The Sacred Meal

The Sacred Meal

(Therefore, since we have this ministry as a result of the mercy shown us, we are not discouraged.” 2 Corinthians 4:1)

We no longer hide behind manufactured words
and disguised shadows in the sun.
We no longer panic when the winds blow
cold from the north and try to pierce us through
buttoned coats. But we will continue without pretense.
We are filled from the beginning by methods of
grace
that have opened our hearts to newday like flowers
seeking the sun.

Once the announcement was made we learned how
honesty and repair looked once we opened our eyes.
We took it all to heart, we gathered our children
to celebrate new movements of sanity and purpose.
By this grace we have learned to make space for
dozens who do not believe yet, who think we may be
lost because we have moved outside their rigid restraints.

We invite them to the dance and hope they will join us.
We cancel our subscription to the prescriptions they
thought had healed us. Instead, we break bread with
the bare-faced children who come in with mud on their face.
We share the declaration we heard from further within
than we could imagine.

Open further. See sooner. Speak truer.
Live longer. Dance faster. Love deeper.
Dine at the banquet set with oval tables
in the meadow with seats for everyone.

We put down our visors meant to hide our eyes,
and look across the table at every tribe under heaven
sharing the sacred meal of the beloved.

Who Unplugged the Words?

 Who Unplugged the Words?

(“Look at the birds that fly in the air. They do not plant or cut or keep any food. Yet your Father in heaven feeds them. Are you not worth more than birds?” Matthew 6:26)

If you had asked me last night, I would have told you,
the sanity seems to be oozing out my pores. Pain inspires
visions of well-locked cages. Rationality fades at the
threat of rain.

But there are the robins again. A dozen in my tree again.
Plucking fruit and ants again. And not worrying
about the rain.

But these walls are not strong enough to keep my sentences
from breaking down between commas and misunderstanding.
You would think my head was porous, my brain-waves bid
me
adieu
as they make me search like a blind man for the thought
they have disconnected. Who unplugged

The words again?

But there are crows again. Commanding the cathedral trees again.
Cawing to protect their babies again. And not worrying
when they will land.

But these days are not long enough for me to send a search party
to find my sentence fragments. I’ve left a trail of them from
sanctuary to theater, from wife, to child, to grandchild. I run
into them
occasionally on walks toward the hills. But they are distorted,
the wind and rain have turned them inside out so much
I doubt they ever belonged to me.

But there are the hummingbirds again. Sipping at the nectar again.
Buzzing near my head like locusts. And not worrying
over unplanted grain.

Moods stay like glue while my words saddle up their horses
and ride into oblivion. But

The birds keep singing, and sometimes,

Some very rare times,

I understand their song.