Wordless Moments

Wordless Moments

(“I tell you, on the day of judgment people will render an account for every careless word they speak.” Matthew 12:36)

Do you allow it all to spill out unmeasured,
do you take the time to filter the multitudes that hive
within your head?
Do you hallow the sounds from your mouth or
do you treat the silence with sacrilege?

Have you added to the trauma, and left the victim
lying in the mud? Have you cocked your brain like
a gun at the person in pain?

Do you spend your days searching for another reason to be right?
Have you kept track of the arguments you can use to keep back the light?
Children are dying among the rubble while you discuss
second comings and end times. Mamas hold their children while
we debate arming soldiers in the streets.
I’ve watched uncounted moments dashing people’s hopes
with unsightly doctrine.
I’ve felt the shrapnel ricochet off the sky and paralyze
the objects of your screed.

Come with me to the river that speaks its peace without a word;
walk with me upon the hills where gatherer’s trod ten
thousand years ago. What did they say to the day as the
sun warmed their foreheads? What might the river remove
from all our speeches and dissertations?

Silence can be holy, stillness a sanctuary,
Unspoke can open the soul,
this-day can lighten the load of a million
thoughtless words. The sun can purify the
wounds left by experts in law. The breeze can
speak without talking and leave you wanting
for more days where life is lived inside the spheres
of pleasant and wordless moments on the road.

False Portents

False Portents
(and failed importance)

So now some new prophets are spewing old judgments at
the new sins they think
the country is sinking in.
Where were they when brothers hung from trees,
their necks broken while their lynchers lit fires
and made plans to meet up for chicken fried steak
right after church and singing “Just as I Am”
one more time.

Where are your harbingers, you judgments of doom,
about how immigrants stole the first nations’ lands,
lying with pen and word about treaties and trading
and never warring again with the redman. The first
feet upon the magical land’s dirt carried the same
blood as the feet which disembarked from boats on
sand. There was no Manifest Destiny that blew
the bobbles across the sea. Where is your Great Judgment
of God
at the men who left bodies strewn across the prairie and
thought they carried orders as they rode away while
the blood seeped into sod.

Come now, you who forget your Father’s great mercy,
who ignore the greatest Command ever uttered by One.
Where are your words about buying people like firewood,
treating women like luggage and questioners like lepers
(which is silly, we know, for all we know, that even if
you could catch the dread disease for an east wind blowing,
from the west breeze slowing it all until it rested within
your next inhalation. And Jesus touched them, while all
ran from their bells and hid their children inside closets
where the foul air could not reach their impressionable lungs).

Where are your words about unreasonable force,
false remorse, religious bigots and bone-dry spigots that
once poured grace. Where, oh Seer, have you wandered
to perceive
the love so unrestrained it burns the arrogant in its flames,
returns the first blow with only stillness,
walks the second mile out of the sheer bliss of
obedience to the Son of His love

Who, better than your contemporary pronouncements,
announced the Father who rains and shines and invites
and designs the best way, the merciful way, for the

Wicked

and the Good.

And That is All

And That is All

(“Come, let us worship and bow down; let us kneel before the Lord our Maker.” Psalm 95:6)

My legs are weak from standing, my mind curled from
hashing out each argument to magnify my own codes of conduct.
I hand out glances at the first action that does not glitter in
angelic gold.

My arms of tired from directing the traffic from darkness to
manufactured tanning stations, pointing out the misdirection,
handing out the reserved exceptions to the better dressed who
avoided every beat of music with stains of mud the silent modifier.

My voice is harsh, is rough, is scraped like a knee on the pavement;
I would speak more kindly if the street corner had received my instructions
more readily. As it is, with all the shouting, I am certain I got through to all
who were doubting the sanity of the speaker.

My ears are plugged, are burst, are filled like garbage bags stuffed with
every castaway vegetable and cutaway insurance bill. Crammed,
the sound waves do not even stop to know, but turn away seeing the
door to my listen is far too full to allow another thought a place to
bunk upon the floor.

I have heard of knees stronger for the kneeling, voices sweeter for their song;
I have seen silence that repented scratch into melody. I have held a camping
mug hot with coffee, the fire off the beaten path, the brown liquid left steaming
from early evening and yet, sweeter than summer wine, it tasted of hand
to
hand

And commanded a second look at unhooking my agonizing attempts at
controlling the earth’s rotation. I look into the fire, back at the golden face
of my benefactor, and, life sometimes sends saints unobserved, unconsciously
we kneel, we bow,

And that is all.

Don't Judge

Don’t judge others, and you will not be judged. Don’t accuse others of being guilty, and you will not be accused of being guilty. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.” Luke 6:37

I have heard preachers quote this verse more than once as the “favorite Bible verse of this generation”, implying they use it as a cloak to keep people from pointing out their sinful behavior. Of course, the sermon continues with a long list of “contemporary sins”, condemning each one along the way.

Personal Approval

Personal Approval

“Therefore do not pronounce judgment before the time, before the Lord comes, who will bring to light the things now hidden in darkness and will disclose the purposes of the heart. Then each one will receive commendation from God.” 1 Corinthians 4:5

According to a legend, a desert wanderer found a crystal spring of unsurpassed freshness. The water was so pure that he decided to bring some to his king. He filled a leather bottle with the water and carried it many days beneath the desert sun to the palace.

When he finally laid his offering at the feet of his sovereign, the water had become stale in the old container. But the king would not let his faithful subject even imagine it was unfit for use. He tasted it with expressions of gratitude and delight, and the loyal man left with a happy heart.

After he had gone, others sampled the water and expressed their surprise that the king had pretended to enjoy it. "Ah," said he, "it was not the water I tasted, but the love that prompted the offering."

Our risen Lord sees our attempts at service in exactly the same light. We bring to Him our time, committing ourselves to help with a certain project. Perhaps it is to help the hungry by volunteering at a local food bank. If you are like me, the first time I attempt a new things I can feel overwhelmed and even a bit confused. I might even be a bit grumpy because I’m not sure what I’m doing.

It would be easy to go home at the end of that day feeling I hadn’t accomplished much. I might judge my efforts, feeling I did not represent Christ well at all. Yet, those things are not judged until Jesus returns. At that time He discloses the purposes of our hearts. That phrase might be a bit fearful. “What, Jesus is going to bring those things to light! I could never go through that.” But, in this case anyway, the purpose for “judgment” is for God to commend us for everything we did for Him.

It is sad how much judging we do of each others’ work for God. A person doesn’t like a particular style so they leave a church. Another one won’t go to Sunday School because they don’t like the teacher. We judge all the time. What if God is saying, “That servant of mine is doing their best right now. She does things differently that you would, but she loves Me. Isn’t it wonderful that I have created each one of you to be unique servants for my kingdom.”

The Scripture clearly says we need to lay all that sort of judgment aside. Jesus will do it at the last day. He is not talking about sin or false doctrine here, but about the usual work that you and I do for God. Won’t we be shocked when that person receives a commendation from God when we stayed away from his committee, Bible Study or church?

Why is God able to commend someone so freely someone we may have trouble with? One word, the best word, the word that describes everything Christianity is about: “grace”. Grace takes us out of the judge’s chair and puts us back on the playing field with every other believer. It enables us to smooth out our ruffled feathers with the knowledge that our own service to Jesus is just as hackneyed and uncertain as any others. Grace opens our hearts to receive ministry instead of judging people.

This Sunday we celebrate the fact that Jesus Christ rose from the dead. We remember the most glorious fact of all human history, that God’s Son, battered and torn, put to death upon a torturous cross, burst forth from the tomb on the third day fully alive! This Sunday we celebrate what we ought to remember every day, that following Christ is following the way of joy, perfect love and astonishing forgiveness.

You see, even though He had told His disciples over and over that He would rise again, no one truly believed it. Peter denied even knowing Him and the others ran away and now were hiding from the authorities. The women were the only ones brave enough to go out that morning to pay their final respects to His body. But they also had no faith for the resurrection.

If Jesus was depending on His disciples getting it perfect so He could rise from the dead, it never would have happened! In spite of their unbelief, fears and weakness, He rose to prove His eternal kingship. He rose for them all! Even for Peter, the one who bellowed, “I don’t know the man.” Jesus instructed the women to go tell the disciples…and Peter. No, it was not time for judgment. The resurrection tells us, “Go forward for Christ, serve Him in love. All will be revealed in the end so that each can receive personal approval of a job well done from the Father Himself.”

Lifting Up

Lifting Up

(“Therefore, I want the men in every place to pray, lifting up holy hands without anger or argument.” 1 Timothy 2:8)

There once was a group of men who thought it their task
to trip up the unwanted (liberals or lesbians), and unmask
the true who they were, like they knew who were the true.
The unmaskers wore death on their own faces, handling
truth as if it was their own invention, rambling about who
drank champagne at a wedding, roaring about the collared preacher
sharing a drink with a constituent at the bar. They never
realized how unseemly and bizarre the anger and red truly seemed
while they shouted until their throats nearly bled. But truth be told;
they never doubted they were the redeemed.

There once was a gullible few who surrounded the local school,
having heard, (hushes please) that a practitioner of witchcraft actually
had a home room where their children sat every day. This witch
might take every bit of their faith and purity away and must be
stopped. Surround the building, pray it down, let the angry God
they loved so much, take away her means of existence, and send her
homeless to another school where they didn’t care quite so much
about pagans again and again filling children with campaigns of
walks in the woods.

There once was a Man who had lunch with a man the best had
run out of town. He was chained, far past the first stoplight, clad
in clothes and holes ripped from the rages he could not control.
But One
began to step right into the man’s pain and suck the poison out
just like you would any rattlesnake venom.

There once was a Man who did not hide His affection for drinkers,
or prostitutes, or sinners or thinkers or stinkers like me. He
(I finally realize) enjoys my company. And, having come to see
His love is the gravity that pulls us in reverent orbit around the sun,
I will not join another group who tries their best to make a lesbian homeless,
a pagan jobless, a pastor with a beer graceless. I am (finally realizing)
made of the same stuff as them. More weeds than garden, but full
of colors and enough seeds for next year’s harvest.

Checking In

Checking In

(“Let me pass through your land, I will travel only on the highway; I will not turn aside to the right or to the left.” Deuteronomy 2:27)

You tried to catch my chin again,
turn my sideways to burn red
instead of loving the trees and the blooms that waved
overhead just above the disagreeable
critics who heard the blues
and said
there was no life where they used to play like gardens.

But you insisted, with my chin in your hand,
that my little backyard roses and lavender
did not match your meandering horticulture
of vines and wild blackberry invaders.

Until a visitor knocked and inquired about my name:
Their smile hand happy old-time twang
brought me back to center again,
“We’ve heard of your garden, sir, and
I have to say,
we would love to stay and afternoon there,
someday.”

I turned my chin and started down the path again,
but first I touched the hands that had turned me aside,
and asked,

“If you would like, sir, I will check in on your garden,
next time I pass that way.”

Did You Hear?

Did You Hear?

(“I will treat them with kindness, even though they are wicked. I will forget their sins.” Hebrews 8:12)

Did you hear the sound like invitation
coming over the mountains, no imagination
could conjure its message, could synthesize its bliss;
layers of laughter mix with the tears,
when we hear music like this.

Enchanted and earthy, the song makes us pale
at first blush. Our knuckles are white, our heart
forgets the beat, while we await the refrain that
we hope will resolve complete the hopes we’ve carried
inside our regrets.

Pulling up to the courthouse, nervous about the verdict,
I can’t complete a sentence without wanting to admit
each crime I’ve committed, each failure I forgot.
Paying my quarter to park a bit longer
I climb the steps where my past meets me the last
workday of the week.

Unsupervised, I walk up the steps on my own,
holding the banister I am an amateur at self-defense.
Still the usher (I thought I would have to open the
door on my own) looks me in the eye (He must know the verdict,
he heard my fate). Still the usher

Looks me in the eye and
swings open the door behind my back when

The song comes gushing out like a Mohave Desert
flash-flood. Where is the judge, the bailiff, the jury,

My peers?

I thought I was alone in my crimes, and banished to
having to stare down every accuser along the way. But
the song melted the shame, dissolved every claim to
innocence and ever mounted defense to judge me

(joyous adjudication), a freer man that I had become.

The Grade Book

“I further saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Another book too was opened, that of life, and the dead were judged according to their conduct from the entries in the books.” Revelation 20:12

Every schoolteacher has one. Every student knows about it. It contains record of the entire semester’s conduct for each student. Some students can’t wait to see what scores are hidden it its pages. Other students wish the book did not exist at all. But, no matter the student’s desire or belief system, the grade book exists. There will be an evaluation come the end of the semester.

There will also be an evaluation at the end of time. Everyone, “great and small” will stand before God’s throne. This verse describes the book of life being opened and then the dead being judged “according to their conduct from the entries in the books.”

A quick doctrinal note: We are saved, always and only by grace, through faith in Jesus’ forgiveness on the cross. But the Scriptures also speak clearly about rewards and our lives coming under scrutiny by God. If I were writing a commentary, I would examine this verse more diligently, reconciling the grace by which we are saved and the rewards by which we are judged. For now, though, I simply am thinking about the idea that ALL will face God, one way or another.

What we do in this life matters. It matters here, for certain. But, if that is not enough to make us sit up and take notice, it matters to God. There will be no difference when the grades are posted at the end of the semester. Rich and poor are measured by the same standard. Great and small face the same questions, and are required the same answers.

Though a student may try to appeal his grade, there is no such appeal in heaven. “I did turn in that paper, Mr. Phillips. I swear I did. I remember.” Mr. Phillips can either accept the student’s plea, give the student the chance to rewrite the paper, or disbelieve the student, giving him the zero.

But no such appeal can be brought to God. He knows the end from the beginning. He knows our dogs and He knows our homework. He knows who ate what! God will open His grade book and there will be no excuses, no claims of misplaced papers, and no request to retake the final exam.

But here is the amazing thing. God desires that we all pass. Most teachers hope that every student passes as well. In fact, the ones most likely to fail are the ones the teacher would rather not have in their classroom again. God wants every name in His book to shine as each every person was Valedictorian.

God is on our side in this business of judgment. God is the One who paid our tuition to be in Kingdom University in the first place. He is the One who gave us the Holy Spirit to tutor us through each and every test along the way. He makes every single test open Book, directing us to the text He Himself has provided.

The best teachers I had were the ones who inspired me to do my best. It really didn’t matter their testing method. It didn’t matter if they weighted homework more than exams, if they used pass/fail instead of letter grades, or if they let me grade myself. If I knew the teacher was directly invested in my success, I wanted to do as well in that class as possible.

God is invested in our success. He created us; we each carry His image in us as the pinnacle of His creation. When we marred His masterpiece by sinning, taking our own ways instead of His, He took the penalty upon Himself. We should have flunked. Instead, He replaced our failing grade with straight As when Jesus died upon the cross. The forgiveness we received was the same as putting us at the top of the class.

It is hard to understand, then, how we take His love for granted. It is a sad commentary that offering Him a nod on Sunday, hoping our children grow up to refrain from swearing and drinking, and memorizing a handful of selected Scriptures is our idea of an acceptable response to such outstanding love!

What will be my response when the book is opened? Before the throne, when all eternity is gathered up into a single moment, will my lackluster enthusiasm really stand out as A+ work? Why do I settle? Why do I merely want to “pass”? Why is most of my Christian life spent doing just enough to make sure I don’t flunk out of heaven?

There is a book, and I am being graded. That really shouldn’t scare us. Even though we might fear what the teacher’s grade book on the desk reveals, we all know it is a pretty fair evaluation of where we stand in the course. How much more with God’s Book of Life? He does not want us to fear, but He does want us to know we will be evaluated.