The Cassock-Robed Crow

The Cassock-Robed Crow

(“God is a safe place to hide, ready to help when we need him.” Psalm 46:1 [The Message])

The cassock-robed crow presided from the fencepost
surveying the field as I drew near. I inched closer and
it barely noticed my feet on the asphalt periphery.
Could I get the shot? Would it stay still for a photo,
a close up, one I would not have to digitally zoom?
10 feet, then 8, then 6 and 5,
I stopped and aimed my camera. Before I could
blink, he was away. The sky was a better refuge
than an exposed piece of wood.

Do you remember days of comfort? Do you imagine
sanity in the sun with
no one
to interrupt your mediations after an overrun of hours?
You never heard the footsteps, did you, never sensed
the sightseer who would try to steal your soul.
You thought there was safety out in the open. You
dreamed this place was better than
all previous somewheres. You were caught unaware.
And your heart wanted to fly like the crow to a
flock
unreachable in the sky.

We would rather stand in the open with the sun on our face.
We would rather smile at the sound of whistling behind us.
We would rather slow the pace, erase the distress that makes
our pulse race when the song we forgot keeps circling our head.

Hide for a second, peek your head inside my window. I’ll
put away my
camera.
I’ll turn off the music. I’ll ask you your favorite wine.
I’ll ask you to tell me the time when you wanted to run
(like I’ve wanted to run).
I’ll empty the moment of everything except
the aroma of old books that makes you think of home.

The Road Had Deceived Him

 

The Road Had Deceived Him

(“You keep completely safe the people who maintain their faith, for they trust in you.” Isaiah 25:4)

He was happy where he landed, but
did not like the way he got there. He
wasn’t sure if anyone had noticed or
left him any chores to do. He
backed into the driveway carefully,
maneuvering the rented trailer
behind him.
The road had deceived him.
The trailer was gone.

He was tempted to retrace his steps,
find his lost belongings. He wanted it
all back.

Perhaps it was the roadside attraction
that distracted him from noticing the trailer
was gone.
Nearly home, though unsure when or how,
he had spotted a simple sign on the boulevard,
“Help Wanted” it said. And he vaguely remembered
“pastor” scrawled at the bottom.
He followed the arrow around the corner
and saw the fieldstone building rising.
It was modern architecture with a nod to
gothic cathedrals. There were
months between him and the last time
he entered a worship space this early.
Pulling the darkwood doors open, he
breathed the oil and candles deeply.
Two men sat at a folding table, one with a
clipboard, the other saying nothing. They asked
his name,
he explained why he came. Did they need the
services of clergy today?

They would have let him sign the application,
they looked glad that someone wanted to fill the
spaces within. But then he remembered why
he had left the last pulpit early. The pain returned
as he gave them back the pen.

He was happy where he landed,
but did not like the way he got there.
He removed the empty hitch from the
bumper of his worn-out car. He left
so much behind and little before him.
The days were deceptively silent.

Today he gave a neighbor a ride home.

Wider Fields

 

Wider Fields

(“But he brought us from there in order to lead us in and give us the land...” Deuteronomy 6:23a)

It should no longer surprise me,
this mud and dirt under my feet.
Red clay from the badlands,
cement soot from the foundation we poured,
pavement dust from suburban sidewalks,
forest loam and evergreen needles,
fallen leaves on steep and slippery hills;
all under sweat, snow, sun, wind and
days that pass while the rain kisses everything.

For all the meander from city to rural sounds
of coyotes on the cliffs and mockingbirds gigging their riffs,
I’m bound inside my mind these days
(though safe, and only alarmed at dreamed
intentions on angry faces)
I still long to wander again,
to saunter past the circles of stringed instruments
who knew the lyrics to everything.

I would dedicate this to you, if I knew where you were.
I would sing my heart to you, if I knew you would hear.
I would hug the fear away from your face,
tell you it was all a mistake,
and gladly invite you to ramble again
past locked gates and lines drawn in the sand.

Would it surprise you that our feet show the
dirt from the sages before us?
Would it persuade you that offbeat is still
my favorite improvisation?
I will not detain you, but perhaps, in this
lockbox of age we will find the wider fields
we once walked upon.

The Sheep of My Pasture

The Sheep of My Pasture

“And you, my sheep, the sheep of my pasture, are my people, and I am your God, declares the sovereign Lord.” Ezekiel 34:31

Have you ever thought about what it is like to be a sheep? No? I suppose it is not one of those daydreams many of us have. If we were to imagine being an animal we might choose the stately lion, the majestic eagle or maybe a playful puppy. Sheep just don’t come to mind that often.

Yet God describes us as His sheep numerous times throughout Scripture and Jesus calls us as His “little flock”. Sheep are not solitary animals; they flourish in flocks. And domesticated sheep need a shepherd; a good shepherd. That is God’s primary message in Ezekiel 34. His people had been ruled by “shepherds” who had no cared for the people’s needs at all.

Instead of caring for and feeding the sheep, these rulers had fed themselves. “You eat the fat, you clothe yourselves with the wool, you slaughter the choice animals, but you do not feed the sheep!” God tells them (Ezekiel 34:3) They did not strengthen the weak, heal the sick, bandage the injured, bring back strays or seek the lost. Instead they were harsh and forcefully exerted their power over the people. (Ezekiel 34:4)

As a result, the people were scattered and were, like sheep, put at risk and became “food for every wild beast.” Leaders, whether religious, business or political, are called to look at the needs of those around them and be good shepherds. Instead of finding ways to exert personal power, a good leader seeks out the hurt and brings healing. A good leader finds ways to heal the sick and weak. A good leader refuses to hold back they good they can do for those who have suffered injury.

Think about the goodness of Jesus Himself. Matthew 12:20 say about Jesus: “He will not break a bruised reed or extinguish a smoldering wick, until he brings justice to victory.” Bruised reeds matter to Jesus! We must understand that first and foremost. When God sees our broken places He immediately sets out to heal them. When He sees the fire nearly going out He immediately acts to ignite the flame again. He does not blame, He does not condemn: He heals.

As His followers, we are called to be the same. We are Jesus in the world. Spirit-filled believers are the “flock” of this Good Shepherd. But, we also become shepherds ourselves. When we see injustice in the world, we should also say, “Bruised reeds matter.” We who have received the healing, strength and care of the Almighty are called to take that same compassion into the world.

It is easy to rely on people to gain what we think we need in life, but it is the care of Father-God that truly satisfies. We will make mistakes along the way. We will step forward when we should have waited. We will wait when we should have acted. But, if we are living in complete dependence on God’s loving care, we turn from those mistakes and reach out to the hurting once more.

As a church, I hope we at River of Life are creating a safe space for the flock of God. For a good shepherd, every new lamb is treated with the same care as any other. And, those that are weaker often receive more intimate care because they are more in need. I hope we are creating an environment where people can share the joys and the hurts they feel. I hope we are a place that people do not have to act like all the other sheep to fit in. We will go through ups and downs throughout life, but the love of God will always move us to greater compassion for others and less self-promotion. We love each other well when we point to the hope we have in Christ while never ignoring the painful circumstances that may be present. Remember, to follow Jesus means to be part of a flock. Don’t stay away from the sheep pen.

Let us throw the doors of our hearts wide open. Jesus was constantly stopping to heal those who the world had passed by. Jesus gave His time to despised tax-collectors and prostitutes. They mattered to Him. You matter to Him. And, sheep who have been excluded for one reason or another especially matter to Him.

Father, may we truly follow You as our Shepherd. Let us learn to rely on Your for Your personal care and healing of our lives. Create in us the same heart You have for all people and help us give the same grace we have received.

Pale Dots on an Inky Sky

Pale Dots on an Inky Sky

(“Because you are sons, God has sent forth the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, crying, 'Abba! Father!'” Galatians 4:6)

I did not pick up this sword on my own,
it was placed there, in my arms, by those (though planning no harm)
who designed their plan of war and placed me in position.

Let me rephrase that: perhaps I did raise the sword, but it
was not for the enemy they chose. They recited my duty,
verse by verse, and expected a fiery spectacle with their
enemies dying at my feet.

Please do not blame them; it is the only warfare they know.
Please do not mistake me as one of their own. I belong,
it is true,
to the same one they name. And, without comment about
whose tent they inhabit, I have found the Name warmer
than the fires of Big Guns ordered by General or Admiral.

I wield it wisely, or I do not wield it at all. I have heard
the call, once so far away I wished to hush the breeze to hear it.
Like a pale dot on the inky sky, barely perceptible, yet I knew,
up close it would fill my purview many worlds over. I have
heard
the call. Within this time. And it obscures every design and order
I thought I was under. Stronger, fiercer, the volcano's exclamation;
and yet: Softer, familiar, the dove's invitation.

One was the broken fissure, having blown its top,
the other is volcano fire, the power no one can stop.
One was human mapping the divine,
the other, the Father fully safe, never benign.

My hand grips the sword, my heart gripped by my Father's words,
and I swing, oh so very rarely, only to free the prisoners, cutting
through their chains,
denouncing all names but the One Name who is Abba to
all who will believe.