Perhaps If We Paused

Perhaps If We Paused

(“If any of you needs wisdom, you should ask God for it. He will give it to you. God gives freely to everyone and doesn’t find fault.” James 1:5)

I appreciate your visit, at least I know where I stand.
You brought your talking points, numbered and outlined,
scrawled in your own hand. Some were new, but one was
a decade old.
Hadn’t we beat that one into the ground? Wasn’t it dust
sent on the wind ages ago?

But since then, you have never visited again. Did the
storms blow, knocking down the hedgerow we planted?
Did the crows steal the seeds of peace?

The seasons still turn, though, 16 since then. The pictures
move
in memory like a flickering silent film. The words hide,
buried beneath grains of sand, beyond a million stars,
outside the radius of our reach. We send flares in the night,
but the colors were wrong. We wave at trucks and cars,
hoping someone notices our pace has slowed, our smile
is frozen in place, and our feet have worn paths into the
grass between the road and the river.

What was our baptism if the water never washed
our misdirections out to sea? Did the showers rain on
you and not on
me?

But we are fathoms, we are not phantoms. We are universes,
we are mites. We are not airless, but we are children of the wind.

Did we pass each other yesterday? Did our globes rotate to
coordinates that stopped us, same place, for a moment in time?
Did we both see the face that wondered how friendship was
so fragile,
how two men of billions walked a path together,
and then lost sight of the north star?

Perhaps if we paused before unwashed words settled in the
air
like smoke from a distant fire. Perhaps if we learned that
laughter is as good as wisdom, campfires are as good as
generosity, and freedom is cultivated by the light of
a myriad of wicks lit before dawn.

Expansion

 Expansion

 

(“But the wisdom that comes from above is first holy, then peaceful, gentle, compliant, filled with mercy and good fruits, unbiased, sincere.” James 3:17)

 

What would I say if I knew you could see everything
in my heart? It’s elastic, and there is more than enough
room for you. But you will have to make do with darkened corners
and lamps askew. Too many see and ask for new lodging.

 

There are as many thoughts as there are minds,
as many dwellings as there are hearts.
I enjoy most neighborhoods with sky above and dirt below.
But my abode takes some getting used to;
to be honest,
I’m not quite comfortable there myself.
No wonder I seem to slide through the sidewalk cracks
so easily. Where are the gentle spirits unafraid to sit under
the holes in my ceiling?

 

Up against the sky, look at what the light can do, in that moment
you may hear everyone’s heart beating. You may hear your own
when the minute gives way to fire-lit dots on the hills.

And what you thought a single star was the universe
exploding like a chrysanthemum. Your explorations are simply
thimbles of truth.

 

We know less than is known, fewer than can be counted
minus the mistakes we’ve made in our reasoning.
We expect God to move in with us, packed in the uhaul with
the rest of our holy and righteous stuff. We expect God to
agree with us while we shoo away the shit-hole countries from
knocking on our white suburban doors. We find our holiness squandered,
call dissidents rioters, and heretics inhabit the shacks across the tracks.

 

But hearts are elastic, not ceramic. Hearts are created to expand.
The universe started smaller than a dot and has made room for
every imagination, every circus act and traveling band. There are
clouds that weigh a million pounds and
thoughts that float weightless, synapse
to perception, (can you spot the difference between the two pictures?)

 

We are so sincere we make that wax melt in our candles,
we are so fervent we keep our doors locked tight.
We are so sacred we erect borders and fences,
we are so correct we write with indelible ink.

 

Let us go to the laundry, you and me; let us stake our claim
on our purity and precision (do you still have the original buttons?)
Or, as with all cloth and earth-wear, are you willing to swear that
imperfection is our common wardrobe hid beneath capes of incomplete
polyester. 

 

Up against the sky, again, you and me; let us be little again
and let night swallow us until we see
the universe expanding to take all of existence in its grace.

Plan a Picnic

Plan a Picnic

(“Wisdom is better than weapons of war, yet one wrongdoer can undo much good.” Ecclesiastes 9:18)

Why does it seem so strange to ask a world at war
to hold their weapons for a little while;
put them on pause,
plan a picnic
and consider the stain water of
the streams under our feet?

We pray for soldiers before they
burst the bowels of humans and cities,
we
pray
for
them.

Peace is wisdom, and the making of it is like God;
war is enigma, chasing wind and meaningless.
How many stones have been owned by one empire
or the next.
How many princes cry because they fear
there will be nothing to conquer once their fathers are done?

My nation’s brains are the same structure as your nation’s brains,
same in blood and same in plasma. Same in bone and same in marrow.

We cannot crow “right to life”
when we send our innocents to fight
to make sure other innocents die.

Following the Prince of Peace, the ointment scatters
the unwise plans of tanks and planes
and refuses to call “spineless”
the very few
who fight with a martyr’s might
to see Peace On Earth as surely as the night
it was first announced.

Once called dreamers,
often named naïve,
the ships that ripped into enemy shores
we envision as first-class refugee transport.

We’ve drawn the lines, we erected the walls,
we’ve demonized and ghettoized
Israel and Palestine,
Northern and Southern,
Protestant and Catholic,
Christian and Jew

Until there is nothing left of the original design
that bears the artwork of love’s dearest innovation.
We dam the rivers
and damn our enemies,
block the seaports
and jail the seekers
and wonder why
“one nation under god”
just doesn’t seem to ring true.

Wisdom to Be

Wisdom to Be

“If any one of you falls short in wisdom, they should ask God for it, and it will be given them. God, after all, gives generously and ungrudgingly to all people.” James 1:5

Almost every Christian who wants guidance knows this verse well. We have been told that God will give us all the wisdom we need when we ask Him, and that He will never begrudge us the gift of His wisdom. That much is true. Our problem, I believe, is that we substitute the word “guidance” for “wisdom”.

Let me explain. Perhaps we need to choose whether to take this job or that one. Or we are considering buying a new house. We rely on this verse, ask God for wisdom (thinking “guidance”) and expect some sign to tell us which choice to make. I do not want to be misunderstood; God often gives specific guidance about choices we face.

But wisdom is a much broader category than simple “guidance”. What if wisdom has to do more with who we are than what we should do? Isn’t God more interested in forming us into men and women who carry the compassion of Christ in our hearts? And, as we ask for His wisdom, what if He responds by transforming us to a greater degree into the likeness of His Son?

Let me share from own recent struggle with wisdom. Most of you know I have suffered from a daily headache for nearly nine years. It hinders everything that I do; writing, reading, physical activity, even taking road trips.

Here is what makes it so challenging. Every "trial" I've endured thus far in my life could be traced either to failings on my part or someone else's, if not entirely, then in part. I could act on it. I could repent. I could confess. I could forgive. I could make amends. I could reconcile.

But there is no cause for this chronic pain that I can tackle with better piety. In fact, the pain hinders most of my spiritual "practices". Prayer is an effort. The pain shortens my attention span when reading Scripture. And acts of mercy are fewer and farther between, as are most of my activities.

I cannot fix this with better devotion to God. And, yes, I understand His strength is made perfect in weakness and that His grace is sufficient. But the pain is an iron door which seems to limit access to experiencing these things.

That's the most honest assessment I can make. My faith is challenged because, for once, I see no cause, no solution and no way forward. I am, in many ways, walking in the dark while I try to walk in the light.

I have asked God for wisdom. I have sought medical advice, spiritual counsel, and poured out my heart to family…and well, Facebook. I cannot keep up the pace I need to as a full-time pastor, yet I am not financially able to retire. There is more to that, but just understand, there seem to be very few choices. And I’ve been asking quite often for “wisdom”. “Show me another way, God.”

Recently (actually, yesterday) I began to think this way. “There is much I can no longer do because of this chronic pain. And, I hate the physical suffering as well. I don’t play tennis, don’t visit friends, don’t read, don’t write my poetry as much. But…I am still me.” That seemed like a breakthrough.

You see, I’ve been focusing on what I feel I need to do, and all the things I can’t do. But the pain has not changed one thing about who I am. For me, God’s wisdom may be to stop seeking to do things better and just be His beloved child, because that has not changed. I am His by faith in Christ, despite the pain.

That does not ease my physical suffering. And, if you are suffering, you may still endure hardship as well. But, ask God for wisdom; not just for what to do, but who to be. The next verse tells us to “ask in faith.”

Faith isn’t a power to gain control over our lives. Instead, it is surrendering our false sense of control into the hands of our loving Heavenly Father. Trusting Him means we no longer convince ourselves that, with enough faith, we can move that mountain. We put that mountain into God’s hands and simply trust Him for the outcome.

Help Me Learn Your Ways

Help Me Learn Your Ways

“No wisdom, understanding, or advice can stand up against the Lord.” Proverbs 21:30

I suppose it goes without saying, but there is not one of us that wants to lose. We do not attend our children’s tee-ball games and hope they are trounced by the opposite team. Cheerleaders don’t spell out the opposing team’s name at the Homecoming Game. No one watches the Super Bowl hoping their beloved Seahawks go down in defeat. (Having lived in the Northwest for eight and a half years now, I am, by law, required to root for Seattle.)

No Glass Jaws

“But the wisdom that comes from heaven is pure. That’s the most important thing about it. And that’s not all. It also loves peace. It thinks about others. It obeys. It is full of mercy and good fruit. It is fair. It doesn’t pretend to be what it is not.” James 3:17

I used to follows boxing quite a bit. For a peaceful chap, know as a hippie and growing up  in the San Francisco Bay area in the 1970s, I’m sure this seems a bit incongruent! Truth is, I haven’t watched a professional match in over 20 years. But back then I did: Ali, Frazier, Holyfield, Foreman, Sugar Ray Leonard; I would watch any time a top ranked bout was broadcast.

With Love to the Offended

With Love to the Offended

“Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and unfathomable His ways!” Romans 11:33

Do not ever promise to shave your head as an incentive for
Sunday School attendants to bring more friends. A promise of 50,
and the shepherd would be shaved bald; except for one small matter.

Sitting midweek, as he makes his practice, with six and sometimes twelve
teenage students, he announced the same; no hair would remain, if they would
bring enough friends to break our goal of 50. “Oh no, Pastor”, they cringed.
“Don’t cut your hair.”

The Pastor, it should be noted, now nearly 60, was finally of an age where
most people would refrain from pointing out the impropriety of preaching holy
writ
with a ponytail. Ladies over 80 also enjoyed his curls.

So, with resistance from his teenage friends, the pastor thought a change may be
in order. “You choose the color, then,” and I will dye my hair for 50! Bright eyes
combined with school-girl squeals and the answer was moot.

Except for the few and more who come through the door on Sunday mornings.
The pastor shared his story from the teen-table and asked for a vote-by-applause.

“Shaved bald”: Are you ready? Applaud!
“Dyed hair”: Are you ready? Applaud!

Twice over we voted, unsure, the noise nearly indistinguishable. For the pastor’s ear, and his better judgment, he felt the loudest, by a mere fraction of a decibel, went to the “dye your hair”
syndicate: and it was done.

No hair was lost, nor was any painted. That year the attendance fainted short of the goal…
but…

It was discovered, laughable and weepable, one couple never returned, looking for another
place to learn Jesus’ ways because who can follow a pastor who does not keep his word.

Unfathomable! Might I call a handful of humans the very same?

Let me address You, unsearchable One. I am trying my best. I have stumbled like the rest. Why do people love cause pain, leave church, act inhumane and suppose they are the more righteous,
after all. For they never promised to shave their heads and change it to a possible rainbow updo.
Judged, perhaps. Ranted, and time ellapses between their better-hair judgments and the next
Sunday when more love and power, compassion, the Flower from the Hillsides that beautifies
our every action, if only we let Him.

Dearest depths, let me wade in Your wisdom, because that pastor I described is weeping at
the ways one more person has trodden upon his offered heart.

The pain is scream-less. The harm is one more bone broken for the 12^th time in the same place

again.

Dearest riches, now I need Your knowledge because He is a half step closer to never mentioning
the name of Jesus from a pulpit ever again.

Quiet Wisdom

“Who in your community is understanding and wise? Let his example, which is marked by wisdom and gentleness, blaze a trail for others.” James 3:13

I recently enjoyed lunch with a good friend. As topic flowed into topic the name of a well known Christian leader came up. My friend expressed concern that this leader had become somewhat arrogant in the last few years. Not having followed his ministry recently, I did a bit of research and I now think I understand what she meant. There are ripples of harshness that run through even his public materials.

Slow Precision

Slow Precision

(“And he said to the human race, ‘The fear of the Lord—that is wisdom, and to shun evil is understanding.’” Job 28:28)

One day soon the soles of my shoes will
match up sure with the beats of my heart;
every path I’ve taken will imprint unshaken the
truth
discovered unhindered by fear of remonstration.

There was a graphic of a leaf, modern and one-dimensionally green;
single strokes made up each vein and the contours open and unconnected.

They were oblong like the blueberry leaf, toothless and smooth. No
shadow or relief, simple passes of the brush across the glass door they
adorned.

With a dozen or more slow curves the leaf took shape, breaking the space
between the glass invisibility.

What had taught my brain to perceive a leaf from an artist’s deft brush?
What had taught her brain besides, that I would recognize her green lines
and fill in the spaces?

And so a leaf grows from the branch of the blueberry, creation’s
perfection, the verdure open to the sky and spotted with indigo;
and so a leaf grows from nature’s design, flows through the human
curious mind, and lives upon glass that I pass from time to time.

The precision in Spring; buds, the leaves and blooms, and final;
the offering of her fruit in blue, the succulent sac where life
is wrapped, a hundred seeds to die in the dark ground again
to begin the precise pace of the next life which one artist
may rewrite again.

Shall I call truth the bush and folly the art? Does Creation own
the patent for awe, or may my fascination be also called
wonder at the works wrought by mere human fingerlings?

Wisdom is the slow precision, and waits like Spring
for the evidence to begin.

Doctor Please

Doctor Please

(“But the wisdom from above is first of all pure, then peaceable, courteous, congenial, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and unpretentious.” James 3:17)

I leaned over to hope the source was evident
in the etchings scratched like question marks
on the tile at the foot of my chair.

He carried all my complaints, aches and pains
in the manila folder, tattered and dog-eared;
triplicate sheets with the back page barely legible,
history and templates, blood drawn from my arms and legs,
radio waves knocking around my brain,
and every answer to every test
that left no answer, gave me no rest.

I sat up to beg for a well-ordered friend who
had time (is $100 per hour enough) to stop talking
and put his hand on my head. I know he would feel nothing;

But I would.