Maybe God Is a Wedding Singer

Maybe God Is a Wedding Singer

(“And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God. It was prepared like a bride dressed for her husband.” Revelation 21:2)

Maybe God is a wedding singer
with down-turned lips that remind you
of Elvis.

Maybe God is a caller for square-dancers
learning their steps weekly on
Tuesday evenings.

Maybe God is a redheaded child
wearing her jeans with rips in the knees,
looking like a spinning top in the rain.

Maybe God is a swarm of bees
looking to hive and
start up with nectar and golden honey.

Maybe God has been here from the middle
working out to the edges of our
limited imaginations.

Maybe God is sitting next to the toddler
taking his first turn on the swings
in the park.

Maybe God is in the shadows while
I sit like a dog
in the sun.

Maybe God is in the light while I
walk in the shade of
cedars and firs.

Maybe God is in a
lover’s first kiss or
in an elder’s last sigh.
Maybe God doesn’t think about this,
Maybe God couldn’t care why.

Maybe you’ll call me mad,
maybe a heretic,
surely I can stand under the protection
of all the kneeling I’ve inherited.

Maybe God is a welder
sealing joints that are broken.
Maybe God is a dozen words
that sound from the songs deep in the canyon,
the lyrics silent and unspoken.

Maybe God is a waltz,
maybe a grass dance,
maybe God ignores our faults,
maybe a second chance.

Maybe I’m talking out of turn,
maybe I read too much,
maybe you don’t understand yet
that this is poetry and maybe
God is the eternal rhyme that teaches
lions and lambs to play together.

Holy Mosaic

Holy Mosaic

(“Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit.” 1 Corinthians 12:4)

Everyone wore the same standard-issue smiles,
the aisles were filled with processed cheeses and
pressed meats of the day. The truth is, though no one
knew it,
we all wanted it that way.

There were always a few more fascinated with
ethnic groceries. There were always some who
came simply for the stories.
Why not sit on the wooden steps eating a
bahn mi
and listening to the prayer call from the mosque
only a few blocks away. There were a few
who knew they could hear the lilt of the Spirit;
still and slightly reverberating in dialects they
could not recall.

Everyone reacted to the suggestion that
the Spirit transcends religion. Everyone favored
style over substance. Some wanted soups,
others mosaics. Some wanted melting pots,
others orchestras. The Spirit

Blew in from all corners. She inhabited
the air in restaurants and alleys. She filled
soon and later with breath that
brightened eyes and rainbowed kitchens.
She always showed up.

There were always a few who did the dishes
inspired. Laughter and splashing just happened
to be the language they had agreed upon. The
Spirit danced gleefully.

Holy Amnesia

 

Holy Amnesia

(“I, I am the one who wipes away all your sins. I do this to please myself. I will not remember your sins.” Isaiah 43:25)

I do not want to boast about privileged visions
or untrained prophesies,
but I have sat upon park benches when the sun barely
reached the ground. Alone beneath the sky,
breath like ghost clouds,
my heart with so many holes it contained
the gravity of the universe.

I have seen

Birds approach; gray, rust and deep sea
toy soldiers eyeing the ground. Above
and alone
a woodpecker hunts the bark; castanets
to waken the mourning doves pairing up
for winter’s work. They have been here before.

Taken to the extreme, all I can imagine
(after the tears have dried following my last disaster)
is stillness that entices a robin, then two,
to come within inches of my mud-encrusted shoes.

Do I deserve their friendship? The seafoam and
salt from the beach past the rushes seem to say
everything I need to hear.

I wander from the longshadow bench toward
the ocean chanting creation’s ancient song,
and I sit upon a boulder
while my perforated heart beats the refrain just
beneath my hearing.

The whole universe is reclaimed, renewed,
and I, along with it, inhale the thick evidence
that sand and sun, sin and whims, have been made
One
in holy amnesia.

And the Children Play

(photo credit: Mercy Aiken)

And the Children Play

(“May God himself, the God who makes everything holy and whole, make you holy and whole, put you together—spirit, soul, and body—and keep you fit for the coming of our Master, Jesus Christ.” 1 Thessalonians 5:23 [The Message])

Entering the avenue where the unlikely children play--
a brother on a bike, a little sister right behind--
and there are paintings on the back of the facades,
dripping down the necks of the alleys
detailing recent history and partisan rallies.

And the children still play underneath the signs
of times adults ignore. What, indeed, are we fighting for?
When Palestine suffers, so do their neighbors.
When Africans suffer, so do the children in highrise daycare.

Unidentified artists paint the meaning for us so we do not
have to walk through the galleries; stop; wonder; deeper;
and never let the children out to play.

They painted caves in France; dark; damp; edgy; older;
and the children played in the prehistory.

They doodled walls in Bethlehem; bright; breath; deadly; newer;
And the children tagged their playmates unwalled.

They spray-canned stucco in Minneapolis; memos from a week ago;
african and indian, spanish and norwegian, stayed where the flowers lay
upon the asphalt dark as skin. And the children stood hugging
the knees of adults who they hoped knew better than they.

And my next door neighbor turned three today; she; bashful; blonde;
skipping;
and she plays in the backyard pool just before the party begins.

Her chalk drawings smile from the cement driveway as she catches
hugs from anyone who will toss one her way.

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.

Silence!

Silence!

(“Be silent, all flesh, before the Lord, for he has roused himself from his holy dwelling.” Zechariah 2:13)

Who are we to instruct the Wind-maker when
we cannot see the breeze at all?

 When did we ascend the throne on antediluvian peaks
and survey the globe. Our panorama’s are sadly flattened?

How can we instruct the creation to match our templates,
the stars move from view while we position our deviated rules
written on cardboard before the nearsighted followers?

            No, I taught no one; only the man, only the woman,
            only the image-bearers on our best interpretation.

And where is our learning? What have we assumed? While we
exhume the bodies of our best knowledge, the failure rate only
rises as we stick to our guns.

How do we count the countless? How do we dare?
How do we enact a directive when the conversation was confidential?
How do you still box the air, never sparing your opponent
nor scoring the apparent.

            No, I announced it well; did you not hear my trumpet call?
            I raged at the uppity boys who silently wait the anthem’s end.
            I put them on the spot, closed the door and did my duty to
            God and to my Country.

Silence!

The quiet of the Almighty will break ever unholy assumption.
Do not lift an eyebrow, do not look around. Do not gaze in the stadium seats,
keep your eyes on the ground. Yahweh arises and you will soon see,
everything you though you understood, everything you knew to a “t”
has been trampled by His coming upon the winds of the dawn.
Everything you thought was right, you better prepare to get it wrong.

Do not put a finger to the piano, unplug the guitars,
drop the mic, (humbly this time) and stay right where you are.
He comes to judge your judgments. He comes to inspect the scars,
the wounds and the harm your pronouncements made when you made them
in His name.

It is no different, we are all the same. We walk the straight line if
the straight line means a detour around riches we’ve gained by
ignoring the least of any of these and promoting our feasts: VIP
only.

The Almighty is roused; He sees the waves sent to drown
the bad taste in our mouths.
The Almighty is pained; He feels the sores on the arms
and feet of the chosen.
The Almighty is slow; He knows the time we mistake
for divine approval.
The Almighty is ready; He comes to make His grace
the thunder before rain.
The Almighty heals; And cuts, and lances, and finds the
root of our growling glances from faces He designed to
shine like the sun.

Silence now! And listen unspoken. He will heal, he will refresh,
he will transform, he will fix;
Listen, for He will heal, but only that which is broken. 

There is no Rock Like our God

“There is no holy God like the Lord. There is no God but you. There is no Rock like our God.” 1 Samuel 2:2

The human heart is either too stubborn or too variable to be trusted completely. We stubbornly cling to opinions, even in the face of convicting evidence that we are wrong. We will even cling to our personal convictions to the point of causing harm to others. If our preconceived notions are threatened we may attack, make insinuating remarks and shut down relationships that may have actually helped us mature along the way.

Nighttime Offered no Applause

Nighttime Offered no Applause

(“They tested God again and again, and provoked the Holy One of Israel.” Psalm 78:41)

We stomped out conflagrations on the desert side of the mountains,
we were watchers, we were the vigilant, we spotted the first flumes
from our high towers. In a season so dry we watched unblinking.
We did not cower before the hundredth call to choke the flames
that flapped crisply, giant wings threatening to engulf our diligence.

But then the fires raged exponentially, rained heated ash and glowing embers
behind every advance of its sinister army. Barely with breath sufficient
for one skirmish, the fires sucked all the oxygen from the ground,
from the sky, from the know world we had searched, and surely
well beyond. This giant non-breathing dragging inhaled everything;
left us less respirations than a walk after summer’s lunch.

No one gave up; hope was shouted from line to line. No one
went home; photos in our wallets folded tight kept us reminded.

I remembered leaving home, out the front door, down the street,
merging with others along the East Bay Corridor, through the
Caldecott, over the Bay Bridge, paying for parking heart-center
of the financial district. Alone. Here was my territory, here were
my clients. Though the clients were future to this cold-call artist.

The street is rarely sunny, until you reach the pier. Any season
other than summer
you may find the sun in patches for a two o’ clock sack lunch. But.

I was unreimbursed; though I had rehearsed every word, my worries
and anxiety pushed me forward. I could only lose if I refused.

I lost something then; the fire and finance district. There was more
than I could do; less than I could discover. In my early wonder,
before cash and college and marriage and children. It was archaeology
that knew my name; where digging gave me plenty of reasons for
the dirt under my knuckles. Yet, I am sure, I would have tested
and tested

God’s good faith just the same; caused Him pain because
I cried so easily when the curtains closed, the day was over,
and the nighttime offered no applause.

Full of Unknown

Full of Unknown

(“I love the Lord, for he heard my voice; he heard my cry for mercy.” Psalm 116:1)

Everything I did was in the shadows, all my works reaching in the dark;
Few spotlights, hardly in the news, less interviews, and never published:
words or tunes, doctrine or views.

I could swear I never sought fame, took the tiny venues, memorized one acts
while better located friends chewed the scenery. “I could have been”, I said,
“on at least a local marquee.”

Yet today, a single college child spoke, an atheist, a soft anarchist and
unwitting iconoclast; smarter than most, taunted by many who claimed the
Name, who walked the Way. She tiptoed through the four year stares of
the church-going few who knew, atheist views, she was danger, and took
their turns wide around her down the halls. A living, breathing, lovely,
masterpiece of heaven; made to sit alone by the holy, afraid of getting dirty,
and left her lonely, four years. But she walked, she swam, she limped, she
jammed her pen into her notebook to keep from biting clear through her lips.

How do some, with no thought of God, love His people more dearly than those
who claim a first row seat at the Jesus Circus when it comes to town.

How do some, who talk so close of God, ignore His people, the doubting, the
clowning to cover their fears, aches and fiery nerves. All they want is a seat
somewhere
where they can be loved for who they are.

I love the Lord, He loved me. He laughed at my certainties.
I love the Lord. He reached me. He spoke through, even, infidels.
I love the Lord. He called me. He opened the skies, not answer my questions,

But to begin the First Act, pointing to my name card surrounded by
names of little and some, large and then, visit and phone, who, just once,
or labored in tears, would sit with me

At the Banquet full of unknown, fully known.

Bike Path

Bike Path

(“You are to make a distinction between the holy and the common, and between the unclean and the clean.” Leviticus 10:10)

In the background, gnats stirred the heavy molecules of summer air;

dragonflies darted and parted the thin walls of warmth rising from the pavement,

the deer were in the shadows, bullfrogs greeted the ear with throaty baritone and

blue jays argued over a corner of sandwich crust left on the picnic table.

The bike ride listed from left of the forest to the bottom hollow out of the sun.

Midmorning sun traced the letters silkscreened on the back of the rider’s t-shirt

while he found the rhythm, feet like pistons on the pedals, and breathing between

each well-timed downthrust. Exercise, prayer and meditation aligned as

Breath and mind paid attention to the cycloramic portrait

and loved the new words found to describe the Artist of it all..

Lifting Holy Hands

“Therefore, it is my wish that when the men pray, no matter where, they should lift up hands that are holy — they should not become angry or get into arguments.” 1 Timothy 2:8

People often struggle with knowing God’s will. You can attend seminars to discover the secrets of finding God’s guidance. Book after book is written to help answer the question, “What does God want from my life?”

God Does as He Pleases

“He considers all of the nations on earth to be nothing. He does as he pleases with the powers of heaven. He does what he wants with the nations of the earth. No one can hold his hand back. No one can say to him, ‘What have you done?’” Daniel 4:35

NOTE: Paragraph four begins the “wow” thoughts about this verse.

These are remarkable words magnifying the sovereignty and power of God over all creation. He considers nations “nothing” and exercises His will over all of heaven. When God decides to execute His plan over nations, there is nothing that can stop Him. There is no one above God, no one to which He must answer for His actions. Because He is both holy (completely good and righteous) and all-powerful, he can be both sovereign and independent in His actions.

Teach us to Pray

Teach us to Pray

(“When you pray, say: ‘Father, may your name always be kept holy. May your kingdom come.’” Luke 11:2)

For many people, prayer is the most challenging aspects of their relationship with God. That is not to say that most do not want to pray, but it presents a number of difficulties which we should face honestly. It appears even Jesus’ disciples felt a certain deficit in their own prayer life. Jesus had been praying, and when He finished one of His followers asked Him to teach them to pray.

Imagine playing clarinet in an orchestra and sitting under the tutelage of one of the world’s greatest conductors whose primary instrument is also the clarinet. One day you hear him playing a part you have struggled with constantly. In awe, you listen to the maestro’s accomplished melodies. You ask on behalf of the other musicians, “Master, teach us how to play.”

It is not that you had been faking it; you knew your instrument quite well. You had practiced diligently, could read the music, produce the right notes, and play nearly anything with enough time to prepare. But, having heard the master play, you realized how much you had to learn. You knew the notes, but he knew the music. You could play the song, but he could bring people to tears.

So it is in our prayer. We see Jesus’ constant fellowship with the Father in the Scriptures and realize how much we lack in understanding the heart of prayer. We will never discover the beauty or the depth until we ask, along with the disciples, “Lord, please teach us to pray.”

Jesus does not reprimand them for not praying well enough. Instead, assuming they truly wanted to learn, He said, “When you pray…” The first lesson: Do it! God is not interested in perfected language; He wants us to simply come to Him. We will never learn to pray if we avoid prayer!

“Say, Father…” It is simple. God is the Perfect Parent. He desires to nurture us, provide for us, care for us and lavish the affection of the best Mother or Father. He is “our” Father; you are not an only child. When we call Him “Father”, we indentify ourselves with the family of all who follow Jesus.

See Him as your Father when you pray. If that is hard, go no further. Ask Him, by the power of the Holy Spirit, to change your imagination. Ask Him to take out the old images painting Him with lightning bolts and a voice of cruel thunder. Ask Him to help you see the caring Father He is.

Think about your desires for your own children. You would do anything to help them overcome a difficulty. You would supply anything they needed to have a fulfilling life. You would never leave them alone, allowing them to think you had forsaken them. You do everything you can to fill their hearts with confidence about your love. Why would God do anything different? He is the perfect Heavenly Father, wanting to fill your life-experience with the confidence that comes from knowing His love.

He is our Father whose name is “holy”. We must always keep the high view of God in view. Because He is holy, He deserves worship and complete submission. He is the image of perfection. As we learn to pray, we learn to align our life to His purity. Prayer is not a way to convince “Papa God” to let us have our way. It is meant to help us submit to His way.

That is what “May Your kingdom come” means. Jesus taught us that prayer always begin, not with a list of our wants and needs, but with a deep desire to see God’s plan worked out in the world. Bring the poor to the Father who cares about them. Pray for many who have not heard about the love of Christ and forgiveness provided at the cross. Pray for the widow who cannot figure out how begin her new life. Pray for the teen bullied by those who think she is different.

Most of all, make prayer a priority. Set aside a specific time, and do not let anything interfere. Your Father God looks forward to conversing with you even more than you do with Him. And, dear one, He misses you when you don’t show up.

Upside Down Messages

“Even though I am a free man with no master, I have become a slave to all people to bring many to Christ.” 1 Corinthians 9:19

Paul was a master at blending in when it meant he could avoid causing offense to others. He didn’t mind causing a stir if it was necessary. Goodness know, there was a huge riot in Lsytra when he made it clear there was only one God, and only one Savior, Jesus Christ His Son.

Take the Curtains Down

“After hanging the curtain from the clasps, bring the Chest of The Testimony in behind the curtain. The curtain will separate the Holy Place from the Holy-of-Holies.” Exodus 26:33 (The Message)

Our first house was a tiny two bedroom shack in Sulphur, Oklahoma. But, as with all first-time homes, it was our palace. As small as it was, we never felt cramped. There were just the two of us; no babies so far. Plus, we had accumulated very little furniture to fill up the miniature floor plan.