Overtures of Invitation

Overtures of Invitation

(“I have had a change of heart. All my tender compassions are aroused.” Hosea 11:8b)

Have we measured yet how volatile love can be?
Have we discovered mercy behind the messy proclamations?
And yet,
noisy as a storm, we must listen to know the moment’s sound
is hidden within the fiery thunder we shiver under.
Yet we find ourselves favored in the midst of our
own discontent. The heat of your love melts all our
resistance. The light you awaken in us remains long
after we have turned away. If only we would carry
it closer than our hourly burdens of certainty.

We forget, so intimately joined to our previous suppositions,
so scathed by our attempts to escape. Sometimes I just need
to stop walking and discover the passage of time that keeps me
bonded when I feel unequal and unglued. I heard your
passions are stirred toward the worst we have done.
I saw you in the morning and found out loud that you
waited within me and invited me as a beloved apprentice.
We learn to practice what we have seen; we read the
music on the pages and sing the ballads of the secrets
made known that we thought could never be decoded.

We still feel the electricity in our nerves, the anxiety
that buzzes so loudly we miss the quiet overtures
of invitation, the understated pleasure of the divine.
But today we can RSVP to the joy strung up like
helium ballons. We can mark our calendars with
this day that we were reminded the world revolves
around the heart of Christ. We will not mince our
words, but dance like those who just got our
invites in the mail.

I Knew the Wound Had Closed

I Knew the Wound Had Closed

(“After the sun had set, people with all kinds of diseases were brought to Jesus. He put his hands on each one of them and healed them.” Luke 4:40)

How great is your power, your love, and your healing,
to touch mortal flesh like mine and leave me reeling
that I could survive so long without the warmth of you hands on my brow.
You cool the overheated wounds that still burst freely
like the first time they ruptured.

But in your touch, between your fingers, inside the hug
that lasted longer than any other hug,
there I found safety from the ways I only rewound my
wounds in moods of despair; I feared I would never
see the scars that reminded me they had once been healed.

It was under the stars, just as the sun was disappearing behind
the hills,
it was far away from a dark moon, it was dusky and chilled.
It was the time of evening when faces change. It was the time
that it takes longer to recognize friend or foe. That was when
I thought I saw you,
That was when I waited in line.

I never sang the blues, I know they would only cheer me up.
But dirges were on my tongue morning till evening, longer than
I spoke in the day.

I was marginally happy; I sat on the sidelines. I was invited to
parties I could not attend. I was unlawfully blind. But I knew
the touch the moment his fingers found my face and nearly
erased
every malignant nerve and thought. There, where the bats
flit above in the yawning light, I knew the wound was closed,
I was whole, and pain, though not entirely eliminated, might lead
me closer to the dawning sun.

A Change of Clothes

A Change of Clothes

(“In the same way, the victor will be dressed in white clothes, and I will never erase his name from the book of life but will acknowledge his name before My Father and before His angels.” Revelation 3:5)

On second thought, maybe it would be better to
light a fire than sit outside in the cold. Maybe it
would be advisable to invite the blazing glow back
to the front row of the evening.

We could sit around the table swapping stories
like baseball cards,
and rolling our tales out like dice. We could
evaluate their veracity. We could measure their
capacity for the truth. Or we could,
one
more time,
trust our friends who understand the rhythm
of winning and losing, of joy and pain. We wouldn’t
mind that much that we heard those lines a dozen
times before. They do not lose their truth even
with the embellishments each time they are told.

Is this what it will be like, to be known and
warmed by that knowing? Will our stories flow more
freely? Will our questions hang in the air without immediate
criticism? Will the systems of religion and politics fall under
the weight of the unadorned truth? Will answers matter less
than honest doors left open for perusal? Will we hear
the varied interpretations and anoint all of them true?
Is this what it will be like, to be seen and heard beyond
our talent for song and fashion? Will we create more space
between us even though we have grown so close?
Will the summers last forever; will our tales dangle in the
sky?

On second thought, I’ll light the fire and invite you to
warm yourself late into our waning life. The body gives
out over time, but the mind, oh my friend, the mind
never stops believing in eternity.

A change of clothes would really do us good.

A Change of Opinion

A Change of Opinion

(“John the Baptist preached that all the people of Israel needed to repent of their sins and turn to God and be baptized.” Acts 13:24)

Some lives are not loud, denouncing every opposition.
Some lives refrain from mockery, shocking the elite believers.
Some lives are small voices in the choir.

Some shout at every opportunity, imitating prophets,
eating crickets, sucking molasses, and telling the masses
to buy up their solo releases while there is still time.

Some songs use subterfuge, laying their eggs in the middle of the night.
Some rhymes are evasive, several degrees from perfection.
Some poetry sojourns until the earth turns to face the sun.

Some rants pierce foreheads, destroying the minds they try to mend.
Some sermons shatter the cracks, demanding tears for proof of devotion.
Some arguments inflame canyons, making the rivers impassable.

But I am changed at the first hint of a smile.

Dressed for the Dance

Dressed for the Dance

(“Pharaoh sent at once for Joseph. He was brought hastily from the dungeon, and after a quick shave and change of clothes, came in before Pharaoh.” Genesis 41:14)

They told me it was ending, the time was closing in,
the final act was over, we waited for the epilogue.
We had heard the announcement for ages, for lifetimes,
for moments we wondered would ever end.

But we kept on dancing, with our without the band.

They told me it was time now, the auditions began,
the callbacks, the final chance to make the team,
to be called an actor, a thespian, a professional
at my craft.

But, I kept on dancing, and never heard their laughs.

They agreed I had talent, I read well, they said,
“You have presence, you have intensity,
your belief is suspended and your belt holds up your pants.”

And I kept on dancing, avoiding cracks to save my mama’s back.

Which is where it started, with her, with mom. I was groomed,
I was dressed, costumed and confessed I loved the stage and applause,
while I was shy as a turtle who dreams of going to school without its shell.
I had done well to fight my bashful nativity until a guerilla war
left me slow to trust and playing in the dust; a quiet corner of my
personal prison cell. Books don’t talk back; books serve as friendship well.

But I dressed for the dance, scrubbed my face, neck and ears;
washed the ancient cream-colored Bug and picked up my date who
helped me

Keep on dancing. Dressed in rags or royal, my estimation is this:
esteem can be beaten, but dancing is forever’s food; dance on,
dance on.

Unchanging

“The Rock: His works are perfect, and the way he works is fair and just; a God you can depend upon, no exceptions, a straight-arrow God.” Deuteronomy 32:4 (The Message)

Relationships can become very frustrating when it is impossible to depend on someone. I’m sure we have all been the victim of someone’s changeability along the way. We are lead to believe the person is trustworthy, true to their word, and we base our relationship upon that. And then, sometimes completely by surprise, we find we are not able to rely upon that person at all. They may have promised to help with a project and not show up. Perhaps they offered emotional support, but could not be found in the moment of crisis.

The Temporary Cure

The Temporary Cure

The pain has changed me, I complain.
Thinking the tears which come unbidden
have finally reached their end, they swell again
from hidden cisterns. The pain has let loose the reins
that held so much fear in check. But now the angry beast
burns beneath my brow, explodes through my dreams and
schemes to make no good thing worthwhile.

Embraces do not change it, words do not erase it,
heat and ice, the temporary cure, awakes my thinking until
room temperature steals every good thought away.

I scream alone, I reach the dead-end abandoned.
Once a cul-de-sac, and now rusted trashcans blow through
the idle plot where friends grilled out back. Picnics were
life and health;

The pain has changed all that.

Hiking the woods, camping and smelling like smoke,
charring marshmallows and reading a good book, fighting
the moths for light. Exploration and warm sun were
brisk and joy;

The pain has changed all that.

My friends see the creases, my teeth gnash, my jaw grits,
my eyes burn, my ears echo every background noise like
nuisances intruding quiet meditation;

The pain has caused all that.

Friends love, but few call; what can they say?
God loves, but still hides; where has He flown?
The pain reprimands the kindest phrases, excuses
and amazes the man a decade ago who woke at
midnight to sit with a friend,
talked all night to calm a storm,
walked all day, conversation to coffee and back,
and had time to play before the sun retracted its rays.

The pain has changed all that.
The pain has changed me and I don’t know
how
to get me back.

The Good of the City

“Work for the good of the city where I’ve taken you as captives, and pray to Yahweh for that city. When it prospers, you will also prosper.” Jeremiah 29:7

Do you feel out of place? As followers of Jesus, I suspect we will experience this more often than not. Most of the world’s values run counter to the teachings of Jesus. Notice I said “world” and not “our society”. I am actually weary of hearing constant complaints about how “our society” is becoming more and more ungodly.

Any Day

Any Day

(“Look! The winter has passed, the winter rains are over and gone.” Song of Solomon 2:11)

Any day the tides may turn, the storms cease their
constant refrain along the easements of unsettled minds.
The thoughts once frozen can surely thaw,
the bristly sleet will warm to glad sheets of rain,
the day will begin early again.

We have heard the announced arrival, the blizzard
whistling down the gorge, the roar hugging the coulees,
and the doors slamming shut until the icy wind
and stinging snow have built their glistening lean-tos on
every western exposure.

We double down on comforters and hot chocolate.

But the day when the last snow shrivels, the final rain withers,
we hardly remember the hardships of winter. The daffodils
burst like butter, the lilacs perfume the ripening breeze,
while miscellaneous floes beg the inlets and shadows.

The first day of bare-feet, t-shirts and Dairy Queen
erases the hard reckoning that wears out our heavy coats.
The second week in a row we have to water the roses
we know no other season than the one when love is
likely to whisper. The girl with the braids
sees the boy with the braces for the first time since
Spring sang its arrival clear.

Counter-Culture

“’So then turn away from them, turn away and leave without looking back,’” says the Lord. ‘Stay away from anything unclean, anything impure, and I will welcome you.’” 2 Corinthians 6:17

Depending on how long you have followed Jesus, you may have heard this verse applied to everything including sexual promiscuity, style of dress, music preferences and what kind and how much jewelry a woman ought to wear. It is not my aim to support any of these particulars, or to belittle them. I hope, though, to crystallize the focus a bit.

So There You Go

So There You Go

So there you go, changing your name again,
just when I thought I could listen without thinking
I must look for the measuring cup again. I’ve nearly
grown insane
wondering how to please the sirocco or reclaim
my fame again.

So there I see, flying ghosts over the top of me,
clouds transferring shapes and geometry, while
I scratch out my records, my diary, my poetry,
upon the black mud beneath my feet. The specters
seem more real to me.

So there I wait, smiling like the hungry,
just when I hoped the ship had slowed to turn back
my fortunes upon waves and swells of friendship;
the trade winds bringing the young man’s laugh
back to me.

So there I hear, once more, and again, like before,
at just the moment I imagined a new refrain from
the same singer on or off the stage. Though the
performance is weaker, the words are old and unchanged,
and we excuse the breathy enunciation simply because
they bring those blues and memories
back to me.

So there you go, the name unchanged again,
just when I learned the latest articulation
my tongue crash-lands against my front teeth again. I’ve nearly
grown silent
wondering what rhyme is improper, what theme will regain
my fame again.

Cross-Examination

“Cross-examine and test me, get a clear picture of what I’m about.” Psalm 139:23 (The Message)

There may be a script out there where a defendant in a crime drama can’t wait to get into the witness chair. And, there may even be a scene where he is begging to be cross-examined after his own attorney’s questions. Perhaps there are two kinds who would beg to be cross examined. Someone who is absolutely certain of his innocence and unafraid of courtroom shenanigans might say, “Come on, let the Prosecution do their best.”

Quietly In

Quietly In

What stains keep happy from most likely,
and what past-times keep dance from poised feet?
Why is it harder to find what we long for the most,
harder to arrive closely the nights we repent our loss?

Why is weeping required, or bawling a badge awarded;
tears your certain detergent, wailing the proof of your bath?
Prayer is your way of proving, oh so holy, and louder than the rest.

I am at a loss, this time of year, this year of life,
and long to find a studied path, a quiet walk with a friend or two
whose tastes have changed. We’ve thrown away our pictures
of angels hovering over the shoulder of favorite evangelists;
tossed the tapes memorized like toast, and learned the silence

That a mere whimper defines
quietly in the forest with a friend or two
whose lives have changed: not cigarettes and tangos;
but lies and bravado burned in a pile just outside of town.

The sigh meant for no one but You,
the shy words half-spoken, the questions not yet answered,
the focus that hears the beloved’s footsteps

On sunny leaves of the mosaic floor, where we wait
quietly in the forest with a friend or two
who need our tastes changed once more.

Come

Come

(“On Judgment Day, the Ninevites will stand up and give evidence that will condemn this generation, because when Jonah preached to them they changed their lives.” Matthew 12:41 [The Message])

Come and fill me up, this empty scatter that hums like ease;
empty me please, of the matter, the mass that pretends peace,
leaving a vacant ocean.

Come and size me up, this giant ego that bumps the wind;
decrease me please, of the stature, the peak that cartoons me,
late night and shrill fulfillment.

Come and sing to me, this nursery rhyme that tunes the fright;
rewrite me please, of the refrain, the song that fools me short,
like flat and sharp copyrights.

I am still too silent with dust the quiet on the downside of the dam,
I am still too noisy with waves the strident on the upside of the dam.

I am empty I am full.
I am genius I am idiot.
I am flowing I am moss and in another moment
I may cost your attention and buy your affection.

Come and preach to me, this ragged phony that bows for show;
re-see me please, of the actor, the mask that pretends peace,
and leave Your divine presence;
the thriving ocean, midnight hope and plainsong devotion,
a patchwork piece of reality

Please.

Change your Clothes

Change Your Clothes

(“So get rid of your old self, which made you live as you used to; the old self that was being destroyed by its deceitful desires.” Ephesians 4:22)

I am told that our sense of smell is the strongest of our five senses, and that it is the one most associated with memory. A few years ago I was sitting in a coffee shop, and a couple of ladies who were perhaps in their early 60s were sitting behind me. Within moments their perfume wafted into my booth and I was instantly transported to a memory of my grandmother. I am not sure if it is a law written in stone, but I think every woman over 60 wears the same perfume.

One Thing I Do Know

One Thing I Do Know

“He then replied, ‘Whether he is a sinner I do not know. One thing I do know, that I was blind and now I see.’” John 9:25


Jesus and his disciples encounter a man blind from birth in the Temple. The disciples ask who sinned to cause the man to be blind; what it his fault or his parents’ fault? Jesus makes it clear that sin was not the issue at all, God’s glory was. God would receive glory by the blind man being made whole.


Everyone is obsessed with “sin” in this story when sin is not the point at all. The religious leaders who just can’t believe Jesus is the Messiah start examining His life for sin. They can’t discount the miracle; they have already interviewed the man’s parents who testify that he indeed was born blind.


Since the “God-experts” can’t deny the miracle, they have to come at Jesus from a different direction. They accost the man who was healed and tell him, “Give God praise (translation: tell us the truth bub), we know this man is a sinner.” How do they know? Well, Jesus just happened to heal the poor man on the Sabbath. That’s right, the day when the closer to God you were the less work you did.


Therefore, to do a great work on that day must mean you are very far from God. Even if it does take away a life’s worth of blindness from one of God’s very own people. Their logic is flawless, within their own non-compassionate system! God says it is a sin to work on the Sabbath, healing is work, Jesus healed, therefore Jesus sinned!


The disciples are looking for sinners to start the story off and the God-experts are looking for sinners as the story winds to a close. And, the only one who truly sees anything is the man who was blind at the beginning of it all.


“Whether he is as sinner I do not know. One thing I do know is that I was blind and now I see.” What a story, there are two men accused of being sinners; the blind man, and the Man who healed him.


While the church often waddles about trying to exhibit its own righteousness and point out the failings of the blind world, Jesus simply walks into the middle of it all and heals those who need Him. Call Him a sinner, call those He heals sinners, it really makes no difference.


God is not on a sin-hunt. Yes, the Bible tells us a great deal about sin. The most important thing it tells us is that we ALL have sinned! God is on a healing safari, to bring freedom to any and all who need Him.


We can waste time trying to figure out why someone is still ill. We can try to lower Jesus below His divine status as the Son of God. And God will let us go about it because He really has better things to do. There are blind to be healed, there are the poor who need to hear good news, there are the hopeless who need to see the glory of God in the midst of their despair.


Don’t worry about who sinned, just get in there by faith receive the healing love of Christ. And don’t try to bring Jesus down from His stature as the unique Son of God. Why would we even want to do that? The “God-experts” wanted to be “right”, that’s why they wanted to call Him a sinner?


There is only one opinion about Jesus that counts in this story: “I was blind but now I see.”


Father, help me to get my eyes off of everyone else and on to Jesus who wants to lovingly heal my own blindness. Help me to let go of my own opinions about Him and simply allow Him to be the Son of God, as He said He was. Today, I come to the healer of all, knowing He is willing to be associated with me, a sinner.