Greater Space to Roam

 

Greater Space to Roam

("The sun had stopped shining. The temple curtain was torn in two.” Luke 23:45)

Weeks exist that should be stricken from the calendar,
days in succession of moonless night, cakes dried in the sun,
thoughts scrambled while tears line up like children waiting
for a roller coaster ride.
Weeks exist where every pain from a life behind you
piles up like mud sliding from the oversaturated hills.
Then you wonder why you hide yourself
knowing it is plain to all who look on.

Across the street the neighbors sell their extras
before moving into their new home. You saw them
setting up yesterday
but did not wander over
because
your mind clamps down on your tongue and
your skin shivers at what
they might discover from your uneasy rhymes.

There was a time when you loved company.
There are days you try to magnetize, keeping your mind
in close orbit around your soul.
Now midsummer, your night dreams are fearful
schemes of unresolved pain that seems to infect
everything.

But what is torn can be entered,
what is ripped is visible,
what is broken is not damaged,
what is past, though remembered,
are only shades masquerading as biblical
proportions. What is rent has opened
greater space to roam.

And still the weeks persist. Perhaps balloons are tied
the scepter and the crown. Perhaps children know
that open doors are meant to be entered in.

We Shall Play Again

We Shall Play Again

(“The peace of God is much greater than the human mind can understand. This peace will keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:7)

For Laurie

There is a swirling of conversation that can connect
two people more closely than
another one thousand miles closer.
And still, in the whirlwind of the mind,
there are only spoken words, inflections heard
and occasional nuggets of gold in the bottom of the pan.

If I write that I am going to write stream-of-consciousness,
do you still understand and have I accomplished my mission?
There was a time I did not care, and it did not scare me either,
to combine images of spaceships and a pretty girl’s hair. Now,
though I’m not all that proper,
still I want people to go “hmm” before they go “ohh.”

Sometimes one talk takes the place of a dozen therapy sessions,
(do you know how hard it is to find a therapist you can trust?)
I must confess, that’s why I see a therapist and not a priest.
I want to talk about myself, not our thoughts about God,
or your thoughts about how I’m doing with God. (How would you
know, child of clay and sand, sparks and spit?)
But my unconscious knows something I had yet to admit:
“I don’t believe in God anymore.”

I knew you wouldn’t shrink, which expanded my words.
The background was gray and green, a shadow scene with
my body stuck between standing and tottering. And then I said,
to everyone who was listening: “I don’t believe in God anymore.”
Oh, did I tell you it was a dream?

But that is why I called you, to bring you into a space that
stunned me; a waking gasp at “anymore.” And everyone heard
every word, every firm statement of final disbelief.

I was not relieved.

I once thought words, phrases and questions were sent by
strong concentration, fasting and sweating prayer. I also knew
they could come from nowhere.
So, days later, my disbelief haunted the days and I read a book,
(perhaps on civil rights in the 60s, perhaps a bio of Socrates)
and an arrow pierced my mind right behind the word “anymore.”

“What if now, God believes in me?”

II.

The crazy trumpets broke the night like the saxophones laughing;
but it was never the song, it was how I heard it.

So I take up the mandolin again, fingers swollen from aging,
and release the expectations of virtuosity. Sometimes it’s better
just to play.

Remember how I said the piano is my soulmate? Remember how
I said I did not have to think? The place for peace is the place that
belief has recused itself from me. An opening, not a void, for
the quiet voice that never said much to me. And now doubt,
(that devilish and scattered word) has become the very earth in which
a new trust has begun.

We shall play again, fiddle, guitar or melodion.

Wisdom to Be

Wisdom to Be

“If any one of you falls short in wisdom, they should ask God for it, and it will be given them. God, after all, gives generously and ungrudgingly to all people.” James 1:5

Almost every Christian who wants guidance knows this verse well. We have been told that God will give us all the wisdom we need when we ask Him, and that He will never begrudge us the gift of His wisdom. That much is true. Our problem, I believe, is that we substitute the word “guidance” for “wisdom”.

Let me explain. Perhaps we need to choose whether to take this job or that one. Or we are considering buying a new house. We rely on this verse, ask God for wisdom (thinking “guidance”) and expect some sign to tell us which choice to make. I do not want to be misunderstood; God often gives specific guidance about choices we face.

But wisdom is a much broader category than simple “guidance”. What if wisdom has to do more with who we are than what we should do? Isn’t God more interested in forming us into men and women who carry the compassion of Christ in our hearts? And, as we ask for His wisdom, what if He responds by transforming us to a greater degree into the likeness of His Son?

Let me share from own recent struggle with wisdom. Most of you know I have suffered from a daily headache for nearly nine years. It hinders everything that I do; writing, reading, physical activity, even taking road trips.

Here is what makes it so challenging. Every "trial" I've endured thus far in my life could be traced either to failings on my part or someone else's, if not entirely, then in part. I could act on it. I could repent. I could confess. I could forgive. I could make amends. I could reconcile.

But there is no cause for this chronic pain that I can tackle with better piety. In fact, the pain hinders most of my spiritual "practices". Prayer is an effort. The pain shortens my attention span when reading Scripture. And acts of mercy are fewer and farther between, as are most of my activities.

I cannot fix this with better devotion to God. And, yes, I understand His strength is made perfect in weakness and that His grace is sufficient. But the pain is an iron door which seems to limit access to experiencing these things.

That's the most honest assessment I can make. My faith is challenged because, for once, I see no cause, no solution and no way forward. I am, in many ways, walking in the dark while I try to walk in the light.

I have asked God for wisdom. I have sought medical advice, spiritual counsel, and poured out my heart to family…and well, Facebook. I cannot keep up the pace I need to as a full-time pastor, yet I am not financially able to retire. There is more to that, but just understand, there seem to be very few choices. And I’ve been asking quite often for “wisdom”. “Show me another way, God.”

Recently (actually, yesterday) I began to think this way. “There is much I can no longer do because of this chronic pain. And, I hate the physical suffering as well. I don’t play tennis, don’t visit friends, don’t read, don’t write my poetry as much. But…I am still me.” That seemed like a breakthrough.

You see, I’ve been focusing on what I feel I need to do, and all the things I can’t do. But the pain has not changed one thing about who I am. For me, God’s wisdom may be to stop seeking to do things better and just be His beloved child, because that has not changed. I am His by faith in Christ, despite the pain.

That does not ease my physical suffering. And, if you are suffering, you may still endure hardship as well. But, ask God for wisdom; not just for what to do, but who to be. The next verse tells us to “ask in faith.”

Faith isn’t a power to gain control over our lives. Instead, it is surrendering our false sense of control into the hands of our loving Heavenly Father. Trusting Him means we no longer convince ourselves that, with enough faith, we can move that mountain. We put that mountain into God’s hands and simply trust Him for the outcome.