Over the Distant Hill

Over the Distant Hill

(“Don’t let any evil talk come out of your mouths. Say only what will help to build others up and meet their needs. Then what you say will help those who listen.” Ephesians 4:29)

Just over the distant hill and away
from the dusty syllables
of everyone who knows better than
everyone else…

Just beyond the dewy field and away
from the chiseled orphanage
where children walk in their sleep
and repeat the refrain of their adoptive’s martial songs…

Just beyond the last eucalyptus and away
from the fits and starts that
memory holds tighter than a baby blanket…

Just above the final crest and away
from the fatal consonants
of every lecture delivered like icy proverbs
from enthroned tongues of the allies of
insinuation…

Just there the final step, the last footprint in the
warm mud waiting,
the vagabond, with his heart packed high upon his back,
sees the fire of affection and

Sets his heart upon the brow of the hill that loves
truth more than judgment. And he sits awhile in
the embrace of warm; he drinks awhile in the
pastures out of harm
of the words propelled like daggers from behind.

He still wonders, though, an immigrant in a new land,
why so many “amens” at the words used to
shrink others down to size. Why so many
“hallelujahs” when dangerous barbs quote
scripture, and reduce it all to rules

Only the initiated have never broken. Having spoken
their piece,
they slap each other on the back, have a potluck and
evict the homeless boy sleeping in the shed.

He will never leave this new country, for, in truth and love,
he knows it is his native home.

The Floor Was Slanted

The Floor Was Slanted

(“…being diligent to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.” Ephesians 4:3)

The second the door closed behind us we noticed
the floor was inclined like a piedmont and we had not
quite reached the top.

We were a small band, travelers in the night, roaming in search
for the moments we had lost waiting in the cities.

We knew each other only by reputation then, now we knew each
other by name. We heard stories and gossip then, now we saved our breath
for chatter along the trail.

We were neither success nor failure, we were noticed and sometimes invisible;
clerks, nurses, nuns and writers of verse. We were teachers who had learned
far too much.

Passing a stream, we held the water in our hands. Passing a stream,
we knelt with each other, our knees buried in the sand. Passing a stream,
we waited and appeased our thirst thoroughly watching the sun between
the black branches of overhanging trees.

Some sang, some whispered, some laughed, some blistered in the afternoon sun;
some nurtured, some led, some murmured, some fled their past
along with the rest of us.

But our faces all looked ahead, our feet at last free of concrete and steel,
with no cross streets or street lights, we happily accepted the pain
that accompanies pilgrimage and took our turns at both sorrow and joy.

The second we saw the roofline pointed toward heaven, the
second we noticed the double glass doors with reserved parking out front,
the second we saw the well-suited smiler handing out greetings,
the second we stepped toward the sloping porch and saw the
benches for sitting in the sun

Was the second we discovered our Jerusalem, our Mecca,
our Zion, our Cathedral and we entered quickly to find a
permanent home.

The second the door closed behind us we noticed
the floor was slanted and we soon began to congregate
where the building demanded we go.

The corners were filled with people like us
who argued over the best view from the places up front.

Kids and the Kingdom

(This is Asher)

Kids and the Kingdom

“Yahweh appeared of old to me, saying, ‘Yes, I have loved you with an everlasting love: therefore with loving kindness have I drawn you.’” Jeremiah 31:3

Most of my readers know I retired from ministry a few months ago. A 10-year chronic headache finally got the best of me and I could no longer manage both the pain and the responsibilities of pastoring a church. It was a painful and difficult decision.

Just as difficult was the knowledge that we were not financially prepared for such a move. With grace and compassion, my sister and her husband opened their house to us and we moved in with them near Dallas, TX. Our plan is to finish paying off our house in Washington State and move back there to retire.

For me, leaving is always hard. I thrive on relationships. In fact, my deepest experiences of God are in relationship with others. If you were to ask, “Mark, if you wanted to have an intimate experience with the Almighty, what would you do?” Years ago, I might have replied with fasting, praying, worship, or any number of the other responses most religious people might give. Today though, I would say, “I would have lunch with a best friend.” Whatever we mean by the “manifest presence” of God, I experience it most deeply when I’m with people who matter to me.

So, though I am living with my dear sister and brother-in-law, I also felt cut off from much of what filled my life with divine joy. Not only had we developed great friendships in almost 12 years in one pastorate, both in our church and in the community, but we had picked up nearly 20 children on our church van every Sunday for the entire time.

The front two pews were always filled with children ages four to 12, not counting the teenagers. I couldn’t wait for those first few moments before Sunday Service when I would visit with that boisterous group of kids. In fact, they would often be in the aisle grabbing my arm to talk to me or show me something before I ever got to their seats.

Amy, now nine years old, lost her mother two and a half years ago. She had been riding our van for five years. While her mom was sick, every time we asked for prayer, Amy came right to the front, tears in her eyes, with her two young cousins alongside her, asking for us to pray for her mom. For months after her mother passed, Amy still asked for prayer.

We often asked people to share something God had done in their life recently, and Amy always shot her hand up first. For nearly a year, she said the same thing, her eyes glistening with tears, “I’m glad God took care of my Mommy while she was sick, and now she is with Jesus.” Pause. “But I still really miss her.”

On the Sunday I retired I invited all of our children up to the platform with me, to share just with them for a few moments. They scurried up to join me and we began talking and asking questions. After everyone gathered a little three-year-old boy with long wavy blond hair climbed the steps, looked up at me and said, “Hi Church”, then turned around and went back to sit with his mommy.

That was Asher. I’ve known him since he was born and both his mom and grandma since our first few weeks at that church. I held his tiny frame in my arms within weeks of his birth. He and I have a very special bond.

But, he has never called me, “Pastor” or “Pastor Mark” or “Mark” or even “Baby Jesus” (which a four-year-old in another church used to do). No, I was “Church” to him. I assumed that was now my “Rap” name, so I could announce at the beginning of service, “Hey, Yo, Church is in da house!” I tried to tag him as “Lil Church” but he wouldn’t go for it. I’d say, “And who is Lil Church”. He always responded, “You Church!”

Sometimes we would accompany his family to dinner after church. No matter the seating arrangement, I made sure I sat next to Asher. He has a way of lighting up everyone around him, mostly with his laugh. His laugh, no kidding, ushers in the very presence of God. He’s a tiny guy, but when he lets go with a full-throated, mouth wide open, head swung back series of giggles, nobody is safe! Might as well say, “Thank You Holy Spirit!”

That is one of the things I remember from my last Worship Service. We had ended, and people were going downstairs for a potluck. I went over to Asher and his mom, picked him up and swung him around just a bit, and, out came the joy! It’s like honey, a puppy’s yelp and the best dance music all at once. And yes, God was in the moment; at least for me.

So, when we moved to the suburbs of Dallas I wondered how I would fare. I was leaving adult friends and children who were the life-blood of my spirit. My wife soon got a job, and since there are only two cars in the household, my sister and I are on foot for most of the day. The frustrating part is that there is no coffee shop or place to hangout any closer than six miles away, and no public transportation.

But God has loved us with an everlasting love. Our house has a covered front porch and I have taken to sitting there midafternoon to read or play my mandolin. A couple of days into that routine the next-door neighbor drove up, bringing her kids home from school; a set of 6-year-old twins (brother and sister), a 4-year old-daughter and a daughter almost ready to turn two. They piled out of the van, looked over at me, and said “Hi”. I smiled and waved back, “Hi, how was your day?”

For the last two and a half months, those four children have become my best friends. Now they don’t simply wave from their driveway. They come all the way over to the porch and show me what they did in school or about why they took their dog to the vet. A few weeks ago, after the three oldest had visited and turned to go home, the younger daughter turned around and came back by herself.

“I love you,” she said. It was a butterfly voice. A tiny silk voice. A voice that speaks truth without calculation. And that voice landed on the flower petals of my heart. The mom told me a few days later, “My kids really love you.”

But that’s not all. I try to walk several times a week. I walk the same route each time for a couple of reasons. One is, I know how far I’ve walked. But the other is selfish. I hope people will eventually go, “Hey, there’s that guy I see walking all the time”, and maybe I’ll make some friends.

I was walking a few days before Easter and I could see a dad helping his kids out of their car, probably coming home after school. A boy about three was already on the sidewalk and his eyes were sad and downcast. A few steps in front of me was a purple plastic Easter egg rolling toward me. I picked it up, snapped it back together and gave it to the boy. The father noticed and said, “Thanks”. By that time two elementary school age girls were also out of the car.

I was ready to resume my walk when the boy opened the egg and reached his little arms toward me. He showed me the plastic giraffe; the prize within the egg. Immediately the girls came over as well, tilting their Easter baskets to show me all of their treasures also. I think the Holy Spirit was present too.

Then, a week ago, on my walk, I saw a preschool girl struggle with her bike on the sidewalk in front of me. She fell, but not hard. Her knees did not even touch the ground. I suppose that is one advantage to learning to ride bike when you are short and have less distance to fall. She had remounted the bike by the time I caught up with her. She wore a pink and purple helmet and the bike was obviously new.

“That’s a nice bike”, I said as I walked past her. “Thank you,” And I walked on, waving at her mom sitting in front of their house across the street. Then, seconds later I heard the same tiny voice, “I want to catch up to him.” Mom said something I didn’t understand. Probably a warning about not catching up to strangers. I think the Holy Spirit was present.

You may disagree, but I think children can usher us into the presence of God almost any time we allow them. Parents wanted to bring their children to Jesus to have him touch them. The disciples rebuked them.

It is important to note that children were not honored in the ancient world. They were loved and cared for, of course, but not held up as examples of anything. So, when Jesus not only says, “Allow the little children to come to me,” but also, “for God’s Kingdom belongs to such as these”, I’m sure there was plenty of shock, whispers and, “Did I hear that right?”

I’m not going to theologize about it much here, I just know my own experience. I have 40 years as a “Pentecostal”, and I have seen all sorts of experiences that are the real power and presence of God. I have also observed people trying to work up some sort of experience, hoping to come away with a touch of the divine.

For me, there has hardly been a time in my life, after spending time with children, that I needed to ask, “Where is God?” Didn’t Jesus even say that when we did anything to “the least of these” that we have done it to him?

If you want to see where the kingdom of God meets this present earthly life, spend some time with a child. Look for the face of Jesus. Don’t spend time instructing them (unless, of course, you are their teacher. We’re paying you to do that.) Just be with them. Rejoice over their Easter baskets. Listen to their stories about their pets. Hear their laughs, Dry their tears. Let them show you what they drew. Answer their question about that mole on your arm. Just be with them. I cannot explain it, but that is when I experience Christ and His kingdom most clearly.

Both Fire and Water

Both Fire and Water

(“So the angel said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God!’” Luke 1:30)

Tell me what I do not know about you,
let me hear it from your lips and eyes;
wipe my assumptions, delete my unruly religion
and bring both fire and water
to burn and begin the
renewal within.

The future is frightening; and yet you are there.
The questions are lightning; but thunder is rare.
The answers are puzzling; but the favored air
imbues today’s suffering; and grace still dwells here.

Planted Before Time

(“For by the blood of Christ we are set free, that is, our sins are forgiven. How great is the grace of God.” Ephesians 1:7)

Though days begin with pain
and evenings reflect the same
the world still is filled with shapes
that sponge sorrow of its fears and take
us within the arms of forgiveness.

Oh to embrace that which has embraced me,
to be satisfied fully with such primordial love,
to walk from past to place, from there to when,
slip to fall, ache to ecstasy without a doubt creasing
my brow.

Like water to immigrants in the desert,
like beaches to a prisoner midcontinent,
like sky to the burrower, like pardon to the borrower,
how shall I spend what I never bought nor earned?

Though honesty demands a full accounting,
and hiding is simply insanity,
this day; aching, breaking, wishing, undefined,
and unbending to my best devotions,

Still cannot uproot the footings, the old growth tree
planted before time to remind me,
dancing is still allowed, though the brain
is a step out of time.

My Whole Body Buzzes

My Whole Body Buzzes

("And he said to them, 'Go into all the world and proclaim the good news to the whole creation." Mark 16:15)

Today my whole body buzzes like a million tiny electrical bees
are coursing through every pore. Ready to cry at every sound,
ready to weep in alien silence. My brain sends signals that my
mind cannot control, less than whole, I have little to say.

But I do remember a voice, a thin voice, yet slightly wider than
a sparrow's, of a young girl struggling with her bike fallen to the ground.
She rode the sidewalk in front of me, a pink and purple helmet
protecting her preschool head.
She did not skin her knees, did not wince when she lost her balance.
She wrestled the contraption upright like she was grappling a goat,
and sat upon the seat just as I approached.

"Nice bike", said the old man walking for his health.
"Thanks," said the tiny voice scattering light like a prism.
The old man waved at the mother sunning across the street.

I continued my walk and seconds later, that thin-ray voice shot
sparkles through my thoughts, "I want to catch up with him."
Mom said something, it did not matter. I was a stranger, and my
sparrow-voiced child stayed behind.

And on days like this, when my skin crawls and my thoughts are
dark as shattered glass,
I remember I heard the good news from a Kingdom child

who simply wanted to ride her bike alongside an old man
who walks the same path in the suburbs each day, talking
to God
and hoping someone hears.

Promises

Promises

“Immediately a rooster crowed a second time. Then Peter remembered what Jesus had said to him: 'Before a rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.' And he broke down and wept.'” Mark 14:72

Has someone ever made a promise to you and then failed to follow up? Maybe the someone said they would mow your lawn on Tuesday, and by Wednesday, not only was your lawn still a scraggly mess, you hadn't heard from the person at all. Or you make plans with your best friend to go out of town for the day, and they call you minutes before you've scheduled to leave saying, they have "made other plans."

I know as a pastor I dealt with this many times. People would jump into a ministry; youth, driving the bus, leading worship, and, without more than a week's warning, would decide they weren't going to do it anymore. Here's the thing; most people think their reasons for "quitting" are valid. They found something they like to do better. They don't like the way the ministry is run. They need more family time. It was more of a commitment than they expected.

Granted, some gracefully exit by giving plenty of notice so other arrangements can be made. Our friend who cancelled the day trip at the last moment would have gained more respect had she discussed the matter a couple of days earlier.

We have all been on the receiving end of broken promises. And, if we are honest, we have not always dealt with our own commitments well. We dive in, discover the situation wasn't all we expected, and we find reasons to back out of it.

For me, the most difficult broken promises are the ones that are volunteered. "I'm with you 100%", says one person, when you haven't asked them for their support. Yet, when they know you are in a desperate situation, you don't hear from them. "We will have date night every week." Then the husband or wife forgets the promise, finds reasons to let it go a week or two, or it simply fizzles into emptiness because of the inertia of their everyday lives. "Hey, we'll be glad to run that ministry. Leave it to us. You don't need to worry about a thing." Then suddenly one week they are telling the church they found somewhere else to fellowship, taking the help they promised out the door with them.

Not all broken promises are quite so stark. Sometimes people are "promisers" by nature. They truly do want to help, but haven't thought through the time and energy required. Other times we are careless. We throw out phrases of support like "I've got your back", and forget it is an actual verbal contract with someone.

Peter was a bit like that. As Jesus neared His crucifixion, He told the disciples that they would all "fall away", quoting the prophet Zechariah: "I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered."

Peter, the "gotta do something" guy, popped right up and said, "Even if they all fall away, I will not!" Jesus, sadly I think, say that this very night, Peter will deny Him three times. Peter doubles down. "Even if I must die with you, I will never deny you!" All the other disciples chimed in.

I think Peter meant it. First of all, I don't think any of the disciples had any notion that Jesus was going to die within the next 36 hours, let alone be cruelly crucified by the Romans after a mock trial by the Jewish religious leaders.

But hours later, after Jesus has been taken away by soldiers, Peter sits outside the proceedings hanging around the courtyard. In the space of just a few hours he is asked three times if he was one of those who were with "that Nazarene, Jesus." And three times he denies it, "I don't even know what you're talking about."

After hearing the rooster crow the second time, as Jesus had predicted, Peter broke down and wept. His broken promise pierced his heart.

Peter actually had gone farther than the other disciples. Besides John, he's the only one that even follows Jesus to the trial. But then it gets scary. He is a man separated from Jesus, the person who had given him a new identity, a new chance in life, a new outlook on God and the world. And that man was in the hands of people trying to execute him.

Suddenly, Jesus no longer inspired him. Maybe Peter was even a bit disappointed by Jesus. His hopes were crumbling before his eyes. If they were going to do such things to Jesus, the one who healed the sick, fed thousands with a meager supply and stilled the storm, what would they do to his followers?  Peter had good reason to be frightened.

He wept bitterly. He didn't live up to his own proclamation about himself. "I'll never..." And within hours he was doing the very thing he swore he would never do. But Peter's humanity prevents him from excusing himself. His bitter weeping speaks of both his love for Jesus and a new awareness of how easy it is to make rash promises that we break without thinking.

I'm not suggesting you or I need to weep bitterly over every broken promise. But I do believe we need to take them seriously. Think this way; "What hurt may have come to someone else's heart because I did not do what I said?" And then do something about it if you can.

Remember, Jesus is not here to upbraid and scold you. So, there is no reason to hide your weakness, and we never grow if we try to excuse them. When the women come to the tomb after Jesus has risen, the angel has a special message for them: "But go, tell his disciples, even Peter, that he is going ahead of you into Galilee. You will see him there."

So, even if you have broken a promise to Jesus, He still wants you on His team. Not only that, you still have a huge role to play. On the Day of Pentecost, Peter preached to the very people he was afraid of 40 days earlier, and over 3,000 people were added to the church.

Be careful with your promises. When you break one, make it right. And remember, nothing can disqualify you from the love of Christ.