Firstfruits

Firstfruits

(“We will bring the firstfruits of our land and of every fruit tree to the Lord’s house year by year.” Nehemiah 10:35)

We took it all and laid it in piles,
treasures of golden wheat, bushels of dates,
apples round and red.
We gave away as much as we could and heard
the answer from heaven. We were only taking
what we were given from our fields and sharing
them candidly. We remembered how it all looked
like ruins,
the walls leaning and falling into the ground.

We captured the evening sun as it drew the shadows long;
we sang the ancient Psalms we had learned from our birth.
We stood together in the pleasure of bringing the firstfruits
of our fields.

We laid the sheaves side by side like open doors to the
interior of the house. Children ran between them, in and out,
side by side, chasing each other and giggling as the parents
paid little attention. There was safety in the air and amity
along the dusty paths. Everyone imagined a renewal,
everyone captured the revisions the sun cast upon the
exterior walls.

We held back nothing. It was our privilege that sent us there.
We felt no reluctance, we were so joyful for such a hearty harvest,
and the chance we possessed to twirl like dancers
and bring our best this time of year.  

The night grew cooler and we gathered around campfires,
warming our hands and finding new ways to rejoice.
We told our storied history, our deliverance from mediocrity,
and thanked, hands out and up, the One who supplied what
we had brought.

That Leads You Home

That Leads You Home

(“At that time I will bring you home, at the time when I gather you together.” Zephaniah 3:20a)

 

Slightly lower below the
sunrise hills
there glows a beacon that
leads you home.

It does not screech, it only beams,
it intervenes between hope and
bleak shadows that have
occupied your mind.

Some days the sun shines
but your shoes are not ready for walking,
The next day the fog lays
across the hills hiding their ever green.

There were no frowns, only furrowed
foreheads and unlikely thoughts of what
had turned this dark so soon. Some mornings
beckon with a better tune.

Suddenly our riches were fading, our coins
melting in the danger of the day. Quietly, though,
a new economy was coming, a new exchange,
all for all from unguarded watchmen who found
their pockets full of misting and rainbows.

Overnight someone sent invitations,
late afternoon we all made our plans,
early evening we gathered the adulation
we felt when we knew our clan was meeting
with us for good.

An Outcast Heart

An Outcast Heart

(“But the things that come out of the mouth come from the heart, and it is those things that make a person unclean.” Matthew 15:18)

Did I hear that you wanted to change the world?
Did I hear that you stew over the ingredients of opposition?
Did I see you making a lie, turning it over, polishing it and
moreover, branding the facts and turning them into
seminal enemies of the state?
Did I see your raucous rage replace the dialogue
of critical thinking? Did I see the way you
nailed your enemies down?

I don’t have the energy to keep up anymore. I don’t have
the reserves to reverse the steady stream of nonsense
accepted as gospel by some of the angriest people I know.
I know because I came from that principality. I know
because once I found my own road (the road I had missed
for decades); once I found my new road they reached for the ropes
and tried to tie me to the courthouse tree.

I don’t have the energy, but my words well up inside me.
I need to sleep, but my thoughts keep possessing me.
I sit outside and wait for one or two who hear the truth
to renew my untitled dream. I’m looking behind me,
looking in front of me,
listening for a sound from the street that will restore
the longing of an outcast heart.

I’m looking through you from down and up,
I know the potions you drink from your deceitful cup.
There is still room for you, still there is time,
to cast aside the poison words, to admit your false rhymes,
and bring it all out into the sun, bring it out for everyone
to see,
the transformation that only quietness can bring.

See Us More Clearly

See Us More Clearly

"For the sake of your name, don’t despise us. Don’t dishonor your glorious throne. Remember your promise to us; don’t break it." Jeremiah 14:21)

Please see us more clearly than we see

ourselves,

here we bring our votives and underlying motives

wondering why our turns of left and right and our

circles of up and down

leave us just as grounded as before.

We would fly if we could, (some pretend that we do),

we would beat back the momentum of our own

dishonesty, except our own family tell us

all we believe is true.

Please see the red in our eyes, (anger or crying,

sometimes a mere disguise). We give no excuses,

though we choose to sometimes blame it on the way

we have been created. (Me, not you. The yous abuse

every freedom they are given. The theys are tireless and

wicked without reason.) But we confess, and confess, and

confess, and it sounds like all the rest who cannot find a

place to admit, we vote for ugly then never regret what we get.

Please send your grace just now, and open our hearts to receive it.

We have lived so long as if we are right, we have forgotten how to admit

a journey filled with center-vision that refuses to see the

abused, the crying, the unwell, the dying,

the never-church, the basement pray-er, the mudcake poems

fascinated with grubs and ants and slugs. Earth is too dirty

to allow on the carpet between our pews.

Please send your Spirit; this time we will not refuse her friends

that always accompany her presence. She brings lilies of the day,

but dandelions too. She shares the scent of love that fills every room

and edits every ungodly no-love forward from Youtube or

presidential campaigns. She brings pain, she brings hope,

she brings tears, she brings old jokes we used to tell.

Please send her and we will never pretend

again,

that it was our singing, or our shouting, or our goodness
that brought her here within.