathly praying,
others decaying
facedown in the river within view.
A father-and-daughter refugee, metered,
and turned away at the bridge of freedom.

Bodies breathless hugging,
others shrugging
as if the penalty for suffering is
a locked door, and stone fence,
a steel wall and granite hearts
of people who say they follow…

I cannot write it, the NAME, not when
those who carry it lie facedown, just two
turnstiles away from home turned to
hopeless sludge.

A father’s heart breaking,
a daughter embracing
for dear life as they waded the banks
of the Rio Grande.
What were their final thoughts as the river
pulled them down? How do you swim
with arms circled around the little gift,
the girl on your shoulders,
the girl with tiny fingers,
the girl who held your hand
when her eyes were question marks.
The girl who smiled when you mentioned America,
the girl who heard every cricket, saw every bird,
and with burned feet still loved the sand between her toes.

Facedown.

What apologies will we give,
what reparations? Life for a life?

Sit with me, America, on the banks of the Rio Grande,
wordless please, and hear the cry of children who made it
alive. And mourn the future and past,
mourn the dead, and exchange your granite for
arms that rescue the foreigner
before we are forced to mourn again.

Personal Space

Personal Space

(“Then Jesus said to his disciples: ‘Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear.’” Luke 12:22)

The lines lie just below the surface,
the matrix of creation,
the embroidery of matter and space,
the unseen provider that protects everything.

What shall I wear until I die,
what shall I eat while “why” is
the most frequent word caught in the
woven synapses of my brain?

There are holes in everything, gaps between seen
and unseen. You can travel all day from the nucleus
to the orbiting electrons. And each syllable of thought
exists a moment and lasts a lifetime.

Today I will wear shorts, it is late June in Texas.
Today I will eat chicken, left over from Sunday’s meal.

But, dearest Jesus, how I miss collecting shirts from the thrift store
and discovering espresso in an Oakland coffee house with
a free mic for poets on Fridays.

Crammed into a baby blue vw bug
we graduated through the Caldecott tunnel to
Berkeley and beyond. Personal space was never an issue
but now these few lifetimes later we are scattered like
electrons orbiting separate nuclei.

But I shall eat today. I shall wear my t-shirt and sandals today,
but, dearest Jesus, I would love to meet today
just one friend who was a friend with so little personal space
between us.

So Talk to Me

So Talk to Me

(“Are not five sparrows sold for two small coins? Yet not one of them has escaped the notice of God. Even the hairs of your head have all been counted. Do not be afraid. You are worth more than many sparrows.” Luke 12:6-7)

And so I suppose, against all odds,
despite swamps and tears,
I must be in my Father’s care.

Fastened to this turning ball by
the weakest force,
the fridge is stocked,
my clothes are washed,
my hair is combed,
but the weak force is too strong
to escape to the place where
my heart would be full.

I’d call someone, but tears would flow,
or I’d compose myself and report “I’m fair”
though I’m caught in the doldrums with
the slow carousel of days turning ‘round me
while I wait for a sign of His affection.

Here I am, this hour of this day,
and, though I’ve sat among friends
with my feet in the ocean,
I confess, tears would flow whether
warming on crowded beaches
or stuck in the suburbs watching
strangers walk by.

My heart has always ached; I wish there was a remedy.
My hand has always shaken; I wish no one could see.
So talk to me, speak the words that will take me home.
Write me poetry, sing to me, hold my hand until it sleeps
silently.

I read of love and wait for the Father to meet me at the mailbox,
to call my on my smartphone,
to knock on my door and
just one time more,
fill my heart as full as

Everyone else’s seems to be.

Overburdened

Overburdened

Jesus said, “How terrible it will be for you experts in the Law, too! You load people with burdens that are hard to carry, yet you don’t even lift a finger to ease those burdens.” Luke 11:46

There is one word that describes Jesus’ strong message aimed at the Pharisees and teachers of the law: hypocrisy. Time and time again he tells them that their actions do not match their teaching. He excoriates them for looking good on the outside but inside are “full of greed and evil”. He says they “neglect justice and the love of God.” They love to be noticed in the marketplace; they teach others but are unteachable themselves.

Jesus uses a picture common to the customs of the day. They “load people with burdens” in the same way a person would load up a donkey, camel or other beast of burden to the point where it could hardly move. As they traveled down the road, the owner would walk alongside, carrying nothing himself, berating and beating the animal if it slowed down or stopped, with no concern for the animal’s feelings or welfare.

The religious leaders had encumbered people in the same way, with “burdens too hard to carry.” The NLT paraphrases it this way, “You crush people with impossible religious demands.” There are two ways they did this. First, they would insist on “eye for an eye” punishment for any infraction of the Law. They had forsaken justice and mercy, having boiled God’s word down to a list of moral duties that they themselves were not able to keep. In other words, they had forsaken humanity itself.

It goes without saying that we need laws and guidelines for life. We need guide rails to keep us on track and to prevent us from falling over the edge. But when the law becomes more important than people, we have created an idol of the law.

This is what the Pharisees did with the Sabbath. When Jesus healed on the Sabbath, they accused him of breaking God’s law. Jesus healed a paraplegic who had never walked. The man, joyful over his healing, picked up his mat (the bed upon which he slept and from which he begged), and began to walk home. Because it was the Sabbath, the Pharisees singled him out for judgment and criticism. No rejoicing that God had healed a suffering man, only idolatrous worship of “the law”.

This led into the second way in which they loaded people down. Not only did they elevate the law over human need, but they added their own traditions to it. A person could not carry a burden on their shoulders on the Sabbath, nor with their “left of right hand”, but if it could be carried with a single finger, this was allowed. They accused Jesus’ disciples of “doing work” on the Sabbath when they took a few grains from a stalk of wheat to eat. They were “harvesting” on the Sabbath.

But Jesus tells them that they load people down, doing nothing to actually help them carry the very loads they have created. The limit of a Sabbath day’s journey was 2,000 cubits (about 1,000 yards) from a person’s residence. The religious leaders created their own loophole. They would tie a rope across the end of the street, the end of the street became his residence, and he could go 1,000 feet beyond that.

These loopholes, of course, were reserved only for the religious elite. For the common folk they would not even lift a finger to “ease those burdens.”

Imagine a church that has a small storage shed on its property. It is discovered that a homeless young man has been sleeping in it over the winter. He also has a relationship of several years with both the church and its pastor but did not have “permission” to sleep in the shed. Now imagine that one or more of the church leaders discover the situation. They immediately react with “this cannot happen!” The young man is expelled from the shed. Oh, and no further ideas are floated about how to actually help the young man.

Is it possible that we, too, load people with burdens and do not lift a finger to help them?

Imagine a church where people are taught that evolution is evil and demonic. That church hosts a “Creation Seminar” and invites area pastors and churches to attend. But, as it turns out, the seminar does not simply show evidences for a Creator. It is a diatribe against any view other than 6,000-year-old earth. It forces anyone who disagrees to be seen as an outsider even though neither the Bible nor Science advocate for such a young earth.

Is it possible that we, too, load people with burdens and do not lift a finger to help them?

More importantly, though, is what is currently taking place at our southern border. Yesterday, a Federal career attorney with the Department of Justice actually got up and argued before the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals that the following met their interpretation of "safe and sanitary" for children:

1. Providing no bedding and forcing the children to sleep on a concrete floor
2. Lights on 24/7
3. Cooling the room to extremely low temperatures (the infamous "Freezers" are kept at about 55, it's unclear the exact temp involved here but everyone agreed it was cold)
4. Providing only an aluminum "blanket"
5. Refusing to provide soap
6. Refusing to provide toothbrushes or toothpaste

Reread that list. Now imagine if anyone treated your child or grandchild this way. How can anyone make the arguments that this is an acceptable way to treat a child. How can any of my fellow citizens be okay with this? And, more to the point, how can any follower of Christ support an administration willing to load this ugly, sinful burdens upon innocent children? This is tidal wave of evil that a great many are cheering, or pretending does not matter.

Yes, it is possible. We are loading people with burdens and not lifting a finger to help them.

Here is how Jesus said he helped those who are burdened:

“Come to me, all of you who are weary and loaded down with burdens, and I will give you rest. Place my yoke on you and learn from me, because I am gentle and humble, and you will find rest for your souls, because my yoke is pleasant, and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30

Jesus takes our burdens. Let us be like Jesus.

Who Should and Shouldn't

Who Should and Shouldn’t

(“If your whole body is full of light and not darkness, it will be as bright as a lamp shining on you.” Luke 11:36)

Do you know how to see reflections in the water,
Do you know how to hear the voice of God in the wind?
Have you seen the faces, the hands, the portraits,

The lands occupied over and over again; and then
the present generation claims them as their own.

Do you think you invented the Mississippi,
Did you create the Rio Grande?
Did you spin the earth, grind its soil,
transplant the seeds, while drawing lines
in the middle of rivers, across ancient boundaries,
separating the kingdoms you conquered
and declaring them your own?

Did you do it with a cross before you,
with a bible in your hands?
Did you pretend god was on-your-side
because your guns were better,
your powder drier,
your faces whiter,
your boats bigger,
your English the sure language of god?

The badlands glowed with spectral beauty
before your eyes every beheld them.
The rivers swelled at the moon’s invitation
before you ever knew their motion.
The plains swayed, the grains waved like the ocean,
the Rockies reached toward the sun before
you ever named them.

Who are you to say to the millions whose tongue
does not match your own,

“here, and no further, we have drawn our lines in the sand.”?

Your light is failing, your eyes too narrow,
your sight is blindness, your night you call day
will soon give way to
the glory of the One who

Spoke it all into being before the first strand
of DNA was woven into all that is living.
Dare the One who hovers over creation,
speak with impunity if you think you know so well
who should and shouldn’t cross the river,
who should and shouldn’t share your town.

But do not speak of Christ while you
sing about boundaries of greatness,
foundries of weapons,
sainthood of hatred and
western culture as if it was the
brainchild of god.

Sink a while in your darkness and
let the light that is love divine
(All Loves Excelling)
open your dry eyes to
the idols you’ve adopted. Let
them come crashing down so
the shadows they’ve cast can
become light in the face of the
Perfection of compassion.

How Unlike Anything

How Unlike Anything

(“When you talk with God, say, ‘Our Father in heaven, may your name be kept holy. May your kingdom come.’” Luke 11:2)

Parent of all,
spending all, the stream of love that nurtures
the hidden fears. Sudden thunders of angel wings,
yet not extreme enough to solo your Eye and Hand;
the See,
the Touch,
the cosmic panorama of untamable passion for
the objects of Your birth and art. We, your children say,
“how unlike anything You are.”

Names, oh the dutch and the spanish of it,
the sound and the echo of them,
the tongue-tied way we pronounce a name
that uses vowels we’ve never uttered before.
A Name, inscrutable and suitable,
before all, in all, over all, under and, after all,
the name without any vowels at all.

We speak it without speaking, and still find ourselves reaching
for a tangible place to put our tongue to say,
“how unlike anything You are.”

Parent of all (not mine, ours, others or assigned to merely heaven’s
mortgaged lots)
how should this bald family clinging to a floating marble
speak to You at all?

We are only specks in Your plan, a kingdom that slays with love.
We have heard Your name, (unknowable), and bestow creatures
and caricatures, in anger as palpable as cheetahs pouncing on their prey,
with the unpronounceable name, hoping they will do our will:

We would pray Your will, but we have listened to the echoes and crevices,
the chiseled remains of our own devices and brains, and barely discern
“how unlike anything You are.”

For now, (and then, in the beginning, without end), restructure our madness,
stop us in the darkness, the sadness that sways our moments away from
simple joy; children and chalk-drawings, artists and broken prison keys,
death and resurrection; the new direction of Heaven’s will

After all.

Why the Quiet

Why the Quiet

(“Jesus said to him, ‘Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests. But the Son of Man has no place to lay His head.’” Luke 9:58)

There were times I waited all night just for a friend to call,
for someone to open the door to my heart.
There were nights I watched the time move,
a minute, a click, an hour, and the glitches crawled
between hellos and hugs.

Did You ever get lonesome with humanity as your posse?
Did You ever climb the hill to pray at night and wonder
why the quiet
was so full of noise and thunder?

There are days I pose like a model for students,
holding my face serene as they trace its natural wrinkles.
Why won’t they draw the inside? Empty. Full of salt and tears.
Why won’t they put down their brushes and join me
clothed only in sheets? Why do they leave once the class is over,
while I hover wanting just one to return and offer me a home?

Did You ever sigh along the lake watching us scramble for a living?
Did You wonder why the talk of the day never swaddled many
for more than an anomaly’s hour? Is it a flaw in our wiring,
a bug in the crawling measurements we know we cannot attain?

There have been years I never felt a home,
30 days, 54 days, 300 days, and a quatrain that felt like
a desert without rain, a forest without sun, a seeker without
someone

To follow.

Did You ever wonder at my lack of faith?
Did You walk into my thin wooden trophy case,
take inventory, and reconsider your choice?
I’m sorry the achievements are so scarce and
that creation (in your image) scares me somehow.
The northern lights, the soulful eyes, the cinnamon delights,
the chords and harmony, the memorized lines and poetry
are old hat or stale. I search the mail each day for a word
to make me feel at home.

There was a day, maybe two, when following You
was more than alright. And You still enchant me, romance me,
remind me and even confine me in Your love.

But home is elusive. My feet long, not for a mansion,
just for the touch of long distance that reaches deeper than
“I wish.”

Don't Blame the Women

Don’t Blame the Women

(“As Solomon got older, some of his wives led him to worship their gods. He wasn’t like his father David, who had worshiped only the Lord God.” 1 Kings 11:4b)

Don’t blame the women;
oh please do not blame the women.
Who knows their wardrobe, their worship, their went as young and
their return as some the kings of the world would trade
for lumber, gold, ships and silver.

Don’t blame the women;
oh please do not blame the women.
King know how to marry to
prevent the ugly videos of dirty faces
gathering at the border. Trade rates rise
for a long-legged concubine or two.

Don’t blame the women;
oh please do not blame the women.
Yes their worship took them to the high places where
they thought the gods dwelt (but demons dined instead.)
They were taught, they were tutored, they were cultured like
pearls, like chattel.

Don’t blame the women;
oh please do not blame the women.
Solomon bought the empire truces with chits
traded for human flesh; a palace full of international treaties
that made for uneasy peace. And the eyes of a
thousand women only wanted a taste of home.

Don’t blame the women;
oh please do not blame the women.
They were mere footnotes on the pages of
contracts aged with the backroom smoke of cigars
struck in secret.

Oh please,
do not blame the women.

Gentle Among You

Gentle Among You

(“As apostles of Christ we certainly had a right to make some demands of you, but instead we were like children among you. Or we were like a mother feeding and caring for her own children. 1 Thessalonians 2:7 NLT)

Paul shares the model of his leadership among the Christians in Thessalonica. As an apostle, he had authority given to him directly from Christ, and he says he could have used that authority to make demands on them. But, in fact, he did not.

He says that he and his team were “like children among you.” A few manuscripts read “we were gentle among you.” I’m not sure it changes the sense a great deal. Paul is contrasting his style with those who were trying to lead the Thessalonians astray. Instead of being know-it-alls, we were like little children. Instead of being harsh and demanding, we were gentle among you.

We desperately need leadership like this today. We have evangelical leaders making harsh and even misleading statements about those with whom they disagree. The majority of white evangelicals zealously support a president who is constantly vulgar, abusive and self-centered. Recently the president of a well-known evangelical college tweeted that a pastor with whom he disagreed should “grow a pair.”

When a fellow Christian commented that this was unbecoming for a “minister of the gospel”, the university president said, “I have never been a minister. I am an educator.” I’m not sure I understand the difference. For me, it is not the crass language, but the attitude that causes me to wince. “Grow a pair” is an appropriate way for a Christian leader to deal with brother in the faith, so long as that leader is not a “minister”? What have we become?

When we lived in North Dakota our family was invited to a farm for the afternoon. Our boys, Michael and Jonathan, had befriended the family’s sons and we looked forward to getting to know all of them better. We loaded up our 1986 Isuzu Trooper and drove the 10 miles to the farm.

It was a beautiful summer day, which was fortunate, because summer only comes one day a year in North Dakota. That year it happened to arrive on June 15.

When we pulled up to the house Michael and Jon, who were 9 and 5 at the time, scurried out to meet their new friends. We stood outside with their mom and dad enjoying the sunshine and getting to know each other. Jay, the father, talked about cloud-seeding to bring more rain to the area that was experiencing drought. It was captivating to hear both his theories on cloud-seeding and how he loaded and flew his Cessna up and over the possible fluffy targets.

The boys had scampered to one of the outbuildings where they mounted four-wheelers and were riding around the property. We watched them circle another building and could tell they were having the time of their life. A few minutes after they disappeared behind the building we heard a loud yell.

At first we thought nothing of it; perhaps a yelp of delight. But we heard it again, and then saw Jonathan running toward us on his little legs as fast as he could. Michael was hurt and he needed our help. We ran to the building to find Michael on the ground with the four-wheeler overturned next to him. Arriving, I knelt down to see what had happened and saw a gash in his calf; a deep and open wound. Making the turn around the corner he lost control and the building’s metal siding sliced into his leg.

We hurried to do what we could. Jay and his wife went inside to get some clean rags and bandages, I ran back to the Trooper and drove it to the spot of the accident. Inspecting the wound closer we could see he was not bleeding out, so we decided to drive into town and take him directly to the doctor. Jay would call ahead for us.

But we also knew how important it was to keep pressure on the wound. We backed the Trooper up next to Michael, lowered the middle seat to make room for him in the back, and we lifted him gently inside. There was not room for Patti in back, so Jonathan got nurse duties. He climbed in the back with his brother.

We told him, “Jon, you have a very important job. You need to keep pressure on that wound using the rags. Don’t be afraid to be firm.” We weren’t sure how Jon would respond, the gash was ugly, cutting all the way through the flesh and revealing the white ligaments beneath. But he bravely kept his little hands firmly on bandage covering the wound for the quick and sometimes bouncy ride to the doctor. Too firm, Michael would wince, and Jon would ease up a bit. Other times Mike would tell him, “You can hold it tighter.”

Arriving at the doctor’s office the staff unloaded our son and took him into an examining room. The doctor was surprised at our little EMT who had held put pressure on the wound so bravely. Michael required two sets of stitches; one beneath the skin, and one set to close the wound entirely.

In some ways, this illustrates what Paul is expressing. We were “gentle”. Gentle does not mean “dainty”, but it does express loving care that is willing to apply just the right amount of pressure and no more. Indeed, Paul describes his attitude when he says, “we were like a mother feeding and caring for her own children.”

Why would Christians ever use anything other than gentleness and nurturing care when dealing with each other? Even more important, why do we think that using crass and harsh methods with non-Christians is appropriate or even effective?

In fact, the only other time this word for “gentle” is used in the New Testament, Paul says, “A servant of the Lord must not quarrel but must be kind to everyone.” (2 Timothy 2:24 NLT) “Kind to everyone” translates the same word rendered “gentle.

Dear friends, let’s be like Christ. Let’s not settle for leadership that looks like the worst the world has to offer. May the Holy Spirit transform our hearts to exercise gentle love because we are all wounded in one way or another.

In Wet Cement

In Wet Cement

(“I will put inside them a new way of thinking. I will take out the stubborn heart of stone from their bodies, and I will give them an obedient heart of flesh.” Ezekiel 11:19)

I’m not sure how it happened, so long ago,
perhaps when I was walking, perhaps fighting the undertow,
but it dropped out of my pocket, it fell out of my chest,
I swear this is how it happened,
I dropped my heart in wet cement.

The sun baked it clearly, cured the sidewalk well,
and for a while I kept on walking, for a few steps no one could tell
that, hardening beneath the pavement, beating slowly to death,
I swear I didn’t realize,
I dropped my heart in wet cement.

Can you walk the foothills, heart out of mind;
can you swim the sparkling rivers with your heart left far behind?
Can you answer the questions, can you offer your best,
when,
I swear this is how it happened,
I dropped my heart in wet cement.

No one walked on me, only over and around,
perhaps their own hearts lie buried deep and glued to the ground.
Did they drop out of their pockets, fall out of their chests?
I swear this is how it happened,
when
I dropped my heart in wet cement,

I kept on singing, praying and spelling
the name of god and his son in proper terms and failing
to hear the absent heartbeat; the cavity in my chest.
I swear this is when it happened
to the heart I dropped in wet cement.

I was undone, unsung, prayed and faded as an
old west calico dress.
I was kneeling, unfeeling, ached and lithic as the
old glacial boulders at rest.
I could not move, though I moved often,
I was not free, though I sang like a strong man.
I was retreating, unseated, frayed and begging as an
old warrior with little left.

But I was sung like morning, I was recited like dew,
I forgot the old, the dusty, the hobbled days
when, new as creation, I welcomed the invasion
of a gentler hand than the sand and grit
that held me so long when
I dropped my heart in wet cement.