We Were Saplings

 

We Were Saplings

(“Some Sadducees, who say that there is no resurrection, came to {Jesus}.” Mark 12:18)

Have you seen the burn pile behind my house,
sheared limbs and deadened trunks tangled like
frozen snakes in the sun? We plan to burn each one
before the summer is over, but the rains have come with
mid-March clouds to the Pacific Northwest.

It is slow work and painful, bending to find the smallest kindling
to fan the steam and smoke into flame. The mini forest in
our front yard
is better for the deep cuts the chain saw left,
but my past pruning has left marks I am quick to hide.
I would rather they were burned and the coals dumped
over the side of the hill.

You cannot see me a year ago, a day ago, a second ago.
I no longer exist there.
But those ghosts that appear in the voices that remember,
and in my mind full of distemper have painted the past
in clearer ink than the buds that are the beginning of spring.

Music plays every day while I write. Most are the soundtrack
of high school love: Cat Stevens, Rod Stewart, Carole King and
James Taylor. And Don Irwin always sang “Build Me Up, Buttercup”
when we walked home from middle school. We were saplings
and moved easily through the southern California seasons.

But now my trunk is harsher, the gray limbs stiffer, while the remnants
of trees older than me are seasoned next to the shed. Today the sun
shines
while my mind rehearses talks that lasted forever when
we thought we had forever to live. And I have not talked to
many of them for two-thirds of my life now. So where do I
live? I am not afraid to die; I am sure that I exist here and
will and do exist just beyond the crystal veil. What occupies
my mind
today
is the way friends, lovers, sisters, brothers, all seemed effortless.

I am not deceived by the rosiness of time. But today as I view
the years so far ago
I miss the simplicity of firelight, dancing on living room rugs,
unabashed hugs, and playing the same LP over and over again
because Tapestry was just
that
good.

Come Near

Come Near

(“But God brought him back to life…” Acts 13:30)

Make no mistake, I believe in the resurrection,
but sometimes, here alone with the hours crawling by me,
I scratch my head over the rising from the dead.

When the air is heavy, the room is empty,
my mind is leaden and my head sinks beneath the
horizon between earth and sky;

When no one passes by and words are weaponized,
I long to see the view from the gondola of a
hot air balloon.

Or perhaps to hear the voice (another voice than mine)
tell me it is okay this time.

But even as I try to write about the doctrine I should have
no doubt about,
everything I think I know lives on the brink of termination.

But then, resurrection never precedes death, does it?
But why has my life felt like dying for so long?
And You, who have died and now are alive,
I wish you would visit now and again
in the voice of a trusted friend
or the face of children hopping with
eyes like fireflies against the forested backdrop.

“by faith, by faith, by faith,” they say,
and I believe them. They know every jot and tittle,
but cannot fathom the pathos of the heart.

“come near, come near come near,” I plead,
and they distrust me. I know every flaw and dimple,
but cannot discern the presence of the Son…

…until the breath returns to my lungs, until the apples
hang like Christmas bulbs, until a fawn crosses my path
and watches me like a puppy unawares. Until I see

That He inhabits everything, and has before the dying,
before Adam-and-Eve-ing, before creating the breathless void
we travel on. He is the last and was always the first,
ever present before the light began.

One Morning in a Garden

One Morning in a Garden

(“And what we believe is that the One who raised up the Master Jesus will just as certainly raise us up with you, alive.” 2 Corinthians 4:14 [The Message])

The pungent scent of dew still wafted from the meadow,
the spice of the earth,
the residue of a warm front raising the humidity high on a mid-morning
April.
“90 degrees in the shade,” they said it would be,
so handfuls of souls followed paths at an acceptable distance
and then to find refuge in their homes later in the day.

A rabbit ran across the trail, pecan-brown and cottontail,
and disappeared inside the silver leaves still gleaming in morning anticipation.
He knew, we presume, the humans would try to capture
his very soul if he let them.

Trails hardly change from day to day,
but the sky, the atmosphere does. Halfway around
the mown down grass, dime-size butterflies surprise
the hikes of those who crave wildflowers, silence and
outdoor exercise.

What could be better, croissant and coffee in hand, to ignore the demands
of a Wednesday workday with everyone sheltered at home?
Alone on a mudded path, ascending the knob to see the
pond; it was
occupied by a
girl and her dog.

Early Spring still has winter in its breath, minty and sharp,
though the hammer will drop by midafternoon. All the school
children are home
spelling numerals and words with chalk on the ground.

But before summer’s prophecy, the meadow invites footprints,
pruning, blooming and life.

Why wouldn’t a family be impressed by a meadow bursting with bluebells?
Why wouldn’t they pose their tiny daughters in cerulean like
Caribbean beaches
with orange bows happily balanced upon their
blonde curling in the heavy air.
Why wouldn’t they take every photo possible,
babies in blue on blue; babies who may renew the memory
decades from now and visit the meadow with their own littles
in tow,
to show them the time, one Easter time, when life was found
in the open, in a meadow, in laughter, in the outflow of
love and necessity. The first resurrection, after all,
was discovered one morning in a garden.

When Silence Speaks (a meditation on Holy Week and the "March for our Lives")

"When Silence Speaks"

“The Son of Man will be handed over to people, and they will kill him. After three days, he will rise from the dead.” Mark 9:31

Emma Gonzalez stood on the stage before 80,000 people last Saturday on the Washington Mall. A Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School student, she has become one of the most prominent voices in the #NeverAgain movement. The day was electric. But, not for the words, nor the rhetoric, but for a stunning silence of nearly four minutes as she stood grieving behind the microphones.

“Six minutes and about 20 seconds," she said. "In a little over 6 minutes, 17 of our friends were taken from us, 15 were injured and everyone in the Douglas community was forever altered."

"Everyone who was there understands. Everyone who has been touched by the cold grip of gun violence understands. For us, long, tearful, chaotic hours in the scorching afternoon sun were spent not knowing. No one understood the extent of what had happened."

She repeated the names of the 17 students and faculty that had died and the things they would never do again. Then, she stood silent. Tears rolled down her cheeks while the crowd broke out in isolated chants. But, mostly there was silence.

The “moment of silence” we often call for to respect the fallen usually lasts no more than 30 seconds. But there, among a crowd that had come together to march for their lives, the silence hovered like a cloud for over four minutes. The chants faded. The murmuring of casual movement ceased. All that was left was the air between the sea of humans and an 18-year-old girl bravely honoring her friends and crying to be heard; a silence that must be heard.

After 4 minutes and 25 seconds, a timer went off. "Since the time that I came out here," she said, "it has been 6 minutes and 20 seconds. The shooter has ceased shooting and will soon abandon his rifle, blend in with the students as they escape and walk free for an hour before arrest."

On a Friday afternoon outside Jerusalem another crowd had gathered. The man people called the Messiah was being crucified. Strangely, he had stayed mostly silent during the mock trial performed by the state and religious leaders. Jesus knew what was coming and had made it clear to His disciples on more than one occasion.

“The Son of Man will be handed over to the people, and they will kill him. After three days, he will rise from the dead.” Then, silence. His followers had no idea what Jesus meant and were afraid to ask him.

And I wonder if we struggle with what He meant as well. We call this week “Holy”. We attend church on Easter, wear new clothes, enjoy brunches and happily celebrate the Risen King. But we cannot understand the resurrection of Christ apart from the agony of Friday and the silence of the tomb.

Ms. Gonzalez and her student friends have experienced the cycle of death and violence and now want something to be done. What if Jesus’ death was an invitation for us to give up that same cycle of violence and choose real life? What if these students are echoing what Jesus did on the cross as they “March for our Lives”?

Pastor and writer Brian Zahnd has said, "The cross is not where God inflicts violence on Jesus in order to vent his wrath; the cross is where God in Christ endures human inflicted violence and forgives it all." We who follow Jesus do well to remember how He “triumphed”. We cannot celebrate Resurrection without understanding the violence He willingly endured from humanity.

The cross with its seeming humiliation and defeat was actually God’s way of overcoming our nasty addiction to harm and violence. No warrior ever triumphed by being executed; but Jesus did. The tomb with its seeming silence and death was actually God’s statement that a new way was coming, and indeed, had already arrived.

When Jesus rose from the dead He invited us to lay down our arms, to say “no” to harmful words and actions, and to say “yes” to our lives, our new lives connected to Him. God refused to drop the “Mother of all Bombs” on the human race. Instead He sent His Beloved Son into enemy territory to absorb the hatred, violence and sin of us all, and return it fully forgiven.

That is enough to shut my own mouth for four minutes and consider: How shall I follow my Master’s way?

Fulfilling our Duty

Fulfilling our Duty

“The master of that slave will come on a day when he does not expect him and at an hour that he does not know.” Matthew 24:50

This morning I stopped at Starbucks to get a latte and a croissant for breakfast. The server asked if I would like the croissant heated, and I said “Yes, but could you heat it just a bit less than normal?” Mine was a chocolate croissant, and I did not want the chocolate completely melted. She said she was happy to do that. She told one of her fellow workers that she would take care of the croissant because of the special heating instructions.

I found that a bit odd. I figured she would set the microwave for only 20 seconds rather than 25, for instance. Instead, they depend on a buzzer that goes off at the right time for each pastry. She had to keep her eye on the microwave and turn it off when she said it was the right time. My “special order” actually meant she had to do something out of the norm. But, she did it all with a cheery outlook and a smile.

For my order to be correct, she had to keep her eye on the microwave. Jesus has given every believer “special orders”. We could list a few of the obvious: to love God with all our being, to love our neighbors as much as ourselves, to share the Good News, to be faithful to attending worship, and so one. In Matthew 24, Jesus outlines one order that must take place or we might miss the opportunity to complete the others.

Jesus tells his disciples that He, the “Son of Man” will return and “will send out his angels with a loud trumpet call, and they will gather his elect from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other.” (verse 31). He goes on to tell them that no one can predict when He will return, “neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.” (verse 36).

Let’s think about those two truths. 1. Jesus promises to return to earth sometime after His resurrection. He will gather His followers to Himself at that time. 2. Nobody but Father-God knows when that will happen. NOBODY!

I was manager of a clothing store called Pants for Less. When my afternoon employees came in to work, I often took my lunch break and then did errands for the store. I might make a bank deposit, pick up supplies, or even visit one of the other stores in the area to talk strategy with their manager. So I would tell my employee, “I’m headed out for a while. I’ll be gone anywhere from two to four hours. There is a list of things you can take care of around the store. Customers are first, of course. If you run out of things, find something that needs to be done.”

It made me happy and proud when I came back to the store and found that employee dusting bins, putting up a new display, pricing items, or any of a number of things that could be done. I would often compliment them on how good the store looked and how much it meant that I found them working when I returned.

But, those few times when I found my employee behind the counter reading a book or talking to a friend on the phone, I would be a bit discouraged. Not only were they not tending to the store, they hadn’t even finished the list I had given them.

Jesus told us to “be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.” Can you imagine God’s joy when His people are in His house every Sunday without excuse? And, He is even more thrilled when we bring a neighbor to whom we have shown Jesus’ love. We have all been given “jobs” in the Body of Christ. And, in each individual church, we are called to fulfill certain duties.

One of the most discouraging things for a pastor is having to encourage people to be more faithful to attend church. But, the greatest discouragement is when many who miss that great time of worship are people who have known Jesus long enough to be teaching others themselves. We have been asked by Jesus; no, commanded, to take the Good News to the ends of the earth. How sad if, when He returned, He had to ask, “Why weren’t you at work for my kingdom?”

What would happen if we all, expecting Jesus to return at any time, said, “I am going to fulfill the duties Jesus has asked me to do?” The church needs revival. God’s people need a new awakening. We need, not just to be reminded to “go to church”, but to “be the church.” Who will stand up and take their place, the place Jesus has asked you to take? Imagine Jesus returning, seeing your local fellowship alive and abuzz with the Holy Spirit’s fire, with each member in their place; imagine Him saying, “Well done, even though I came at an unexpected hour, you were busy fulfilling My will!”

The Resurrection Puzzle

The Resurrection Puzzle

“They puzzled over that, wondering what on earth ‘rising from the dead’ meant.” Mark 9:10 (The Message)

Jesus had taken three disciples, Peter, James, and John up a high mountain. While they were with Him, his appearance changed, before their eyes. They saw the glory of God’s kingdom as even Jesus’ clothes shimmered, sparkling white, far whiter than any bleach could make them. While the disciples rubbed their eyes, mumbled without knowing what to say, Elijah and Moses appeared, talking with Jesus.

Peter blurted out, “Let’s build some shelters, quick! Three of them; one for You, Jesus and one for Moses, one for Elijah.” He actually had no idea what to say.

It all happened right before their eyes. This was no hallucination; the three disciples experience the same thing and heard the same words from God: “This is my Son, marked by my love. Listen to him.” (Mark 9:7) And then, as quickly as it had happened, it was over. The three men and Jesus stood alone high upon the mountain.

It is on the descent back that Jesus asked them to keep quiet about the experience. “Don’t tell a soul what you saw. After I rise from the dead, you’re free to talk.” Jesus was always cautious not to incite overly excitable crowds to try to crown Him an earthly king, or to revolt against the current rulers. But this is when the disciples really scratch their heads.

They believed in the rising from the dead, the just didn’t believe the Messiah would have to suffer and die. It is easy to forget that the first requirement for resurrection is death. Wouldn’t it be better if the Messiah appeared in kingly glory, marched right into Jerusalem and pulled the throne right out from under Herod, the present Jewish king?

Things weren’t much different then than they are now. Certainly Jesus could have whipped the crowds into a unified frenzy. Calling for Jerusalem to be inhabited only by Jews from now on, you could hear the crowd’s applause. “Believe me”, they hoped He would say, “We’re going to tear down the current scheme of things. Those career Pharisees and Sadducees need to be brought down to size!” Oh how Jesus could have played on mob mentality and led a revolt against the corrupt Jewish King and the ungodly occupying regime in Rome.

But Jesus would have none of that. This is a big reason the three disciples were so puzzled when Jesus talked about “rising from the dead.” Unfortunately, even his crucifixion, death and resurrection were not enough to rid the disciples of their desire for a political victory. Forty days after His resurrection, after spending time with them, and instructing them, Jesus prepares to ascend back to the Father.

Together for the last time the disciples ask, “Master, are you going to restore the kingdom of Israel now? Is this the time?”

“You don’t get to know the time,” Jesus responded. “That’s the Father’s business. What you’ll get is the Holy Spirit.” (Acts 1:6-8)

Eventually the disciples understood and began to share the Good News across the land. Though persecuted, sometimes imprisoned by their own people, other times attacked by Roman rulers, they continued to talk about Jesus who rose from the dead. They did not try to overthrow the current regimes because they were now members of a brand new kingdom: The Kingdom of God.

Is it possible we miss the same boat? Are we just as mistaken about how Jesus the Messiah runs His kingdom as they were? When Jesus rose from the dead, He did not summon His followers to march into Jerusalem to take down the government. Instead, He spent six weeks teaching His followers about the New Kingdom, exponentially different than any kingdoms on earth.

He pleads with us today, in the same way He did then. To state it as simply as possible, there are two primary “rules” of Jesus’ kingdom. Rule #1. Love God first, with every part of your being. Rule #2 is like it; Love your neighbor as yourself.

Stop and think about everything people are arguing about in today’s political environment. If you want to be a Jesus-follower, run every “cause” through these two filters, 1. Does this sound like truly loving God with all my being. 2. Does this sound like loving my neighbor as I love myself?

If anything, the resurrection of Jesus Christ demands we consider these questions. Come, Holy Spirit, create a new resolve among your people to love our God first and always, and to be known as people who sincerely love our neighbors, no matter their background. That is the way God’s Kingdom works!

All I Want

All I Want

“All I want is to know Christ and the power that raised him from death. I want to share in his sufferings and be like him even in his death. Then there is hope that I myself will somehow be raised from death.” Philippians 3:10, 11

“All I want...”. It makes me think of the silly Christmas song, “All I Want for Christmas are My Two Front Teeth.” When the bite of winter is in the air and people are log-jamming their way through retail store aisles, we ask “What do you want?” Our middle son, Jonathan, is great at putting a very specific list together for us each year. I’m the worst. “Could I have a two-week vacation in Paris, please?” Of course, no one passing out gifts in my house has the resources to provide such a gift. I usually say, “You know, I’m not really sure.” So, our daughter buys me fashion, our oldest son; books or music, and Jonathan, well, I never know what he will give; but I’m always pleasantly surprised.

The Life Oozed

The Life Oozed

(“Then Jesus shouted, ‘Lazarus, come out!’” John 11:43)

For ten minutes the life oozed between the molecules
of a well-ripened apple. Tasting like honey and
summer hay,
headaches (always invisible), ceased their
unwelcome battering upon my door.

(Do you know the sort of caller,
usually a friend, who climbs your front porch
and pounds the door like a boxer working the bag?
“I needed to ask you a question,” as if I was in the
back quarters of a mansion giving last minute instructions
to the servants about the banquet’s menu later in the day.
Then you watch them drive away, wishing they had known
you were in the front room of your bungalow with the
television turned low.)

For ten minutes life tasted like rain and thunder,
dog’s breath and wonder, all ready to go to waste
unless enjoyed before the bruises on the apple
remind you of the cycle
of the seed’s death and the fruit’s life,
of the fruit’s death and the seed’s burial,
inedible until the season circles again.

For half a week the tomb gobbled God’s own
possession,
dead and stiff, wrapped tighter than a cocoon,
a cadaver too soon. Yet, just like the
tiny pellets the size of hatpins, packed full
of all the life necessary to raise a tree to the sky,
lading its branches with fruit dangling so low
the children reach the sweet orbs of joy,
and springing new buds for decade upon
decade; like that tiny inkling, an ugly
kernel that seems a harlequin of death;

The body of Lazarus waits on the word
that calls life from the haphazard meeting of
husks and grain, mud and water, sunshine and
wind to paint the fields with wildflowers
and fruit trees without the help of a single
human finger.

The body of Lazarus, the body of us all,
depends upon the shout, the call to rise,
and rise it must

For it is the Creator who calls.

Sunsets and Fawns

“Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.” John 11:25

I meet each Wednesday afternoon with a group of teenagers. Any middle school or high school student is welcome to join me at “Pop with Pastor”. I spring for drink for all who show up and we usually just have conversation for 45 minutes or so. We will talk about everything from our favorite milkshake flavor to the latest “drama” happening on campus. Occasionally we even get to mumble a bit about spiritual things. More than a “teaching” time, it is simply a way to make myself accessible; and just rounding the bend to 60, I need their input as well!

Holy Week

Holy Week
(this month's newsletter article for our local church)

(“He [Jesus] is the head of his body, the church.” Colossian 1:18a)

A friend of mine recently tagged me in a Facebook post called “Why I Hate Religion, but Love Jesus.” If I had the space I would quote the entire spoken word recording for you. Suffice it to say, there are more and more people who are discouraged with church, who may even have been harmed by religion, but still deeply love Jesus. I am not talking about the type who simply add Jesus to a long list of happy philosophers, hand picked and place on a shelf along with other favorites of literature, movies and music. The people I hope read this are those who truly do love Jesus Himself, but are very weary of an institution called “The Church” which seems to represent Him so poorly.

Opposite the Tomb

Opposite the Tomb

(“Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were sitting there opposite the tomb.” Matthew 27:61)

The chair was vacant, the air was heavy and still,
the hills groaned as afternoon lumbered toward darkness,
the last words they heard tumbling from above the crowd;

They heard them.
They rehearsed them.
They sat with nothing to occupy their hands.

“It is finished”, it is done, it’s all over, we tried our best,
no more can be done, no more to offer, and the quest-
ions

They thought had been answered landed like geese all at once
upon a distant marsh.

The tomb was sealed, the body cold and rigid,
without torches to meet the night they could not stay
seated across the entrance for long. Their hearts were peeled
like summer fruit, their eyes veiled the hope that disappeared as
quickly as the last breath and word they heard.

One cannot interpret, one should not expect, sunrise only moments
after the dimming of the day.

Their fingers, cold as the moon, twisted, hand to hand, the human
consolation when god has dropped the final word on the subject and
is no longer available for follow-up questions.

And so, late on Friday, their eyes fastened on the massive stone,
they slowly rose for the silent walk home; Sabbath, so quiet,
each heartbeat carried its own conversation.

With little else to say, nothing else to do, the rose early
(they knew the tomb, the place and the way), and would love
their Jesus kindly with burial spices;

Some days are like that…quiet recall on a dewy morning,
an errand of love, and intimate conversation when “It is

Finished”

Is not a dying whimper at all.

Across from their seat, still vacant from Friday,
the stone was moved, the air was linen, and, with angelic reasoning

They knew they were mistaken to seek the

Living among the dead.

Boundless Mercy

“All honor to God, the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ; for it is his boundless mercy that has given us the privilege of being born again so that we are now members of God’s own family. Now we live in the hope of eternal life because Christ rose again from the dead.” 1 Peter 1:3

I love a good magic show. Whether it is up-close street magic or a grand staged event, I always enjoy the illusions. As a child I picked up a couple of card tricks and couldn’t wait to spring them on my friends. I had a slight advantage, my dad being and amateur magician. Because of my father’s interest I also read graphic novels (they were called comic books back then) about both Harry Houdini and Harry Blackstone.

A Monday Following a Certain Sunday

A Monday Following a Certain Sunday

(“The Lord has done it on this day. Let us be joyful and glad in it.” Psalm 118:24)

Inviting the stories of a million days, the morning dried the dew
beaded upon blades rich and thick as heaven’s carpet. One or two
halves of plastic easter eggs fool the eye with manmade purple
and synthetic shine. No one minds.

Life’s carousel rounds the days; from the unseen side, the observer
watches the turn of sun fade behind treelines on the left
and, as time compresses its waves and particles,
the same observer sees the return above hills on the right.

Yet the rider on the sun sees all, even while earth’s observer is blind.

Outside the morning is full of play, and the light displays it invisibility
on tiny prisms dotting the green leaves, the leftover mist two hours
dawn. In another month the rainbows will dance in spray as
neighbors up the street water their lawns. The light reveals
its unity in couture of diversity. The music of heaven
answers in kind.

We know the life today will find its way, in weeks, or months,
years, yes centuries, depending upon its species, to a final decay.
Yet, observant as we are, it takes the panoramic scan or
volcanic interruption to remind us for certain of this long crawl
of life to dying. Man observes, green underfoot and
warm breath on the chill breeze; and believes against belief
that this day is wider than horizon to horizon.

Like Sundays when, against all hope and following the
hill of nailed crucifixion, it is not the expected death,
but startling life we find.

Never too Late

Never Too Late

(“Then Joseph put the body in his own tomb that had been cut into solid rock and had never been used. He rolled a big stone against the entrance to the tomb and went away.” Matthew 27:60)

That was it. It was over. Everything was finished. Isn’t that what Jesus whispered from the cross, one last throaty groan: “It is finished!” Joseph of Arimathea wished he could have done more. His family tomb was nearby, which was a good thing. There were only three hours from the time Jesus died until the start of the Sabbath.