Verbs Like Green

Verbs Like Green

(“But as for you, return to your God, hold fast to mercy and justice, and wait on your God continually.” Hosea 12:6)

What if there was a new name for everything;
not verbs like
green or
running. And have you caught your limit yet?

What if hills were lions’ manes, the clouds fastened to
nursery rhymes?
What if Saturn’s rings were alligator dreams, the stars
tethered to geothermal springs?

What if no one was king, what if you were circular?
What if fences were holes in our theories? What if
space/time was clearly a one-way street?
What if the universe is on virtual repeat,
the daylight a single page in a book?
What if everything shook loose until
random was sequential, rational was inclusive,
geology was playful and
immigrants ruled the world?

I won’t say love should be defined,
I won’t say wine should be refined,
I won’t author definitions,
I won’t offer explanations.

I won’t be I. I won’t. I want to
be we. I want. We.

What if we are stick figures drawn
by a kindergarten class.
What if every notion was our last, every
first a cats-eye marble left by
debaters who decided

There could be a new name for

Nearly

Everything.

I’ll Get a Handle on it Soon

I’ll Get a Handle on it Soon

I’ll get a handle on it soon, -I said-
I’m not crazy, -I joked-
I’m just embarrassed over everything
no one knows. -he left it hanging like that-

I’ll jump out of bed tomorrow, -I thought-
I’m only tired, -I whined-
I’m just embedded in concrete curing
in the sun. -he was not sure what he meant-

I’ll drink a beer this afternoon, -I planned-
I’ll meet some friends, -I mused-
I’ll just wait around in the corner booth
quietly. -he was not sure who would show-

I’ll go back home and read my mail -I sighed-
Ghosted postcards -I signed-
I’ll just find the return addresses and
unwrap them -he had lost his contact list-

The last two weeks were heavy with sadness,
not like fog or night darkness, more like
walking in the mud on the way to church.
No one showed up there except
memories of children’s feet,
elders’ invitations,
and the brave soul he had met
last night behind the segment hall
boiling beef in a cauldron fired with propane torches.

They had talked about the Northern Lights,
asked about short form stories and long flute songs.
The birds listened in.

I forget so many of my friends, -I hummed-
I’m not young now, -I moaned-
Phones calls from a generation ago
echo low, -he was not sure what he knew-

Deviations of Joy

 Deviations of Joy

(“Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love, and relenting from punishment.” Joel 2:13b)

There is no roar like the roar
of those who think they have found
the very same ground
underscored by prophets before.
They will press the heads of dissenters
beneath the topsoil to the clay
and have them confess away every
stray inch of declination from the mean.
The averages were thought out long in advance
and the guardrails attached, the blinders worn like
eye-patches, and the wailing over sins of those not yet
in the arc of the square.
They prophesy hardpan while the
Spirit is breath and wind.

There is no sigh like the sigh
of those who, true and unloud,
sing the very same song
scored by the son of god alone.
They will peek their heads behind the clouds,
above the forested hillsides
and heave their panic away, their pain
inches from coordinates left by men.
The welling and weeping were released in sand
and sky, the sails swollen with wind, eye to eye,
turning by starlit notions, navigating through the slight
deviations of joy.
They prophesy feasting while the
lines form, spiral and more.

Without Reservation

Without Reservation

(“And those the Lord has rescued will return. They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads. Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away.” Isaiah 35:10)

There was no parade today nor
a quiet place for candlelit contemplation.
There was no circus, no clowns and no elephant,
nor a canvas tent in the middle of the woods.

There were regrets (I am old now)
that I did not start things younger.
There was head pain (I am worn now)
that I did not ever ask for.

There were clouds; I didn’t see them.
There was blue sky; I didn’t breathe it.
(That does not mean I don’t believe it.)

This spoke in my eyes is not a temporary situation;
and promises of a painless heaven do not impress me much.
My faith is shaken, but not greatly stirred;
indeed it appears slurred to those who read me.
Many have endured longer,
many have endured more,
many have been happy just to
suffer for the Lord.

But me, I’d just like a phone call. Or a letter.
Maybe not. Maybe I’ll take a walk. But the circus

is not in town today, and the café is too far for my
feet to find. I’m always behind the curve.

I’m praying each breath is received in the way I mean it,
I’m hoping returning is in my future.
I’m not going to sell many books with this sort
of quarter-faith writing. Crying is the only act of faith
I practice today.

I have returned, and where are you?
You cancelled the bread and wine we had planned.
I keep turning, to see what you see.
But burning has consumed more than just the chaff in me.

I am demi, I am a fraction. There is no action left for
me to take.
I will not be fake; I will not pretend. If that means
I’ve lost my faith (at least to my friends)
then I’ll still wake up tomorrow with a spear in my eye,
a billion memories that wind themselves around me,
a skin that has thinned, a heart that has sinned
(without reservation)
and a hope that believes there is more to living
than just a life after resurrection.

Unexpected

Unexpected

(“Do not owe anyone anything, but love each other. Whoever loves his neighbor has done what the Law says to do.” Romans 13:8)

I had not expected to grow old,
at least not by this time in my life.
I wanted to hit my stride, glide into the final landing
gracefully.

There was a man in the ditch, by the side of the road,
a vagrant, a countryman (if that is what you insist on calling him)
and a megachurch minister walked by,
then a deacon with nothing to do but check the
ledgers for contributions walked by.
And they were so busy with their kingdoms
they hurried down the road to their ordained destinies.

I did not expect to return,
at least not by the same road I left.
I wanted to end the hike, strike the summit, banners ablaze
and waving.

The blood had crusted around his wounds, saliva slid down
his scrawny beard and chin. He lived a stone’s throw
from the citizens of town and proudly voted republican.
But bandits do not check your bona fides
before they take your money. There was a man walking by
on the same side, mowing the same ditch,
an illegal (if that is what you insist on calling him)
and, touching the split lip unlaced on the bleeding face,
washed the wounds, shared his wine,
broke his bread, and helped the victim
into his olive green truck. He sped through the turns
along the river until they reached the home he shared with
his cousins. The doors were royal blue. Who was
the citizen, and who the neighbor? Who was love,
and who was legal?

I did not expect to write this,
at least not at this time of the day.
I wanted to cry my tears, swear I did not deserve this last
upheaval.

Abbreviated Fog

Abbreviated Fog

(“If you return to the Almighty, you will be restored— so clean up your life.” Job 22:23)

If you don’t mind, would you take some time to
simply be silent
and sit in the pain,
and restrain yourself from trying to
put god in a place that explains what
you can never understand?

When someone has lost it all,
is it your calling to take some more?
Will you seize the fractures in his soul
and insist he walk upon the shards?
Is it so hard to live within the ellipses,
the dots and dashes,
the abbreviated fog of suffering
with another whose life has become
a broken paragraph, the torn pages of
a book nearly written.

The wind speaks better than the air that escapes
from wise men without knowledge. Spacious in their
capacity to blame and misname every flinch
of the afflicted, they see only effects that must have had
a cause.

Will you pick apart the psalms of despair,
throwing them upon the ash heap of your assumptions?
Will you hear the moans and reject the questions
because answers are easier to handle? But what if
the sand filled your castle; what if the fire melted your
everything you had crammed into your storage sheds?
What if the heads of everyone in town turned away because
they relished answers just like you?

Stay quiet my friend. Sit close enough that I hear your breathing.
The time for talking will come. But now, leave your dissertations
and start the tea kettle please.

A Touchstone of Remembrance

A Touchstone of Remembrance

(“Suddenly, God, your light floods my path, God drives out the darkness.” 2 Samuel 22:29 [The Message])

The lonesome daughter, with her parents halfway across the country,
drives to the home where she grew up, sits on the vacant patio and feels
closer than before.

The troubled father, with his career now over, wanders the sidewalk in search
of connections in a suburb of strangers. His nightmares are full of failures.

He ponders that on his journey home he will visit the town of his birth,
the tiny west Texas town where his own father killed a rattlesnake outside the
church where he was pastor.

He researches the church, hopes to remember the pews and the baptistry,
(the one he shouted about going swimming in with his dad), but discovers
it is no longer on the map. Yet, he still makes plans to stay a day on his return.

The placid mother, in a new career, winds her way through themes and students,
questions and computers, becoming fluent in the language learned on the
steepest curve of her life.

She plans to visit her brother, matching comp time with 3-day weekends,
so he knows she was there, remembers she was there. She will bring a cheeseburger
so he knows she was there.

She will spend a day with the lonesome daughter, hug her, laugh and stick their
toes in the sand or have their toes painted, or paint the town with root beers and tacos.

She will tell her daughter to go to the old house anytime she is lonesome, and before
she flies home, leaves a new pot of shasta daisies hanging from the vacant patio roof.

We all want home, acceptance, a touchstone of remembrance. We want to taste
the bread that mother made in the mornings, the sun tea steeping on sunny afternoons.

We want to visit the home, the church, the school, the old building with broken windows
where people we loved once filled us with undeniable existence.

And Master, that is why, now and truly, it is amazing that You have visited me.

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!”

Church Return (this is not about gun control)

Church Return

(“You then, my child, be strengthened by the grace that is in Christ Jesus.” 2 Timothy 2:1)

“They are taking our guns,”
“They will confiscate our defenses,”
“We cannot wait,” “no time to sit on fences.”

And we arm our hearers with every alarm bell, call presidents poison,
government brazen and the rest of humanity, (the ones unaffiliated with
you and me)
will be frozen by ray-guns spraying icebergs on the deserts and churches.
It’s no wonder no one listens to us anymore.

“They only want to revel in sin,”
“They are redefining all our favorite definitions,”
“We must fire first,” “pound our admonitions.”

And we, who needed an arm on our shoulder, now arm much bolder
the askers with worlds of questions. We flinch, or disdain the
honest refrains of image-bearers who can’t understand our fatal divisions
of sin. We legislate some, ignore our own, inflame hell for others and
excuse our favorites. 

But grace. but Grace. One syllable. It should linger an entire stanza
upon the final “s” that sounds like the breeze erasing our burned out
efforts to please. And, having missed the mark so entirely, missing the
target completely, we minimize it for all others (the ones unaffiliated with
you and me)
making them miss by far what we missed by nature.

Church return. Church, lay down every earned privilege, every pillaged soul
who hears our famous word (whispers “g r a c e”) and waits to see the
love-of-enemy preachers and blessing-for-cursing teachers and 
second-mile business who ask no questions about the sins of its customers.

Church return, armed with grace. Church, lay down your fire and arms,
last and first, invite the scarred and scary into a new way, patient family;
Church return with the fires of love and, Church arise with the waters of mercy, and
Church sing out the songs of joy and, Church receive the bathing of the Spirit

And walk, and run, delightly undisguised; forgiveness the frontgaurd;
grace disallowing any retreat.

Kum Ba Yah

Kum Ba Yah

(“He will oppose himself to everything that people call a god or make an object of worship; he will put himself above them all, so that he will sit in the Temple of God and proclaim that he himself is God.” 2 Thessalonians 2:4)

Another brag cracks the theater curtain and the followspot
aims through the theatrical smoke to produce one more mouth-sized
deceit staging its newly aged last day promise to cure cancer
and bad breath; our millenium’s elixir, snake-oil and QVC--a
perfect pair to merchandise religious fakery. The litany is
echoed without offense, since, without sense at all, it is a potpourri
of every wish without a mendicant’s objection.

We worship God and country
(does anyone leap to protest?)
and disguise national borders in
choir robes keeping pagans out and holding the elite
American Holy and Republican Democratic Society of
the First-Born of many in;
until we declare what we’ve been taught to beware,
the Late Great Planet might be Taken to the dance
sometime in Late December 1012 (read the papers, they’ll
report our near misses).

So, while bible-algebraics strain to make each chapter of Daniel
align with John’s Great Vision, (putting Russia and Communism
in their place,
The righteous USA disgraced, misplaced or embraced by God
first before any other little bitty nation (depending on which
arithmetic you read);

While they forecast their dates and identified the traits of the next
sure to be anti-christ wannabe,

I’ll light me an autumn bonfire, put my feet up on an old wet log,
sit back in the yellow armchair with one strap nearly broken and
sing Kum Ba Yah just like I did when all I knew was it meant
“Jesus, ‘Come by Hear’”, and “Come by Hear” is all I meant.