Loan Me Some Seed

Loan Me Some Seed

(“And when sown, it comes up and grows taller than all the garden plants, and produces large branches, so that the birds of the sky can nest in its shade.” Mark 4:32)

I began by wanting to ask you for a loan,
but I do not need money, I do not need bills,
I wanted you to loan me some seed that would grow
within my sorrowing soul. That would grow like it was
in nurturing soil. I’ve spent afternoons napping
and reading until my head ached too badly to continue.
I wish you could loan me something living that
could clear my head. The fog is bursting from within
the places between my brain and the rest of me.
I’ve settled in trying to compensate for this disabled
exposition with words written like togas wrapped around
my heart. I was a taller tree once, some time ago.
But then the drought hit and I could not survive;
the dangers were all around, waiting to seduce me
into another faithless action of cowardice. I turned around.
I don’t ask for much anymore, just a few trinkets,
sharing a beer at the bar, driving in the hills,
a cadre of cadets who carry no agendas but only ask
for light to guide the way.

Come in for a drink, come in for a story, tell me about your day,
tell me about the joy you remember from the days I have forgotten.
Sit down across from me, let me see your eyes;
let me hear the syllables like seeds dying into the ground.
Sow in me the mercy you have experienced;
take me as mere as mud and make me a planting place
for branches large enough for the birds of the air to
to roost upon, finding shade from the heat.

If you will do this tiny thing for me, I would be
eternally grateful. I don’t deserve great offers of dollars,
just simple seeds in the dirt that lays here in the dark.

Bound By No Passage of Time

Bound By No Passage of Time

(“It is like a mustard seed, which a man took and threw into his own garden; and it grew and became a tree, and the birds of the sky nested in its branches.” Luke 13:19)

Borne by diagonal blues
my heart often refuses the comfort of
sun or memories.
I do not delight in inner images,
mere ghosts cannot sit beside me in the afternoon.
I never know if it is chemicals, or misfiring synapses,
or base ungratefulness,
but the pressure pushes tears out past my cheeks again.

To believe the world is absurd at only
a third of your lifespan may be center ring
and second act clowning.
But in the final third it leaves the robin’s song
unheard until they rest for the nested night.

There are words I once knew like soul/breath,
multiple choice answers, true/false tests, clarity.
But I could not discount the unrest,
the whirlpools that unseated the certainties
of invisible habitations. There was no architecture
designed for my peace of mind.

But if you fall, if you are buried by time
bone by bone,
I will find the color yellow and focus toward you
until you bloom again.
I will sit, the saddened, and rehearse the stories we
only tell
until it is too late.
Or the stories we tell family they have heard dozens
of times before,
but coyly confess to never knowing.

But my muscles still strangle me like missing a trapeze
high above the circus tent. My memories sometimes displace
the shoveled dirt but
more often invade my dreams with caricatures, with
mongrels of my own making who have forgotten everything
about dew-cooled meadows midsummer.

I admit there should be more pastels here, portraits that
should have reminded me of your face. But I stub my toe
on sand,
trip myself again and again.
Though I still wave hello to the past,
I will flag down the next possible invitation
to a comfortable couch,
ice cold beer
and a room where the robins,
the rabbits,
the tie-dye shirts and
jangly bracelets
inhabit a house bound by no
passage of time at all.

Behemoth

Behemoth

(He lies under the lotus plants, hiding in the protection of marshy reeds. Job 40:21)

Below the floating lotus the beast untimely hides
where marsh, mud and reeds provide
a covering from gray and olive skies.

The lotus stalks spread across the camouflage bog,
a crown upon the royal waters, pink flowers and
circling leaves adorn the diadem that floats;
a part and a whole, the lotus pod bends fully ripened

And scatters seeds across the silent water.
They turn and sink, and rise with the breath of the beast,
caught upon bubbles like rainbow confetti.

But finally,
beneath home and beast,
each seed settles upon the deep,
the mud enriched with plant and beast,
to begin the next vitality.

Sometimes they sleep in cracked earth
waiting for the Spring. Dormant is not dead,
but serene and unwearied. The life awakens
in the mud
as rain renews the germ, the miniature genesis
of behemoth’s shelter. On a quiet day,
with your ear to the ground,

Beloved,

You can hear both the beast’s slow heartbeat and the
seeds breaking the borderline between water and mud.

Sowing to the Spirit

Sowing to the Spirit

“If you plant in the field of your natural desires, from it you will gather the harvest of death; if you plant in the field of the Spirit, from the Spirit you will gather the harvest of eternal life.” Galatians 6:8

Have you ever wondered who was the first person who thought that putting seeds underneath the ground was a good thing? We simply take it for granted that something should sprout once seed is sown into a fertile field. It seems counter-intuitive; that by emptying our hands of those tiny seeds we will eventually harvest something bigger and better.

Jesus said it this way: “A grain of wheat remains no more than a single grain unless it is dropped into the ground and dies. If it does die, then it produces many grains.” (John 12:24) So, not only does the sower end up with empty hands, but the seed itself “dies”. Out of our sight, underneath the black earth, it bears all the markings of the grave.

Yet we know from experience that, given time, we will see an amazing process. Perhaps you had a sandwich today, or a hamburger, or tortilla. The bread you consumed is the end result of this miracle of planting and harvesting, sowing and reaping, dying and living. A single seed of grain gave birth to a stalk of a hundred more. Those were harvested and ground into flour, eventually becoming the delightful bread that accompanied your meal.

Paul takes this concept one step further and tells us we can sow into two different fields, giving two different results. We can sow to our “natural desires” or to the “Spirit”, resulting in either death or eternal life. Every follower of Jesus has this choice daily.

When we make decisions based on our self-interest alone, we reap “death”. Relationships suffer, our spiritual life becomes dry and discontent rises. Life is neither enjoyable or ultimately pleasurable because self-interest can take us only so far.

But, when we make decisions based on God’s Spirit, especially as revealed through Jesus Christ, we reap “eternal life”. This does not mean “heaven” primarily. It means a quality of life that is God-like. It echoes His self-giving nature. As we decide to follow the Spirit’s lead, we experience a harvest that leads to greater love in our own hearts. We reap joy that is not dependent on the winds of changing circumstance. And the fruit of peace rules our thoughts and relationships as we learn to be like Jesus.

Here are some examples. Sowing to the natural self involves a scolding nature. Sowing to the Spirit involves a supportive nature. The person who is self-interested will often try to dominate others. It doesn’t matter if the cause is righteous or not, dominance is not of the Spirit. Instead, the Spirit it gentle and supportive by nature.

A few sentences before Paul talks about sowing and reaping he wrote, “if someone is caught in any kind of wrongdoing, those of you who are spiritual should set him right; but you must do it in a gentle way.” (Galatians 6:1) Do you see the non-scolding nature of the Spirit? Even when someone is doing wrong, those who are “spiritual” set them straight in a gentle way. Scolding seldom reaps the God-kind of life; whereas supportive guidance can produce great results.

Criticism sows to the natural self. When we look at people and behaviors with a critical eye we are more intent on judging than on helping. Instead of criticism, perhaps we can find ways to help carry the person’s burden. “Help carry one another's burdens, and in this way you will obey the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2) Can you imagine what would happen if every follower of Jesus became less critical and simply offered to help ease the burden of the troubled folks around them?

Admittedly, sometimes the “giving” nature of the Spirit feels like losing; just like we empty our hands of the seeds which we plant. And, self-interest feels like winning; though we keep nothing but dry and dusty seeds. Learning the Spirit’s way is not easy, but it is the way of life. 

Think about Jesus and His interaction with the “sinners” of His day? How often did He scold? Was He critical? He had lunch with Zacchaeus, an embezzling tax-collector, without publicly berating him. Jesus stood between an adulteress and the scolding crowd, bringing her grace and healing. He healed, He set free, He loved, forgave and empowered men and women to live in the light of God’s grace. Let us sow to the Spirit in the same ways. The results are truly eternal.