Take the Curtains Down

“After hanging the curtain from the clasps, bring the Chest of The Testimony in behind the curtain. The curtain will separate the Holy Place from the Holy-of-Holies.” Exodus 26:33 (The Message)

Our first house was a tiny two bedroom shack in Sulphur, Oklahoma. But, as with all first-time homes, it was our palace. As small as it was, we never felt cramped. There were just the two of us; no babies so far. Plus, we had accumulated very little furniture to fill up the miniature floor plan.

Half-way Over

Half-way Over

(“Also have them construct for Me a sanctuary, so that I may dwell among them.” Exodus 25:8)

It occurred to the five-year-old friend
that God was everywhere, start and end;
in the air, below the ground, God was everywhere,
up
and
down.

It occurred to him and to me,
while we kicked up our legs and knees
back and forth on our swing hung from the tree,
that God was everywhere we could daylight see,
and farther than darkness, and behind the breeze,
and where we could imagine, and beyond what we
dreamed.

It occurred to us, bright young scholars at play,
that God was everywhere, plainly night and day,
but more; the invisible takes up space; earth, universe,
my house and his. God takes up space, no less
my swing (spring morning) than his.

It occurred to us both, without an inkling of doubt
that, God being everywhere, faced and about,
Upon us, like Spirit over water, would hover
and incite us to scoot sideways in our swings
at least

Half-way over.

On the Island

On the Island

(“Your Father in heaven feels the same way. He doesn’t want to lose even one of these simple believers.” Matthew 18:14 [The Message])

Now fall asleep on the island of disconnect in the late winter
and isolation. The later the day, the
more acute the angles,
until the corner closes in on
your final remaining choices.

Fastened to your memory, the daylights of a hundred previous friends
light one moment where tears fall like crystals loosely from
grandma’s costume necklace.

The winds scatter your artwork, photos of you and the cast,
the actors who seldom diluted affection in the days we thought
we had captured every treasure and the jewels we would ever need.

Now where are we, island upon island, waters so swift
we only wave between the ships floating loaded
past our cinnamon bread morning? The winds howled
last night and noon the same; afternoon’s laughter
may find broken sunshine teasing our hope.

I know we spoke years ago, and you have forgotten my name.
I know we read the lines, fastening new disguises on our faces,
never knowing the actor; we played the parts so well.

But today I‘d give everything I have to know you over again,
to keep you closer again, to speak you truer again, to let love
find me, find you, find the entire cast and crew, newly
loved like older we were. I would find the courage
to never lie; you would find the smile we packaged
when we heard the story you once only told. We would
light a campfire, scan the smoky hills past dusk

And wait the Father’s voice to bring us all back home,
the voice we waited a lifetime to recall.

Facts or Truth?

The disciples, “Why do the religion scholars say that Elijah has to come first?” Jesus, “I’m telling you, Elijah has already come but they didn’t know him when they saw him. They treated him like dirt, the same way they are about to treat the Son of Man.” Matthew 17:10, 12 (The Message)

How do you size up the truth? Sometimes truth and error sound very similar. Someone can flatly lay out the facts of a situation in such a way as to leave out the kernel of truth. “The boss fired me,” may be the facts. “I was embezzling and got caught red-handed,” might be the truth.

Thrill Us Alongside

Thrill Us Alongside

(“Then Moses prayed to the Lord, ‘What am I going to do with these people? They are about to stone me to death!’” Exodus 17:4)

Thrill us alongside our easy beliefs,
be the jester for our fear’s relief,
magic acts explode and smoke,
banquets of miracles or we will revoke
your prophet’s license here and now!

Presume the definition lives up to your own hunger
and every flower means zero if it cannot be eaten.
Measure goodness by your own myopia
and every lantern is a black hole on a sinking boat.

Tell us what will make us cry for the moment,
not what makes us brood over undone reconstruction.
We are ready to release in buckets full of emotion
our agony to spend the rest of the day
lightly playing like no neighbor hungers like me.

Fewer faces, decrease the spaces between the
Kingdom Come
and the words our tongues make our
world become.

Hunger, let it grumble in me for you;
pangs and fasting, let them answer on earth
as it always is in Heaven.

We might drop the rocks, bruise our toes,
before we ever again refuse another step
that refuses to see Father’s love that chose
our provision tomorrow before we ever slept

Today.

He Healed Them

He Healed Them

(“Moving away from there, Jesus went along the sea of Galilee, climbed the hill and sat there.” Matthew 15:29)

We bring limps and aching, words we wasted,
fantastic thunder we thought was ours for the taking.
We bring our latest, our untasted seasons flavorless
for all our hot explanations.

We bring our tears and breaking, feuds we blooded,
brothers and sisters flooded by our dogma, our determination
to force the joints into place before You could touch them true.

We bring our sight and blindness, knots we tightened,
abrasive blindfolds we put over pretenses of kindness.
We bring our boil or freeze; we bring our luxury and ease,
We bring cuts and sharp; we bring dreary, we bring dull,
We bring our unfinished; we bring our diminished
proofs signed by the same ghosts You’ve named from
the beginning.

We bring our ending, we bring up the rear,
we bring up the past, we ring up the clear notes
we hope prove us innocent at last.

Who do You see, on the hill, under the tree,
as we elbow our way, morning to finally?

Who do you heal but the sick and maimed,
and why do we submit certificates of health: claimed, certified, insane.

We bring our innocence, broken at last;
we bring our signature, erased at last;
we bring our only hope, emptied at last.

And at last as first Your touch is birth and life,
we bring our claims and bury them,
our boasts and surrender them,
newborns breathing as first.

Eat My Words?

The food that you put into your mouth doesn’t make you unclean and unfit to worship God. The bad words that come out of your mouth are what make you unclean.” Matthew 15:11

“You are what you say”. That’s a little riff on the popular slogan, “You are what you eat.” Jesus makes no mistake about the powerful effect words have. We often refer to the damage they can do to the hearers. It is widely known that a spouse who is belittled year after year will eventually see themselves exactly as they have been spoken of. A person who was once confident and lively may, after a time, become reclusive and unsure.