Laughed at the Dream

Laughed at the Dream

(“You did it: you changed wild lament into whirling dance; You ripped off my black mourning band and decked me with wildflowers.” Psalm 30:11 [The Message])

I couldn’t stand at the back; they had put me in charge
so I waited until all the singing was done to begin the
morning lecture. But I was muddled, I was muggy, I was
unprepared, I was disarrayed. I wished I had stayed home
to protect my unsteady hands.

It was five minutes before twelve and my time was almost
gone. I had not even begun. I wasted eons wrestling with
technology I had carefully tested twice and more. The microphone
went silent, the images swarmed the screen. The words would
not come. The room had been full, but some stood and
began to leave. Long-term friends were sitting in the
front row and they began to follow the exiting few.
But she, the wife, urged him to stay and I finished my
time merely a minute late. I do not remember what I said and
few of the faces that left me unrecognized.

But old friends I hadn’t seen in decades waited for me
in the lobby just to shake my hand. Most others were out
the door quickly to their appointed reservations for brunch.

I went home winded. I was surprised at my disabilities that day.
But I put on music by Dylan, then listened to some Cohen. I wished
I had more Stevie Ray Vaughn to play. But as the day counted down
to evening the drapes on my heart were hopefully opened.

It was only a dream, I said. It was nothing new. I did a quick
review and realized I was probably right. The smile I had misplaced
found my feet moving like raindrops on the sidewalk.

So, I stepped outside into the fading day and laughed
at the dream
that previously would have made me cry.

It’s Easy to Dream

It’s Easy to Dream

It’s easy to dream once your eyelids close;
it’s harder to dream what you want like a set
of your favorite clothes.
I tried to direct the choir, now I just play the piano.
I tried to feel the fire that had burned in my heart
all afternoon.
I hoped to live within the ropes that tied me to you.
I remember how ICE dressed like masked gang members
to confiscate some human’s feet from the concrete.
I’ve seen the gulag where they keep them like
cattle waiting slaughter. I’ve heard the mumbles
about the bible, I’ve seen their inchoate references
to excuse their handgun executed arrests.

I threw my hands up hoping you would see that
I cannot excuse or stomach the worship that parades
itself like confetti on the front rows of avenues.
There are no demons to attack, there is not warfare
to extinguish,
there is only love, love only love, left for us from the
One who forgave every notion of adversity from the pain
that would have driven sanity from the best of us.

I saw your attitude inside the congressional halls, the
room of the people. I saw your faux prayers that you prayed
to push through the bill that removes hope from millions. I’ve
heard your prayers on the corner in direct defiance of Jesus’
direction to pray alone in our own room.

I threw my hopes down the tunnel created by hidden boys
thinking they could hide inside the dark trees and foliage.
I dreamed the American flag was removed, finally and for all,
from every church’s stage. I dreamed we learned that empire
is the enemy of following the Lamb.

It's easy to dream when you sleep so late. It’s lately
uneasy, but I’ll keep speaking and trust the words will
end up carving a new way in my mind overnight.

An Overpopulated Dream

An Overpopulated Dream

(“Be on your guard, stand firm in the faith, be courageous, be strong.” 1 Corinthians 16:13)

I will not be ignored, unseen,
unheeded.
I know you say you did not recognize me,
I know you talked about your children like
they were captives of evil.
I feel the faint vibrations, the thinnest veneer of
unsubstantiated claims to greatness.
And all I want is to be heard a
time or two times more.
I will not be passed by, compassed by
the blind eye you never turn my way.
I know you have forgotten me,
but I still see your face every other night
staring back at me in my dreams.
How can my sleep be so well inhabited when my
waking is so desolate?
I grew weary a long time ago,
and now weight of years has touched my hip,
made me limp,
and wonder where all the goodwill went.

I pulled up outside your door, but you don’t live there anymore.
I confessed everything, and sorely afraid you could see through it all,
I confessed twice to be sure I had covered it all.
And you never stumbled. You never cried.
You never needed forgiveness, did you?
You were methodical in dismantling me.
And I, squeaking machine already, nearly died
of pale fright in front of a plate of spaghetti.
No, I don’t eat much when I’m under the knife.
I don’t eat much when you magnify my whispers to
everyone else in the restaurant.

I will be heard. And I’m sure you will hint,
or state strongly once I am gone,
that the root of bitterness is strong in me.
And I believed I deserved it all.

But no more. Not today. You have harmed me
with your holiness. You have cut me deep with your
satiny shards.

I will be seen, even the bloodied me. I will let
every word of failure be plainly spoken once you
open
your own life to my investigation.

Ruined Wineskins

 
Ruined Wineskins

(“Paul saw the Lord in a dream one night. He said to Paul, “Do not be afraid. Keep speaking. Do not close your mouth.” Acts 18:9)

We blamed communists for the sit-in protests
during the civil rights movement,
and socialists for suggesting a level playing field;
and surprise, antifa were the demons behind
the attack on the Capitol. Some believe it
still
and call their democratic foes
the agents of Satan.

The robin’s red breast had rusted
over the summer
but she still explored the thinning yard for food.

And why would a friend of many decades,
a friend to whom I had introduced the
Friend of sinners years ago,
assert that so many blacks are killed by
white cops
because black commit more crimes?
Her assertion sank into the mud.
Someone had poured vinegar into a precious new
wineskin.

The miniature american eskimo pup walked with her master
in deep midwinter up in the north country. She ran
her tongue across the ice as they walked around the
town.
Her name was Halo.

And when did those who use “life” in every sentence
decide death sentences should occupy the same paragraphs.
Why do they buy magazines to hold deadly rounds in
weapons thousands of more times deadly than the imaginations
of the 2^nd amendment authors? And life, they say, begins
from conception. Rights, they say, must be afforded this
dividing morass of cells. And once delivered to the world
in antiseptic chambers,
are sent back to live without a single bit of legislation
to keep that new child fed. They blame socialism
again, and the newborn cries go unheard.

The bunnies played as the snows melted. Rabbit feet,
mud, and slush, lead the way from the warrens where
they have slept the winter away.

And why do some decide the sun shines only for their side?
And where do some think the vulnerable go as the earth bakes,
the fossils revealed at the bottom of evaporated lakes?
Why are they angry at data,
why do they rail against serious inquiry,
why do they enervate every honest question as if
it is meant for destruction.
We are a garden that must be tended.

The lions roamed the savannah. As the oases shrunk
their ribs rubbed against their golden manes. They
could only travel to the next watering hole, if the
next watering hole
only existed.

I Shall See You

I Shall See You

(“Now you are going through pain, but I shall see you again and your hearts will thrill with joy—the joy that no one can take away from you.” John 16:22 [J. B. Phillips])

Another night and another dream where somehow everything I attempt
goes partly wrong somehow.
Letters of intent that scare me out of my wits,
a plow that pulls me through the backcountry fences
onto private property where every eye can see.

Another morning when the pain wakes me early,
keeps me prone till noon and will not let go. A violent
season
that my brain invented, and no other brain can diagnose.

Some questions are impaled, some answers are so veiled
they mock the slightest turn of the mouth. Every phone call
used to send me
into broken twig apprehension,
and now that the phone doesn’t ring the
dreams
supply the same intentions, driving sleep from the cells
that need duplication. But the tiny thoughts that
still find expression
are turning like neutrinos undiscovered until
the atoms were sliced like cheese.

I will not talk of my faith, as if I possessed it like real estate;
I will not answer as if I owned anything at all.
I will not speak of circles unbroken when every chain link
seems to come apart at the seams.
(Like the disciples, I can huddle behind locked doors
as long as is needed.)

I do not see You well, and my search is even weaker;
but You see me, the weary and broken seeker.
I do not comprehend, I can barely compose a tune;
but You show up, broken and risen from the tomb

With wounds so visible there is no mistaking Your identity.
The room shakes at the intensity of fire that carries the ash
into rivers that run beneath our senses.

We will sleep again, dream again, and certainly
go wrong again and again.
But You-Who-See-Us again take our trembling letters
of resignation
and rewrite us again and again.

Christmas Gifts in July

Christmas Gifts in July

Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you; not as the world gives, I give to you. Don’t let your heart be troubled, neither let it be fearful. John 14:27

Now that I’m retired from ministry there are a few things that I’m beginning to understand about life. And, there are a whole bunch more questions, but we’ll leave that for another time. Here is one thing that I’ve learned: No none likes to be told what to do.

Even the best leaders in business give people objectives and not specific instructions. A leader who is constantly telling people what to do quickly is seen as a micro-manager and someone who does not trust her team. But, if they can delegate responsibilities and allow others to accomplish the objective in their own way, the team members see themselves as valuable and trusted.

I wonder how often as Christians we tell people what to do, or what they should be feeling, or how they should be experiencing the world. “Jesus left us peace. So, you should feel peace no matter what is going in on your life.” “Jesus left us peace. Here are four ways to achieve that peace in every circumstance.” “Why are you so anxious all the time? Don’t you know Jesus gifted you with peace.” And on and on and on.

I understand that sometimes people respond to such exhortations, and I do not want to exclude them entirely. But we also need to take a step back and realize none of us experience peace (or joy, or faith) one hundred percent of every day. And, some peoples’ lives have been so disrupted by hardship, that for them, even accepting that peace is possible is an immense challenge.

I almost decided not to write about this verse today. Most who read this already know my situation, and I won’t belabor it. The short story is I retired early due to health reasons and now my wife and I live with my sister and brother-in-law in Texas. Patti is working, I suffer pain every day, and do not have a vehicle at the house. I would much rather still be in Washington near our daughter, but we have to finish paying the mortgage on our home there before we can move back.

All this is not how I envisioned my life at 64. So, the situation, along with chronic pain and clinical depression, have produced a situation that is not conducive to feeling a lot of peace. And, if someone wrote me a letter with this verse as a heading, I probably would not receive it well. It would sound like they were telling me “Hey, dude, buck up. Grab the peace that’s there for you!” (As if, after 40 years of ministry I was entirely unaware of Jesus’ promise.)

But, if I received a note that said, “I’m thinking of you. I know this is probably one of the hardest times of your life. Wish I could do something. Try your best to find some peace in the middle of it all. I understand how difficult that must be right now,” I would rejoice. No, I would weep, with joy. It would be a human touch that transmitted the presence of Christ.

When my mother died in 1987, she was only 53 years old. She lived in Upstate New York and had bought a Victorian home she hoped to remodel into a Bed and Breakfast. Unfortunately, she never was able to fulfill her dream.

When we heard of her death my sisters and I met up in New York to grieve together, comfort her husband and each other, as well as have a memorial for her in the little village she had called home. We pulled up in front of the old house in the car we rented. Though in some disrepair, it was beautiful, and fit our mother’s sensibilities to a t. We walked up onto the porch that circled the entire house, knocked on the door, and our step-father beckoned us in.

After hugs and greetings, he gave us a tour of the house. One thing caught my eye almost immediately. In the corner of one room were at least half a dozen wrapped Christmas gifts. But Mom died in late July, so I asked about them. Those were the gifts Mom had bought for us and her grandkids, but never had the funds to mail.

In the middle of our grief we all laughed. Mom always made sure to gift her kids, and especially her grandkids. It hadn’t gone without notice that there was nothing under the tree from her the previous Christmas.

We looked at each other, picked up the gifts, turning them over, looking at the labels and wondering what exactly to do. Eventually we unwrapped them. I cannot tell you what the gifts were, I do not remember. But it affected us deeply that Mom kept those presents wrapped and ready for us.

Jesus told his disciples that he was leaving them a gift: his peace, his shalom. Shalom is more than feeling calm. It is the common greeting in Hebrew, and is a desire for wholeness, purpose and goodwill in a person’s life. It goes far beyond living without anxiety. Jesus’ gift is purpose in life that is not defined by career, popularity, good looks, or any of the outward measures we use. It is an inner awareness that we are so valuable to him, that he has bequeathed that purpose to us forever.

The disciples didn’t respond exactly as Jesus suggested; their hearts did become troubled, they were fearful. Within a few hours they would see Jesus taken away by military might, tried unjustly, beaten to with inches of his life, and hanged on a cross in the cruelest form of punishment invented by mankind.

Peter denied Jesus out of fear. The disciples scattered during the crucifixion, later to be found huddling out of fear in the upper room. But, after the resurrection they discovered the peace Jesus had promised. Now some of them would be treated in the same way. Yet they would ask forgiveness for their persecutors, they would pray instead of denying the love Jesus had brought into the world.

I do not want to tell you that you should be experiencing peace in this very moment. Grief over our mom’s death overshadowed our happy discovery of the Christmas gifts. Of course, it did. And the struggles of the present, the pain of the past, the fear of the future can all work against the sense of peace Jesus promised. But I do want to remind you that he did promise that peace, well-being and sense of purpose. I am slowly learning that, now that my “purpose” is no longer in being a professional minister. Indeed, much of my time is spent simply nursing this 11-year-old headache. One day this week I spent only eight hours out of bed.

But, if you will accompany me on this journey as we seek to let the presence of the risen Christ give us peace, maybe we can encourage each other in our difficult moments, and avoid simply telling each other, “Hey, you oughta have peace.”

God-With-Us

(a little late in the season, but I've been mega-busy!)

God-With-Us

“Behold, the virgin shall be with child, and shall give birth to a son. They shall call his name ‘Immanuel’; which is, being interpreted, ‘God with us.’” Matthew 1:23

Have you ever awoken from one of the dreams that seems so real that it influences your mood for a good part of the day? You may not even remember all the details, but the mood, the emotions stick with you. It is not that you simply remember feeling sad or happy, you still are sad or happy. Perhaps you actually dreamt about someone you knew, and somehow you have the same feelings toward the person once you are awake that you had in the dream. Having dreamed you have upset a loved one, you wonder what you have done to make them angry. And you keep telling yourself, “Self, it was only a dream.”