When the Helper Comes

“When the Helper (the Holy Spirit) comes, He will show the world the truth about sin. He will show the world about being right with God. And He will show the world what it is to be guilty.” John 16:8

We live in a time when the existence of truth is questioned. We may even hear phrases such as “my truth” or “your truth”, as if some things change depending on the person or circumstance. And clearly, there are many things that are influenced and informed by the situation. That is why a person can be convicted of Manslaughter, Second Degree Murder or First Degree Murder. Depending on the circumstances of the case, one charge would apply more than another.

Yes, and, Our Back Pages

Yes, and, Our Back Pages

(“Pick up Mark and bring him with you, for he is useful to me for service.” 2 Timothy 4:12b)

The leaves twirled on the winter grass like
sparrows dancing romance. The final rosebuds nodded,
the summer campfires have turned to woodheat inside
winterized homes. Morning does not break in the Northwest
autumn, but sneaks up slowly from late night’s dark insistence
to the day obscured by couriers of rain. Even the dog barks
at the fallen log that lay there just the same day before,
and before just the same. And the cat stretches, winking
at the careless movement toward afternoon.

Those mornings carry more weight, though far less sunlight;
this season asks for reckoning, extra apparel and friends
spending
an evening watching the children play, begging to
go out into the rain.

These days suggest the joy we left behind at summer’s end,
this life asks for memories and names and daytrips and old friends.
Old friends, the ones we saw every day when we were young,
and spent the duration of every day playing like night never comes.

This time reminds our eyes, our state of mind, that young love ages,
friendships are memorized in stages, and every book eventually ends,
the few back pages we slowly read, hoping for a sequel,
longing for another childhood recommended to take us on the
last several seasons home.

Today the horizon is broken by hills and changing trees,
if not, I might see you coming. If not, I might hear your footsteps
on the sloppy leaves wanting to know if, one more time, just maybe,
I could come out to play.

Leave them Alone!

Leave them Alone!

(“The people of Ephraim have chosen to worship idols. Leave them alone!” Hosea 4:17)

The pencil lay on the desk, just askew of the
yellow legal pad
with scribbled outlines, adjectives unfinished,
and another attempt to open a crack in the common
worship, the vulgar songs that, with their bland truth
became palatable for even the vainest congregant
who even showed up early to be sure all the seats
were well-dusted.

Down to a nib, with the eraser hardened and slick as
a river-worn pebble, there was little to say; it had all been said.
But it always seemed there must be another way to get through the heads
that misread every Scripture, misinterpreted every face,
that prayed for money and keys misplaced to the gods of
“At Your Service”. The rich knew their god would only make
them richer. The poor hoped their god would take the tithe
the Masters insisted would make them richer too.

Barely grippable, beyond the grasp of most ordinary minds,
the last words for the day began to fade away as the wood
over-closed the lead within. There was no safety now,
the eraser would tear a hole with its sharp metal edges;
and someone might read and wonder how one who clasped
the barrel with such passion would run out of resources and stop
mid-thought.

But the paragraph ended, though we are not sure forever, and read,
barely, with the yellow paint a shadow of the pale gray letters:

I resign my…hope….…..future…fix furnace…warm beaches…
…..prayer……wonders or not……return……when………
day….sinks…plumbing repaired. Prayer.

Signed,
(barely legible)

I Will Do Anything

“I will do anything you ask of my Father in my name. In that way the Son will make my Father's name great.” John 14:13

There is a current television ad that features a person who has just had an accident with their car. They look around, sing the “State Farm” jingle, and just like a genie in a bottle, the insurance representative appears on scene. Not only does he take care of their automobile, but it seems he has unlimited power to supply fast food and reunite families. If only solving my problems were as easy as whistling the right tune.

How Bold

How Bold?

(“For the Spirit that God has given us does not make us timid; instead, his Spirit fills us with power, love, and self-control.” 2 Timothy 1:7)

I suspect there are many who feel they do not need this verse. I would be the first to agree. There are whole groups of people who have no problem with timidity at all. They demand a new room in a motel of the sheets are the wrong size, or boldly jump the line at the grocery store without a glance back at the mother behind them, laden with packages, children and a purse hanging somewhere from her arms or shoulders.

Company

“Company”

(“Then Jesus poured water into a bowl and began to wash the followers’ feet. He dried their feet with the towel that was wrapped around his waist.” John 13:5)

Even a poet’s feet get filthy,
feel squishy between the toes after rain,
freeze in the winter.
But I would not claim to be a poet
just to redeem my claim to stand in line
for another pedicure.

Poet, defined; the words they line up in a dictionary:
one who writes poetry.

If the offer is to all who fulfill the definition, void of any
reference to the quality of work product, laureates or publications,

Then I think I will, if you please, allow my uncut toenails
be seen as I sit in between number one and three. They had
an appointment, and I decided at the last minute. My socks are
dank, end of day.

Poet’s sweat, anxiety happens.

Peter said it all for me, didn’t he? “No, not my feet!
Please don’t touch them! They are wrinkled, old with calluses,
black with city dirt and are quiet ugly, having inherited my
mother’s long second toe and my father’s hammer.”

Peter heard it for me, didn’t he? “You are not one of mine,
if I do not wash your feet. I know your objection: you are human,
I am divine. Now let me wash you; it is time.”

Peter said it all for me, one more time, didn’t he? “Then a shower, please!”

Peter heard it for us, didn’t he? “You’re clean already”.

Some think poets hardly work and would rather throw words to the wind
and hope they float down rearranging again into the next epic. And we do.
If it were possible. If world’s were created thusly.

He calls me clean and I still wash the sweat vigorously,
(my scent may define me). But today I sit in line, talk shop
with poets one and three
and wonder that any of us are asked
to keep Him company.

Buzz or Thunder

Buzz or Thunder

“The proud religious law-keepers said among themselves, ‘Look, we are losing followers. Everyone is following Jesus!” John 12:19

Sometimes the sounds of crowds are just the buzz
like ocean breakers
to lull me back to sleep, deeply completing the dreams
that never appear upon waking.

Just like the scrum after a fumble, with blues and whites
rolling on the green; no one can tell who the ball belongs to,
no one can see the possession, it takes so long to
wrestle the padded combatants from the leather ball
that looks as if it landed here from Mars or farther.

The noise at the endzone, winning or losing, would wake a baby
finally nursed, sweetly breathing. Sticking everything in the infants’ mouth,
from cheerios to fingers, pursehandles to jacket sleeves;
the thunder shakes the earth discordant. Though, if the child
grows up with the barking of partisans, she may enjoy the rumbling
the wakes the dead and keeps the dog shivering under the bed.

Success sells, they say, but my way of thinking is to sell the best,
and the rest will likely follow.

I am sorry, my Savior, that today we would rather cheer a
pink limousine, and hope that Christina A. or Britney S.
is riding in the back reading a magazine. It’s a story
for cafeteria talk, and the room would be ours once.

But, like Jesus disciples, we want the children to keep their
little mouths shut, walk quietly and properly around the house
we call His,
for reverence must outweigh enthusiasm, and so we have learned
to cheer at the far end of the endzone

And whisper at the end of every Amen.