Why Do You Ask?

Why Do You Ask?

(“I will strengthen them in the Lord, in whose name they will walk—oracle of the Lord.” Zechariah 10:12)

I’ve been studied like an lab specimen,
investigated like a criminal even after I served my time.
I’ve been cross-examined and dissected,
my mind on the lab bench, my faith in the witness stand,
and it left my head a hoary white.

Private. You have forced me into hiding.
Sealed shut. You have forced my measured words.
What am I doing?

Why do you ask?

Do you really want to see me? Or write a paper on your
findings, describe my disease? 

What am I doing? (The question that once was
an invitation to tennis, coffee, or a walk in the park.)

Not much, what are you doing?

Baited. I believed your promise of trust.
Ensnared. My hopes were vapors and rust.

Oh, I’ve committed the crimes. I’ve crossed the lines,
dotted the t’s and tossed the i’s into word salads I hoped
they would believe. I toed the line until the friendlies
kicked the chalk away. I became an enemy, how much more
now
when I refuse to believe what they insist they see?

What am I doing?

Is it your business?

(I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. I’m tired of hearing it
like a recording,
but never saying it out loud. I’m sorry, but you’re anger
was unrestrained,
while I tried to train myself to take it like a man,
trust the god you manufactured,
quietly hold it all inside,
act the penitent, the weeping out loud
that marked how truly god must be dealing with that man.)

What am I doing?

I know why you ask. I’ll tell you. You have destroyed me
with your questions. I am worn out from the poking around
my body, my mind and

my life.

So, if I do not answer, now you know why. I will find a cave
where no one can enter and where I can cry without it meaning
anything more than I am
a man in pain.

I’ve shared my truth; once, twice. And instantly the angels sang,
the clouds lifted, the songs began.
But within days every move I made was measured by
the truth I had opened so hopefully.

So, if I do not answer, now you know why. There is no more
room inside
to let another set of eyes define me.

I Just Have to Tell You

I Just Have to Tell You

(“Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who have an anxious heart, ‘Be strong; fear not! Behold, your God will come…and save you.’” Isaiah 35:3-4

I hate to admit but my eyes are blood-red this morning,
blood-red since yesterday, closed and shut throughout the night.
I though we both received the same orders; the ones I received decades
ago, the same you’ve heard from the mouth of the Lord:

“Go into the world..”

But, here is where my eyes break down, where my stomach lodges
clear up into my throat,
where my fingers shake from mistaken interpretations as
more and more act like dragons
and spit fire at the world they think has begun its
persecution.

“Go into all the world…”

But we gossip about the “family on welfare” where,
parked just in front of the sagging garage,
was a fancy car, a new car, a car sans scratches, and
one that matches your best desire for one too.
And you step into church, with the first sentence ringing:
“I drove by Linda’s place. Ha…she gets food stamps while there
is a fancy car in her driveway!” And our dragon saliva lights the
next best gossips to say the same. Worship did not happen that day,
I think Jesus ran away to comfort the object of these good peoples’ scorn.

“Go into all the world and preach…”

Hey, we pay a pastor to do that. And, boy can he tell a story. I mean,
he has our ear every week. (And they go home never taking their
booster thoughts of truth.) We pay a pastor well, until, he meddles
in politics, or sex, or money. And we would report him the moment
he mentioned the Democrats’ solutions. We don’t walk out, we just
leave our post and send letters of excuses, because I want to leave worship
like a massage, and without bruises.

“Go into all the world and preach the Good News…”

That’s the Ten Commandments, isn’t it? Oh it is so sad that they won’t
let us
post the 10 on every state house lawn, or every
telephone pole alone I-5. We used to be such a godly nation. (Decimating
Native Americans, Enslaving African tribes, Denying Votes to fellow females,
and rounding up every Japanese inside chicken-wire ghettos. Not to mention
lynchings and mobs and bombs targeted with hateful precision.)
We used to be such a Christian Nation.

“Go into all the world and preach the Good News to every creature…”

But you better take a gun with you, or mace, or pepper spray, and don’t
stay too long in the neighborhoods marked by poverty and starvation.
“Here’s a per diem, you can buy all the food you want at McDonald's or
Arby’s. Spend your money wisely, and you will come out ahead.”
They watch us, well, they see us well. And, at least we went on
this mission trip
when the others stayed home without precedent.

By the way, did you notice that one house. Oh it was decrepit. Shutters
hanging askew. Wood siding cracked, splintered and eaten a foot above the
foundation wall. Broken windows and forgotten screens, roof shingles
looked like a melting cake frosting. And then, (don’t mention this to
anyone else)

But, did you notice, that a Cadillac pulled up, maybe two years old,
and shiny, oh it was shiny. It gleamed golden in the sun. Those seats
were leather, I know they were. I just have to tell you. It makes me
mad, people like this, using my taxes to get themselves ahead.

…and preach the Good News…

I’m sorry, God, we didn’t get to it today.