Weeping Waters

Saved from the waters,
may I too be saved from the waters.
I hear them,
their breaking in the background.
I feel them,
touching my eyes.
I need some light
to arise out of my evening time.
Let me speak true things,
and think good thoughts,
not these heavy ones
from where they come I know not.
But they rush over me,
they pour down on me,
the swirl
and they swallow.
O Lord come down
and lift me up.
(It seems so odd to say this
when I hear the world weeping.)

(1 John 1:5-2:2, Psalm 124, Matthew 2:13-18)

Queens and Kings

These queens and kings,
they know nothing
of being true kings,
of being good queens.
Their scepters are sold
to behemoths,
gigantic leviathan
consuming the poor.
A true ruler
gives a rule of love,
of self-sacrifice,
justice and peace.
The prophet King,
the graceful Queen,
this is the thought,
the proclaimed,
and though she
will never succeed,
he will never
impose himself,
their reign lives on.

(Jeremiah 23:5-8, Psalm 72, Matthew 1:18-25)

twelve::seventeen

(a homily)

"O God, with your judgment endow your people to follow their King. May justice flower in the days we submit to him, and profound peace."

Something magnificent if happening among us. It has been happening for years. A king has come, a King who has blessed all tribes. He is of the tribe of Judah, mighty in its meekness. He is the descendant of Hebrews and holy women of other peoples. He cried mightily on this earth, as an infant, as an innocent criminal forgiving his murderers. And his cry reaches us today. We are to hear it and follow.

Let us recognize our King of both humble human genealogy and incomprehensible, mysterious, eternal, divine Godhood. We are called to recognize our King by following his way of justice, peace, and mercy. We hear this call as we worship and pray, opening ourselves to the direction of the Holy Spirit. Such a calling, such a way of life requires the stability only the Spirit offers, and we touch and taste our King's sustenance in the meal before us. We feast on his body and blood which was unjustly broken. But his justice overcomes injustice; his peace overcomes violence. Let us come to God in this meal with all our life asking that we may be made people worthy and able to follow our King, the Lord Jesus Christ, the God who brings justice and peace to the world.

(Genesis 49:2, 8-10, Psalm 72, Matthew 1:1-17)

twelve::thirteen

The desert
is soon to bloom.
Zeniths last
but a moment,
they fade.
Births happen
every minute.
Where will
we go?
I'm going
to the desert,
the one
colored green.
Please come
with me,
we will see
beautiful things.
Winds of force
and gentle breeze,
sitting quiet
under trees.
If we have ears,
listen with eyes,
compassion shines
even in the dark.

(Isaiah 41:13-20, Psalm 145, Matthew 11:11-15)

twelve::ten

(a homily)

The world, our land, is a desert. It is dry, and easily do the sands shift. Easily are promises forgotten, dreams scattered, ideas proven unsustainable. Yes, winter is the most honest of seasons with fallen leaves and dreary days, a looking glass by which we can view, an atmosphere in which we can feel the inward parts of the world.

But a garden is germinating. A spring is beginning to gurgle. The gray clouds are emptying their reservoirs of rain. A light is preparing to dawn.

From this garden's fruits we are given sustenance. The spring's waters, refreshment. As the clouds perform their task and part, the light shines down to reveal that God has prepared a new way. This way goes through the desert, and it gives hope to those who travel it. It bids sinners to walk with new steps, to think with a renewed mind, to dream holy dreams.

We are taking such steps as we approach the table before us. We taste the fruits of a garden that grows in a desert when we eat the bread and drink the wine. Even in these dark and honest days of winter it is revealed to us that a deeper truth exists, one that penetrates the darkness, for it is the foundation of all that is good.

If we taste this truth, if we hear the bubbling spring of life, if we feel the light shining down on us, let us go from this place exposed and transformed. And let us learn to invite others to travel the highway with us, even if we or they must be transported on a stretcher, for Christ will heal us so we may walk. The Spirit will strengthen us and enlighten us to live faithfully in the midst of a desert.

(Isaiah 35:1-10, Psalm 85:9-14, Luke 5:17-26)

twelve::nine

This first week of Advent,
first week of the new church year,
I have seen the darkness
draw nearer and near
engulfing my mind
my thoughts and positions.
But a light will dawn,
has dawned,
and one day, again,
I will feel the breeze
carrying its warmth.

eleven::twentyseven

I hear of wars,
read of insurrections,
positioning of fleets,
underground plans.
I'm not exactly afraid,
feeling safe here
in these mountains.
Why would I ever
taste these wars,
touch insurrections?
It's more comfortable
to read the dreams
of kings and conquerers
from a computer screen.
Jesus' words are spoken
daily by the structures,
"I am he,"
"the time has come."
Few can remember
how to listen,
how to not listen,
for few want to hear
rumors of wars
for the hate they are.
And I don't want to fear.
But I'm feeling trapped
in safety and knowledge;
I know nothing
of suffering.

(Daniel 2:31-45, Daniel 3:57-61, Luke 21:5-11)

eleven::twentysix

Forgive me, those who regularly read these words, for being unfaithful this past week and failing to write. But, seeing that it is Monday, nearly now has been a Monday, I do have a homily to offer... Hopefully I will be better this week with writing poems.

I proceed into this homily with caution. It feels rather natural to me to reflect up today's readings from a socially provocative perspective. After all, here are four children of Israel refusing the provisions of the empire. Certainly the church today has something to learn from such a story. I'd also like to look at the implications of the Gospel reading and say something about social inequality. After all, aren't widows suppose to be provided for by the community, not taken for all they're worth, as one reading of the incident may tell?

But I proceed with caution because the words spoken now are to be used to direct us to the table. As such, it would probably be best to not the significance of eating in the reading from Daniel. What the children of Israel ate and how they ate defined them. As captives in the world of the Chaldeans, food and faith maintained their identity. In keeping true to their God, they were given knowledge and proficiency even in the ways of the Chaldeans and found favor with Nebuchadnezzar.

What then with us? We may not be so obviously in a foreign land as Daniel and his friends, but like them are we to called to a particular diet? It seems so. Literally, we are called to eat and drink particular food and drink. Further, we recognize in the Eucharistic celebration that it is God that provides the bread and wine, it is God that makes them holy, the Body and Blood of Christ.

And now it might be appropriate to make mention of the subversive nature of this meal. Like the children of Israel, we too are offered imperial food which has the potential to defile us. According to the underwriting political philosophies and ideologies of our socio-cultural-economic setting, we are "entitled" to seek to feast upon power, the ultimate liberal happiness. Such is the story we snacked on in our youth, whether or not we knew what we were tasting. But the meal God calls us to is one that in partaking of we proclaim the death of Christ. We feast to remember that we are called not to power, but to a sacrificial, self-giving way of life. This remembrance, this knowledge, if you will, also proclaims the resurrection, God's favor. Refusing the world's provision does not necessitate a total falling out of favor with the world (though it is likely those that seek power will hate us). After all, we are prepared by this diet of bread and wine to be participants in God's act of redeeming all the creation. It is with this meal and as the children of God who continue the self-giving ministry of Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit that subversive and redemptive action is carried and lived out.

(Daniel 1:1-6, 8-20, Daniel 3:52-56, Luke 21:1-4)

eleven::nineteen

(a homily)

Will things ever change? When will the people of the Covenant made with the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob cease to turn from that Covenant and God to the rulers of the day? It still happen today with the people of the New Covenant. When will it stop? Can no one see that the rulers of this world for the most part simply destroy? The powers invade new places and customs; beautiful distinctions are suffocated for the sake of hegemony. And all too often the people of the church, the people of God are right alongside the rulers, blessing their destructive regimes. Yes, the proverbial Crusades. The swastika embossed upon red in German chapels. The star spangled banner proudly placed in American sanctuaries. Will we ever learn?

Living the Christian life is beyond difficult. It necessitates a miracle. It is counter-intuitive to everything surrounding us, and so it is more than difficult to learn how to live as a Christian. It is certainly not helpful when the crowds rebuke us for trying to reach out to Jesus for healing. When we admit that we are blind, they try to silence our cry. In our setting, the crowd doesn't have to work too hard to deafen and stifle discipleship. It has the aid of a dominant culture that thinks it can do nothing wring, one that even the churches think OK to appropriate, and so the admittedly blind one won't easily be understood as seek the Good.

Yet, Jesus hears the call for mercy calls us to share his meal. See, this meal we are about to eat is one of the most subversive customs of all time. The bread and the blood of the new and everlasting covenant make us new. And somehow this meal and the fellowship it embodies is the answer to the questions I've asked.

We need to listen attentively to the Scriptures and stories of and about God's people throughout the centuries. Our time, though distinct, is not much different that other times. The church, it seems, is always on the brink of new forms of captivity. And yet we live in a new time as a new creation. In this reality we are given our identity and the ability to live differently than the world, to be determined, as it were, to die rather than profane the New Covenant. In our baptism we learned to die by identifying ourselves with Christ's death. At the Eucharist we are sustained in the new life of Christ in the power of the Spirit. And so, here we are, among God's people, in solidarity with the people of the covenant throughout all time, a people who will not follow the rulers of the earth, but who will be lead by the Holy Spirit, the One who makes all things new.

(1 Maccabees 1:10-15, 41-43, 54-57, 62-63, Psalm 119:53, 61, 134, 150, 155, 158, Luke 18:35-43)

eleven::eightteen

Everything around us seems to be going to hell.
And maybe it is.
But perhaps some will hear the other call
and walk in the new way.
Those willing to suffer for truth,
those willing to give up power in favor of love.
God, you hear us and know us
and we need your help.
The powerful, may they fall,
and may we lift them up in a new way.

(Malachi 3:19-20; Psalm 98; 2 Thessalonians 3:7-12; Luke 21:5-19)

eleven::fourteen

My guess is that they
imagine themselves as gods,
sitting around tables long,
long meetings putting numbers
into databases,
sending bombs
into enemy bases.
The powerful, the suit-clad,
the mighty, the oilmen.
And they think
they'll never be judged
knowing the weaknesses
they impose upon the weak.
In truth, I don't see an end
to the chaos and control,
except that it ends in me
and it ends in the church
when it realizes
from what it's been set free,
returning then to the healer,
the God who sits over gods
and subtly reminds them,
though they block their ears,
of the place where they belong.

(Wisdom 6:1-11, Psalm 82, Luke 17:11-19)

eleven::thirteen

I have said nothing
if my words stop with me,
trailing off into some
self-congratulation.
For words are never
only for ourselves,
but always related
to other ears and minds.
Unworthy are sayings
meant to insulate,
meant to self-serve,
forgetting life.
Oh, God am I just?
Am I working well
or simply speaking words?
I want to lift others,
delight the oppressed
and worry the principalities.
I need you Word,
your Spirit to say anything.

(Wisdom 2:23-3:9, Psalm 34, Luke 17:7-10)

eleven::twelve

(a homily)

Today's readings are a dream collection. In the couple of years now of writing short homilies for morning gatherings, I've come to rejoice when some common theme seems to flow through the first reading, the psalm, and the Gospel passage. The readings aren't always so well coordinated in Ordinary Time as they appear to be today. We might say the message the Word of God has for us today, based on the lectionary texts, is this: be disciplines and do not sin for God is an all-encompassing God present everywhere. The attentive listener might decipher such a message and the wise preacher might justly expound upon the plain word of God.

And yet in the the midst of these choice readings and their straight-forward words, I'm troubled as a homily writer. Is anything ever that easy, especially the Word of God. Has not quick and easy theological reflection led to disaster throughout the centuries? Preachers and parishioners, history seems to elucidate, would do well to not assume they 'get it'. I'm wondering if giving up 'getting it', if letting go of greedy knowledge, will make room for wisdom to take up residence in our souls and for little, yellow round seeds of faith to germinate in our spirits, uprooting the age old tree of knowledge that never quite helped us in figuring things out.

This life is complicate, and this life is a gift. Into this life the Word of God, filling the world already as Spirit, manifesting in the flesh in Jesus Christ. Responding to the Word of God as heard and seen in Christ does not 'uncomplicate' life. In Christ we're called to recognize there is knowledge too wonderful for us, too lofty for us to attain. We won't discover that there are depths too deep and heights too high, however, until we dive into the nether world and reach up to the heavens. Such a task, such a calling, such a way of life has the inevitable potential to be overwhelming, and so we have a guide, the Holy Spirit, the Wind of Wisdom. And we have a meal to sustain us on our journey, to help us remember as well that these depths we seek in worship are to be made manifest in the world.

The message we hear today in the Word of God is not all words, and it's not something to simple be explained. It is much more profound and beautiful, for it is Word and Spirit enfleshed, it is bread and wine for strength and sobriety. In short, the message is an invitation to follow the Way, to dwell in the Truth, and to enter into the Life. May the Spirit guide us, the Son teach and touch us, and the Father sustain us and give us life.

(Wisdom 1:1-7, Psalm 139, Luke 17:1-6)

eleven::eleven

Empires and states
are merchants and practitioners
of death.
Maybe more, maybe less.
But in truth
seek resurrection.
Beyond the powers
you will have life everlasting,
and this life is lived now.

(2 Maccabees 7:1-2, 7-9, Psalm 17, 2 Thessalonians 2:16-3:5, Luke 20:27-28)

Birthday Poem

My body came out of the womb
this day, nearly a quarter century ago.
And here I am,
in a beautiful world destroyed,
temples of God ignored,
waters polluted.
But, today I hear too of fresh waters.
Somewhere, somehow, there are fresh waters.
They are flowing from the temple.
They are rushing from consecrated temples.
Oh, God, close my eyes that I may hear.
Open my ears that I may see.
Things are not as dark as my words
often lead them to sound.
Or maybe they are,
but there is light, too,
water, too,
so long as we will upturn the tables,
the stands and foundations of ill commerce,
and then we will live, holy, true.
And may my body
be among the temples flowing
life giving water to a dying world.

(Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica in Rome, Ezekiel 47:1-2, 8-9, 12, Psalm 46, 1 Corinthians 3:9-11, 16-17, John 2:13:22)

eleven::(seven)eight

I come with nothing,
even more,
I mustn't come with a thing.
Empty I approach,
and out of the void I offer,
I have so much to give.
From my emptiness
I see your emptiness
and I know only together
we will be filled.

(seven: Romans 13:8-10, Psalm 112, Luke 14:25-33; eight: Romans 14:7-12, Psalm 27, Luke 15:1-10)

ten::six

Don't try too hard,
unnecessarily rambling,
but settle down in the profound.
There is much you can do,
much more you cannot.
All you should do
you will be gifted for.
So quiet down
and listen.
Goodness is still in the air
and you have breath.

(Romans 12:5-16, Psalm 131, Luke 14:15-24)

eleven::five

This is my first post for the month of November. So far two wonderful Solemnities have been celebrated, All Saint and All Souls. I failed to write reflections on them, and still yet I will not. But I will note that we have a lot to learn from the saints of the past and we must seek to be saints in the present. Holy ones, set apart, not to be divisive but to be a source of unity and healing in a broken and sick world.

Throughout the ages the saints of God have served God and people in dire circumstances, often in times and settings that would have caused anyone to question the existence of God. They have had to face famine, drought, and war all along being called to remain faithful to the Good News and the hope that the world is being and is yet to be redeemed.

Ours in no different a time. We have war on all sides. The sources of fresh water are quickly disappearing. We have either too little or too much rain. Energy sources continue to fuel destruction as they hiccup their final reserves. Leaders in governments and powerful businessmen seek personal gain at the expense of billions.

Yes, this is a time that the saints need to be revealed. If you are a saint, speak up. Pray. Talk with friends. Work on living differently in this world gone mad, this world that is killing itself, this world that God gave us to care for. We have failed in caring for it, and so Creation groans. Let us groan, too, but not only groan but also seek to mend the pains.

:::
(a homily)

"Oh, the depths of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How inscrutable are his ways!" It is always good to be reminded of the greatness of God. Perhaps we've got stuck on thinking highly about ourselves and need to hear of the One who needs no council. Or perhaps we've been brought so low by circumstances and realities around us that we need to hear of the great love of God whose saving help heals and protects us. And always we need to be reminded that God's praises are to always be on our lips, overflowing from the depths of our beings being renewed by the Holy Spirit.

Upon remembrance, upon receiving the Word and mercy of God, our lives are reshaped. We are able to question ourselves, to take account of our activities and the way we relate ourselves to the world. Mercy's work does not cease in us, but is meant to flow out of all we do. When we are humbles, when we pray sincerely and unceasingly, when we open ourselves up to the unsearchable ways of God, we are made answers even to others' prayers. If we are remembering well, we might become answers to the prayers of the poor and dejected. If we are remembering well, our voices might speak words of wisdom and truth with transformative effects.

But are we answers? I confess that often I am not. I'm more a cause for questions and confusion. And so I need the council of God and God's people. We all need council. I suppose that is one of the reasons we gather here together. We are drawn to the mystery of community and what it might offer. We come here because we know how often we need to be reminded of the great love of God in Christ Jesus. "From him and through him and for him are all things." We are here to gather around the remembering table to be reoriented to the One who has saved us from ourselves. The unsearchable ways of God are made real in the bread and wine, and so we eat and drink to remember that which on our own we could have never known. Let us prepare to encounter the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God and pray we would be made to be answers to prayers, faithful apostles of God in the power of the Holy Spirit.

ten::thirty

Make not assumptions,
but remain quiet
when you can
and listen instead.
The Spirit knows
better to pray
what is good
and is true.
Be the last,
not the first;
to be healthy
is to be
in the grace
of our God.
It is pride
making us blind,
so be silent,
only then speak.

(Romans 8:26-30, Psalm 13, Luke 13:22-30)

O mother, our Father

She groans, our mother,
the earth:

"When will they remember,
my children,
the children of God,
and reveal their dirt,
rub in the dust
to which they will return?
I want to replant them,
to watch them grow,
to see them weep with me."

O Father in heaven,
remind us of our earthiness
and the place your Word made.
With words and touch
make us reminders,
the sons and daughters of God
being revealed.

(Romans 8:18-25, Psalm 126, Luke 13:18-21)

ten::twentynine

(a homily)

We are children. Children of God. Children of hope. Heirs. Adopted.

We are sons and daughters of the God who favors the widow, the orphan, the poor. The God who for the sake of the forsaken suffered on the cross. We, too then, are to be sufferers as joint heirs with Christ.

And Christ is the Word of God made flesh, present in the world to make the bent straight and show the straight their crooked spines. Christ releases those in bondage to flesh and makes them the Body of Christ, a community that does not forsake the physical, but works towards the redemption of all things by the Spirit.

This Spirit is among us. The Spirit of Truth. The Spirit that raised Christ from the dead. The Spirit that brings us life. The Spirit that will sanctify the bread and wine. The Spirit that makes us holy, that, should we be open, guides us in all we do, continuing the ministry of Christ in the world.

So, children, let us come before our Father, Abba, the God of salvation, of healing and reconciliation. We are called to join in the life of Christ, to be glad and rejoice, to celebrate our liberation, and to go forth as a sign of the Kingdom.

(Romans 8:12-17, Psalm 68, Luke 13:10-17)

ten::twentyseven

I do not know what to think this morning. The readings tell me that those in Christ, once dead, are now alive by the Spirit. The Psalmist affirms God created land and all that is on on the waters of chaos, and in them as well. And Then we are to repent at the sound of Jesus' words concerning the guilt we all have. So where are we? Free? Created? Guilty? Can we be all of these at once?

I feel rather free most of the time. I'm aware of the creation, and as such, the Creator. I'm beginning to understand the stories of creation. And I see all around me and inside me how quickly freedom fails and how unaware creatures, well humans, are unrepentant of their ignorance of the creation, choosing hate over love, greed over contentment, acquisition over sharing. And the world falls apart.

But what then of the fig parabolic fig tree? Here is our sign of hope. Somehow, in the midst of this weedy garden, left to destroy itself by the powers, stripped of nutrients by deceived and scared and poor farmers, there is a gardener willing to care about a tree, to work to see it bear fruit. This gardened is freed by the Spirit, seeing the possibility of health in a corrupted plant, the new creation of fleshy fruit. By grace, freedom, guilt, and creation come together to tell as story of renewal and hope, caring love.

Let us seek after this hope. Chaos has been invoked by the powers and state officials, but the children of God, filled with the Spirit know freedom and through us the world can be touched for renewal.

(Romans 8:1-11, Psalm 24, Luke 13:1-9)

ten::(twentyfive)twentysix

Go inside there,
there into the inner most,
the catacombs of the soul,
the dank quiet parts.
Silence yourself
and come back together,
the will and members.
Speak simply
difficult things.
Delight in the guidance
the light,
the distinctions
and unions.
Come out and look,
see the world,
speak from the depths.

(twentyfive: Romans 6:19-23, Psalm 1, Luke 12:49-53; twentysix: Romans 7:18-25, Psalm 119, Luke 12:54-59)

ten::twentythree(twentyfour)

The following is a sermon I preached October 23 at Hopwood Christian Church for the Adoration service.. The text happened to fit in well with the lectionary Gospel texts, Luke 12:22-31.

"Consider the Lilies"

“Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these.”

Let us, for a moment, consider the lilies. I’m thinking particularly of the ones that begin to bloom in the late spring and early summer by the roads of East Tennessee. The beautiful, bursting, day lilies that remind me that this is a good place to be. There is something mysterious in the way they open and close throughout their days under the sun, or even when they’ve been displaced from the ground and put in an empty Dr. Enuf bottle on the living room table. Their beauty mesmerizes me; their knowledge of when to open, speaking volumes with their intricate and varied shades of orange, and when to go into solitude and await the call of the daylight shames me. How do they know to come up again that time every year? How are they, in their nakedness before the world, so delightfully attired? So often we speak out of turn, and we have to try so hard to maintain an image. Why are we not like the lilies? Consider the lilies.

Considering the beauty of created things can help us to consider the beauty of their Creator. Surely, we may be tempted to forget God in looking upon the material world. But doing so would simply show us to be disoriented, unable to relate ourselves to the world in holiness. Thomas Merton, in reflecting on the way the saints have related themselves to the world, says, “It was because the saints were absorbed in God that they were truly capable of seeing and appreciating created things and it was because they loved Him alone that they alone loved everybody” (23). Further, Merton writes, “The saint knows that the world and everything made by God is good, while those who are not saints either think that created things are unholy, or else they don’t bother about the question one way or another because they are only interested in themselves” (24).

Here we begin to see the problem. Self-interest leads to disinterest in the creation all around us, from the trees, to the rivers, to the ozone layer, to the soil, and yes, the children of God throughout the world. Not considering lilies just might lead to not considering the stranger and the supposed friend. It is disinterest in the good things God has created, and misguided attention to self that leads to division among people and their environment; it leads even to the great evil of an institution such as War. Seeing only the need to acquire and wield power over others, the masses rally behind prideful, yet “sound-sounding” clichés marinated in hatred and greed. Out of an unwillingness to have faith that God can be trusted to provide for their needs and a blindness to the goodness of all that God has made, people pit themselves against one another in war rooms, battlefields, the streets, even in churches, dormitories, classrooms, and households, all the while thinking there is no other way. But there is another way. There is the Way.

Let us remember, then, that what God has created is good. Fifth century mystic and bishop, St. Diadochos of Photiki, has some helpful words for us today as we struggle to see the goodness around us: "Evil does not exist by nature, nor is any man naturally evil, for God made nothing that was not good. When in the desire of his heart someone conceives and gives form to what in reality has no existence, then what he desires begins to exist. We should therefore turn our attention away from the inclination to evil and concentrate it on the remembrance of God; for good, which exists by nature, is more powerful than our inclination to evil. The one has existence while the other has not, except when we give it existence through our actions." All that God has made is good.

Consider the lilies, good in their existence as lilies, as they should be. Consider the human being: very good, made in the image of God, according to God’s likeness. Sadly, human history can sometimes seem to be a chronicle of the forgetting of that image, but we are here to remember. And we have mundane, yet good and beautiful things to help us remember. We have gathered to sing songs of angels and poets, saints and sinners. The Word of God has been read over us, bidding us to listen, training us to hear creation weep. We gather here to shed off the things that hinder us, the stuff beyond the clothing of a lily: vanity, fear, pride, fashion, doubt, bitterness. We have gathered here to see simple bread and fruit of the vine transformed into a holy meal that transforms us. In this place of worship, we are faced with profound simplicity: birds neither reap nor sow, yet they eat; grass does nothing, but no designer-clad runway model could outshine the beauty of a simple flower that grows in a field. This is the vision of a new creation, a good creation.

Worship, prayer, the Eucharist: these all draw us beyond ourselves, shaping us into people able to concentrate on the remembrance of God, to love God fully, and in turn love all. In love, and for the Kingdom of God, we strive. As we endeavor, let us consider the lilies, or whatever our favorite flower or tree or animal may be. Let us consider our neighbor, our brothers and sisters. Let us consider and contemplate the goodness of God seen in all that is.

ten::twentytwo

(a homily)

Gathering here together this morning we receive a grand inheritance. Even if we find it hard to have faith, we are in the right place, for we are reminded by the Scripture and by the liturgy that God provides. God, though subtle the presence, is among us, in the Word, even in the one next to us, behind us, before us. The Holy Spirit, in us and in our brothers and sisters, gives us faith to believe, faith to help us become rich in what matters to God.

In other words, we are here because we recognize or are learning to recognize that we cannot provide for ourselves. We are here honestly and humbly seeking God, our true sustenance. We, like the bread and wine, need the descent of the Holy Spirit upon us to be made holy, to be made the body of Christ. As that Body we are able to leave behind possessions and live into the prophecy of Zechariah, to be a free people, holy and righteous in the sight of God. In light of our humble worship, we can speak truthfully and prophetically to a world bent on building destructive storehouses. In the Spirit's power we can do this with mercy and love.

And so, let us continue on here toward the table in prayerful hop and love. Let us open ourselves up to the power of the life-giving Spirit to the glory of God our Father and the Savior Jesus Christ, God's Holy and Righteous Son.

(Romans 4:20-25, Luke 1:69-75, Luke 12:13-21)

ten::twentyone

Listen and rely on the Word.
Mere disappointment follows
the other kinds of options.
Listen to others thoughts
out of love and trust
that goodness can flow.
Here begins conversation,
faith in the sight of another.
Keep asking, in love,
keep listening, in trust.
And so help arrives.

(Exodus 17:8-13, Psalm 121, 2 Timothy 3:14-4:2, Luke 18:1-8)

ten::eighteen(nineteen)twenty

Remember, believe,
do not forget, words
are not always your own.
If they are good words,
they are not yours.
For good words come
to those open,
those attuned in silence,
humble and ready,
listening and asking,
living and loving.
There are better words,
sentences of peace,
poems of grace,
prayers of understanding.
There is always silence,
that waiting,
that patience and stillness
moving hearts.
Remember that God remembers,
brings together,
sends Spirit, truth,
ever-flowing love.
And here words
show Word.
The language
of a stilled tongue
speaks volumes,
healing iniquitous vocabularies,
breathing life
through windy words.


(eighteen: 2 Timothy 4:10-17, Psalm 145, Luke 10:1-9; nineteen: Romans 4:1-8, Psalm 32, Luke 12:1-7; twenty: Romans 4:13, 16-18, Psalm 105, Luke 12:8-12)

ten::(sixteen)seventeen

I've been wondering
about the water, again,
that life source
running out today.
Some still rely
one the watery depths
for provision and travel,
and I wonder
if they are more aware
of Tiamat,
the goddess of chaos.
(Most seem content
with the bitch-goddess, Fortuna.)
With our ocean liners,
country destroyers,
jet skis, yachts,
false ponds, training pools,
toilets, showers, and hot tubs,
we're disengaged,
desensitized to the mystery
beyond the coast.
The shark and the ocean are one.
The human and land are one.
But are these opposed?
Can we not see both are calling?
They bid us to question,
to consider the depths,
to meditate on the heights,
and it seems with them
there is little room to waver.
The waters call us to wash,
and not the surface only.
Land calls us home.
The waters underground
and from the sky,
these we need to consider more.
Remember the rain's taste,
the springs of delight and life.

(sixteen: Romans 1:16-25, Psalm 19, Luke 11:37-41; seventeen: Romans 2:1-11, Psalm 62, Luke 11:42-46)

ten::fifteen

You want signs, they are here.
They may not seem spectacular,
love, these days, not being something trained for,
therefore difficult to observe
unless lived in and by.

(Romans 1:1-7, Psalm 98, Luke 11:29-32)

ten::twelve(thirteen)fourteen

Things are shakier that you thought.
Things will not stop.
The unjustices, the lies,
they will keep circulating
in a spiral up and down.
I raise my glass.
I tip my cup.
Oblation and creation.
Words have come undone.
What meaning do we want?
What meaning is given,
are we given?
I will accept the gift.
May I ask that you'd try to think?

(twelve: Joel 1:13-15; 2:1-2, Psalm 9, Luke 11:15-26; thirteen: Joel 4:12-21, Psalm 97, Luke 11:27-28; 2 Kings 5:14-17, Psalm 98, 2 Timothy 2:8-13, Luke 17:11-19)

ten::eleven

They give snakes and scorpions,
the wicked, the capitalists.
Your hand pains you
taking handouts.
It is not so with the just,
the contemplative,
the lovers.
How much for the Holy Spirit
they plea,
and it is given.
See it in their eyes.
They gain never for themselves.
The heat is rising,
the fires the wicked stoke,
keeping themselves warm,
they will burn
like the trees they've uprooted.

(Malachi 3:12-20, Psalm 1, Luke 11:5-13)

ten::ten

Teach us how to pray
beyond ourselves,
to You,
God of love,
righteousness,
patience,
grace,
truth,
justice,
peace,
hope,
all goodness.
Let us not run,
or wail out of selfishness,
but to pray just prayers,
not "just" prayers,
but prayers we learn
and take into our hearts,
transforming,
uncomfortable,
unnatural,
creative.
In the words
and silence,
the Kingdom transcend,
Your will is done,
forgiveness,
and evil overcome.

(Jonah 4:1-11, Psalm 86, Luke 11:1-4)

Thoughts

Burdened by many working thoughts,
the anxieties of communities of thought
conversing and arguing, questioning,
wondering if anything is ever said.

Nearly ready to give up on words,
their inability to rehearse.

You, thoughts, working so hard,
settle yourselves; sit a while.

Forgive yourselves of confusion,
things you will never know.

Flesh yourselves out in silence,
and be at peace through touch.

(Jonah 3:1-10, Psalm 130, Luke 10:38-42)

ten::eight

(a homily)

When I'm found out, when I'm caught in the middle of saying some questionable things, for instance, my throat instantaneously becomes parched. It's as if my pride absorbs all of the moisture in my mouth. "Did I really say that? Really?" And then, like Jonah, the turbulent sea seems inviting. Like the scholar of the Law, a trite statement seems appropriate. Anything to escape investigation.

And so we operate. We probably all have our ways of justifying ourselves. The people we see in our scripture readings this morning did. Accountability for our words and introspective contemplation are not virtues expounded upon in the culture's currents. And so we would like to jump ship when we're forced to face ourselves. And, perhaps, this is what we should do, with some guidance of course. I suggest this out of consideration of today's "psalm," which doesn't come out of the psalter but is Jonah's prayer in the belly of the fish. Going overboard, he recognized his folly and cried out to God. Jonah, upon fainting, remembered the Lord. In the end he had to face himself. And God rescued him from his attempt to escape the truth.

So many of our problems arise out of an unwillingness to be truthful. However, we are here, in the midst of this liturgy, among brothers and sisters, to learn to be truthful. We are here because we are aware of our great need to be rescued from the pit. In faith, not out of a desire to escape, we throw ourselves overboard into the sea of grace. In those waters we are refreshed and once back on the shore we are directed to a table with bread to nourish us and wine to wet our mouths once parched by a fear of ourselves. But the bread and the wine renew us. They bring us into union with God and with each other. And we are made to go out in the likeness of Christ in the merciful fellowship of the Holy Spirit to love God and to love our neighbor.

(Jonah 1:1-2:1-12, 11, Jonah 2:3-5, 8, Luke 10:25-37)

ten::five(six)seven

Forgive me. This post does not follow my form. I have not been able to write the past few days for a number of reasons, none necessarily being good. It simply hasn't happened. Nonetheless, I have some thoughts:

We need to learn from children.

We should be graceful and merciful before we make judgments.

Augustine of Hippo began the demise of practical theology in the West. We still feel his sting today. But, perhaps, he was a man of his time. (Note my observation above.)

Assuming makes an ass out of you and me. Especially me.

I need to learn how to open up more directly.

Questions need to be asked. And not out of obligation. They flow from genuine concern and desire to know. In short, questions are formed out of love.

It is OK to experience a wide range of emotions. Eventually, though, they should balance.

I can't figure everything out on my own.

Black magic women exist. Don't ignore them, but don't let them destroy you. (I suppose black magic men exist, too. I hope I'm not one.)

Repent.

Be confused and still love. End with love.

ten::four

When I wear sandals
my feet become dirty.
The soul becomes darkened.
I usually don't go to places
expecting some reception;
what is my presence?
Or do I?
I have expectation,
assumptions,
you can see them accumulate
on my soul.
Are they good?
Or must I brush them off.
There is no hiding
I have something to say.
Must I say it?
I need new words,
a new sending.
The ground I tread,
my face to it,
there you should find me.
In the hearing of the Word,
there you should find me.
And all should be received
with openness and sweet drink,
a table or couch
and lively conversation.
Sandals can be left at the door
or left on feet,
the dirt now with new meaning.

(Nehemiah 8:1-4a, 5-6, 7b-12, Psalm 19, Luke10:1-12)

ten::three

I think of the place of my heart.
Can I remember it?
Can I hum its tunes?
Once the song begins
it can never stop.
It must be sung with abandon,
sung with sadness and joy,
an all encompassing chorus.
Sorrow leads to joy.
Humility to fullness.
Plead to let yourself free.
To follow.
To go to that place,
the place of singing.
It will take time to learn,
hardship, pain,
but joy.

(Nehemiah 2:1-8, Psalm 137, Luke 9:57-62)

ten::two

Humble, child, listen.
Love you have,
loved you are,
all you need.
Impress, then, not
yourself unto anyone,
unto the world.
God's with you.
They will come.
You will listen.
Humble, child, listen.

(Zechariah 8:20-23, Psalm 87, Matthew 18:1-5, 10)

ten::one

(a homily)

Disciples can be stupid sometimes. So quickly we can go off in directions never intended for us. Seeking our own place, our own desires, our own merits, we forget our humble call to be the least. And so a child needs to be placed in our midst. "Here, O wise ones, is the greatest in the kingdom, the one who rely on others for all things, relies on grace to receive provisions."

We are so forgetful. As such, God has put people among us with better memories, thoughts of the heavenly city where justice and peace and love reside. God is taking us there. God is even asking us to be builders, giving us the gift of the Holy Spirit. God hears us when we groan in recognition of our stupidity, our sin, our forgetfulness and uncanny ability to think more highly of ourselves than we ough. Too easily we are captives, exiles from our very selves, the people we are meant to be.

So, we find ourselves here. A table is set before us, a table of remembrance. Stupid as we may be, we may yet be found with the mind of Christ, a mind driven by humility and other-centeredness. At this table, in the work done here, we become the body of Christ, a presence of God's grace in the world. May we approach the table with humble memories and thoughts of a heavenly residence, a place where God's will is done on earth as in heaven, where we forgive and are forgiven, where we are no longer anxious but at peace with ourselves and one another, able, therefore, to welcome the child and the stranger as beautiful sings of God's presence among us. With this renewed thought process let us go forth to work, to listen, to the call of God, to be a prayerful presence in the world.

(Zechariah 8:1-8, Psalm 102, Luke 9:46-50)

nine::(twentynine)thirty

See through me.
That is all I ask,
is that you would try
to ply away the image
I have created of myself.
I want to be gentle.
Not sure if I am.
For the moment
I'll call my foe the devil,
but how can I look beyond my eyes
to see an enemy?
You inside,
what do you think you're doing?
Weren't you true?
And you're blind now.
What is this?
Life is given back,
can you not see?
This is what forgiveness is for.

(twentynine: Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14/Revelation 12:7-12, Psalm 138, John 1:47-51; thirty: Amos 6:1, 4-17, Psalm 147, 1 Timothy 6:11-16, Luke 16:19-31)

nine::twentyeight

In solitude,
in the silent listening,
on the quiet mountain,
or by the trickling stream,
in the silent listening,
we might hear our name.
We, in solitude,
in the company of friends,
in hope,
in trust,
might see our end.
We perceive the emptiness,
the darkness,
the ruins which we encamp,
and, though dimly,
we see a light.
In silence
the light may be dark,
not to us,
but to the chattering,
yet light shines,
our name is spoken
in silence.
Now we may ask,
who am I?
With humility we may ask,
Who do you say I am?

(Haggai 2:1-9, Psalm 43, Luke 9:18-22)

nine::twentysix(twentyseven)

Who are these people?
From whence do they come,
bringing nothing,
having all they need,
giving?

Is anyone asking this today?


(twentysix: Ezra 9:5-9, Tobit 13:2-4, 7-8, Luke 9:1-6; twentyseven: Haggai 1:1-8, Psalm 149, Luke 9:7-9

nine::twentyfive

What is favor from the empire?
I suppose at moments in history
it did not destroy a people.
Favor may have even felt good,
consecrated.
But that never lasts.
The government will eventually
stand at the door and knock,
assuming a right for entrance.
They will not understand right will,
and the doors will be broken down,
the favor was only a sham
now that you've learned the good.

(Ezra 6:7-8, 12b, 14-20, Psalm 122, Luke 8:19-21)

nine::twentythree--nine::twentyfour

--twentythree--
Know this: God is concerned with the poor and the lowly. Money may mean something now, but in time it will not; what then will you do? Lose your faith in money. Have faith in the God who loves those without.

(Amos 8:4-7, Psalm 113, 1 Timothy 2:1-8, Luke 16:1-13)

--twentyfour-a homily--

The Lord has done great things for us. In this place we come to contemplate the goodness of God, to remember God's good work in the creation, to praise God for God's work in Christ. We are here because the lamp has not been concealed. It is found on its lampstand, exposing all things secret, both good and bad. This exposure is transforming us, bringing us back to God in the power of the Holy Spirit who dwells in our bodily temples. The Spirit has brought us together to commune with God and with each other, to be made a people of promise, to be people who may weep for recognition that not all is right all the time, and yet rejoice now and will rejoice as we enter into the good work of the Kingdom.

Let us rejoice in thanksgiving, for God has brought us here to do good things for us and to make us to do good as well. God provides bread and wine, the body and blood of Christ, more precious than gold or silver, to make possible this transformation. Goodness is revealed at the table. Let us be inspired to proclaim that God is building the Kingdom, that God is still doing marvels, even today, even in this place and in the places we go to from here, rejoicing. (Amen.)

(Ezra 1:1-16, Psalm 126, Luke 8:16-18)

nine::(twentyone)twentytwo

Let us clear the stones from the ground
make room for the sun to shine,
for fruitful times with drunkards.
Some were made for this, some for that,
all for all, we must find where,
and sit silently not assuming our roles.

(twentyone: Feast of St. Matthew, Ephesians 4:1-7, 11-13, Psalm 19, Matthew 9:9-13; twentytwo: 1 Timothy 6:13-16, Psalm 100, Luke 8:4-15)

Taste the Voice of Weeping

Tears can come with the hearing of a certain voice.
An echo of a call heard before.
An image of the self in another lowly one.
And tears are often a sign,
a clarifying blur when how to see is forgotten.
How low we are.
How small.
How young in the age of the creation.
How can we assume to teach a thing?
Knowledge seems such a reach,
and yet, we are to share?
Love, be pure, speak?
Where do the words come from?
And so we see our tears fall,
we taste their preserving saltiness.
Fear and trembling:
wisdom and discipline.
Taste the goodness of that guiding voice.
Be still and listen.
Love, then, and speak,
and weep.

(1 Timothy 4:12-16, Psalm 111, Luke 7:36-50)

nine::(eightteen)nineteen

Live truthfully.
True to the self you are,
the self you are for God,
for others.
It is honorable to desire to serve;
know the hardship coming.
And, yet, proclaim still.
Give up the things binding,
things of a false self,
and be found in the house of God,
on the mountain,
in the valley,
soaking in a stream.
And go back
as yourself.


(eighteen: 1 Timothy 3:1-13, Psalm 101, Luke 7:11-17; nineteen: 1 Timothy 3:14-16, Psalm 111, Luke 7:31-35)

nine::seventeen

(A Homily)

"Lift up your hands." Why? What causes us to put our hands in the air. For some, a fist in the air is a symbol of defiance. A rapper may want us to not think about the words he's saying, so he tells us to put our hands in the air. For some, it happens in a moment of fear. The world over, soldiers and police officers point their guns in others faces, bullets and powers in their faces, and hands reach for the heavens. Folks in churches (not one I've been in for a while) put their hands in the air when singing. Sometimes, I consider throwing my hands in the air and moving to a cabin in the woods.

What kind of hands in the air are Paul and the Psalmist telling us of this morning? They are holy hands and they are hands lifted toward God's shrine. They are hands not lifted in anger or argument, but perhaps out of sadness, certainly in humility. They are hands connect to our deepest being, for they cannot say to the heart, "I don't need you." They are hands sent out with a knowledge of our unworthiness, like the Centurion sending synagogue leaders to Jesus. "Lord, I am not worthy for you to come under my roof, but only say the word and your servant will be healed."

Now, what are we to do with our hands? Shall we put them in the air in an easily marketed worship pose? Shall we put fists in the air in defiance of something, again, a pose easily marketed? No, there's something about these hands of ours. They're qualified as being holy, as reaching toward something holy. "Only say the word and you servant shall be healed." The word of God, hearing the word of God, leads us toward holiness. Reaching out toward God makes our hands holy. Not some greedy reach, but a humble reach. A reach of faith, not of fear, a surrender of the whole self, not a quivering before the guns of the powers. Hands trained by mercy. Cleansed hands. Hands that lift the bread and wine, the body and blood of Christ, to the friend and the enemy and the stranger. The hands that offer up that deepest being to God.

Lift up your hands. Lift up your hearts. Lift up your very self to the Lord.

(1 Timothy 2:1-8, Psalm 28, Luke 7:1-10)

nine::(fifteen)sixteen

Sorrows fill my mind, fill my plate;
I eat sorrows.
I stumble after meals, wondering,
why do I dine this way?
And, yet, it only seems right.
Why would I only eat air?
What search for food is involved in that,
what celebration is called for?
Sorrow, my heart,
for you will be overjoyed.
Repent, for you will be made straight.
And you will train your appetite.

(fifteen: Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows, 1 Timothy 1:15-17. Psalm 113, Luke 2:33-35; sixteen: Exodus 32:7-11, 13-14, Psalm 51, 1 Timothy 1:12-17, Luke 15:1-10)

nine::fourteen

We've heard, but with closed ears
and as such we walk away
still unknowing,
not wanting to remember,
always looking for our own fill,
never the emptying.

Lift us up, we say,
but not in that way,
not to death.
Yet, it must come one day,
and the only conquering
is to accept, to give up power.

Complain all you will,
with the serpents at you ankle.
Snakes could be sisters,
enemies brothers,
yet the cross is scandalized
and its love ignored.

(Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, Numbers 21:4-9, Psalm 78, Philippians 2:6-11, John 3:13-17)

nine::thirteen

We will never get anything done,
we that forgive, that love,
that place our lives in the hands of our enemies.
Praise is our action,
and some say what good will words ever do?
But I clash cymbals and hit a snare drums.
What are their words?
And see, control is the first thing to give up.
Let us think a moment, let us think with our wholes:
Are the doers doing anything?
Are the lenders at interest gaining?
Are the judges distributing justice?
What if we all stopped and though together?
What if we bowed our heads together?
And kindness, and humility,
and compassion, and gentleness,
and patience, and forgiveness.
Perhaps nothing would be done,
but really what is done without these?
It seems destruction.
The drums and guitar create beautiful music.
The humming bird buzzes and joins the chorus.
Creativity, giving, regressive and time consuming,
but lovely, loving.
But I know nothing, what could I know?
I'm not sure I really want to do anything.

(Colossians 3:12-17, Psalm 150, Luke 6:27-38)

nine::twelve

Woe and woah!
Nothing is as you want to expect.
It is better this way.
That soft tongue slices,
steady is and keep it still,
and then the words you will speak
shall be knowledgeable.
The rich will perish.
All is not as it seems.
Woe and blessing.
They come together,
expect something better.

(Colossians 3:1-11, Psalm 145, Luke 6:20-26)

nine/eleven

The powers have been despoiled by Christ.
I say this aware of its treasonous tone,
a tone many of my brothers and sisters in the church
would be ready to gather stones upon hearing.
I am not a patriot.
I was born in a country; I am not of it.
And the men in power
lie.
They kill.
The have deceived you and me
and we must walk away from them.
We must go away to the mountain to pray.
Buildings will continue to fall,
they will soon tear down another on American soil
and continue to point fingers at others,
and continue to ask you to kill others.
We must walk away to the mountains.
We must pray.
The tormenting spirits are alive in this country.
We must go away and pray.
Hatred and greed rule this people.
We must pray for compassion.
For Christ has defeated the liars,
and we now are Christ's presence.
Towers fall and deceptions rise,
and we must walk to the tops of mountains
and pray.
We were captivated by death
and death swallowed us whole,
but we are now set free by life,
brought into a new Kingdom,
one transcending the old,
even being before them.
You were called out of darkness,
smoke, fear, dust, the news.
You are called to a mountain,
to a mountain to pray.

(Colossians 2:6-15, Psalm 145, Luke 6:12-19)

nine::ten

(A Holimly for Morning Eucharist)

It may be difficult for some to believe, but it is easy for me to become discouraged with things around us. A penchant to point out the negative? No way! And I'm sure no one else here is inclined to such a view of the wortl, either. We're hip to our rose colored glasses, right?

Well, forgive me for joking in a sermon, but this morning, for some mysterious reason, it seems as though the mood should be one that encourages us. Hear the Psalmnist: "In God, our hope, our souls can be at rest." Hear the Apostle Paul: "The myster, Christ Jesus, the hope of glory has been revealed among us." Hear, you with limp limbs, spirits, and discouraged thoughts, hear Christ's word: "Stretch out your hand." These statements, these revelations of mystery, are encouraging and they present to us a reality deeper than the sad story narrated in the news. They even shape us in such a way that we can face the sadness.

See, we are to be tellers of truth. We, like Paul, are to encourage our brothers and sisters, even those we haven't had the blessing to be in the physical presence of. Our lives in Christ are being reshaped--our hearts are encouraged, our very beings are being transformed by and into the mysterious light of Christ. Yes, that light will expose darkness, those things liable to discourage us, but we must continually remember how it is we are seeing them: by the light of Christ.

See, now we are preparing to gather around a table, and on that table we will see mystery. We will see simple bread and wine transformed into food for our whole beings. And we will be in communion with Christ, in the Holy Spirit, and with one another, and with the entirety of the body of Christ through whom the mystery is proclaimed. Let us prepare. Let us be encouraged. Let us encourage. In the face of opposition, mistrust and doubt, let us glory in Christ's love, together walking in the way of the knowledge of the mystery of God, in God's wisdom and knowledge. Be not affraid to be joyous. I'll remind you, and please remind me, that what we are doing here is an encouraging thing.

(Colossians 1:24-2:3, Psalm 62, Luke 6:6-11)

nine::(eight)nine

I have been busier this past week thank many in my life. It literally made me sick. But not figuratively, yet, for good things are being found, and good people are being made known. I am recognizing the great depth of the genealogy I come from intellectually. I am being re-born. The cost is great, yet the world needs us to give all. Strength follows. Joy follows. Loneliness may be here for a while, but then a bright face is found in your presence and movement is possible. So much is mystery and I do not presume knowledge. Yet, what if I were to begin presuming joy? What if I were to begin living into a reality of freedom and refuge in God? And would you come with me?

(eight: Micah 5:1-4, Psalm 13, Matthew 1:1-16, 18-23; nine: Wisdom 9:13-18, Psalm 90, Philemon 9-10, 12-17, Luke 14:25-33)

nine::(six)seven

Nothing will be discovered outside of prayer,
the listening to that internal voice given,
spoken at the dawning of light,
transcendent and inspiring,
spoken above any power.
Prayer is that listening.
Prayer is acceptance of words and life.
It is the taste of good wine,
wine stored well and selected with care
Prayer is to cease existing on your own accord,
to cease existing,
and to then be brought back into fullness of life,
fullness full of humility and emptiness.
Then the transcendent is seen in the other,
the eye of Christ embraces you in the others attention,
and the moment of creation is shared,
the perfecting word is spoken, anew.

God, create life in the prayer I pray.
Breath into me so my face may shine,
shine with a steadiness,
a confidence,
a humility not readily explained.
I must close my eyes to see,
to slow my breathing,
and listen to the thoughts you would have me pray.

(six: Colossians 1:9-14, Psalm 98, Luke 5:1-11; seven: Colossians 1:15-20, Psalm 100, Luke 5:33-39)

nine::five

I've had some time in a deserted place
and it was a good time, I think.
And I have heard of good things,
good people in the world.
Some are planted like trees
and they cycle the life of the good
and they have overcome suspicion
allowing themselves to trust.
Their words ring true
though truth is seldom listened to,
but if we follow Christ into deserted places,
we too shall here the Voice.


(Colossians 1:1-8, Psalm 52, Luke 4:38-44)

nine::four

In the nighttime, daylight can shine.
In the broken, healing can come.

Am I shining or healing?
Must light be placed above me,
medicine placed in my body?
Always.

But I do not fear, for I love.
I want to love.
I want to touch and smile,
ready even for the tumultuous time,
especially ready,
for at night the day breaks in
with a waiting heart,
a contrite and humble spirit.
Heal my touch, my love.

(1 Thessalonians 5:1-6, 9-11, Psalm 27, Luke 4:31-37)

Eulogy for a Garden Spider

She was more swift and patient than anyone I have known
Waiting in her beautifully patterned home
The most striking yellow on her back
Not to warn
But to invite the admiration of the world
She wrote in a language I will never be able to read
And her movement upon her web brought tears to my eyes
A helper in the garden
We shared a space of growth
A plot for the cycle of life
Yet fear still grips us when things seen are not understood
And children learn to hurt what they can’t understand
What they were told to fear
What was screamed into their minds
But now she is no longer here to be feared
No longer living as she was
A teacher
A sister
A mystic
A creature with the wisdom of the earth in her

nine::three

(A Sermon for Morning Eucharist)

What song are we singing? Whose songs do we listen to? These days when one steps outside it is as if the trees are singing, they being full of the chanting cicadas. Sadly, the roar we probably hear most often is not that of the sea, but some old truck or sports car, though we are currently only feet away from Buffalo Creek, mere miles away from some of the numerous falls of Appalachia. They too are singing. And weeping. What song do we sing? Whose cadence inspires our voices and animates our daily life?

Our lives are our song, our worship. We are the church, the embodiment of Christ on the earth, the people who hear the word's Christ spoke that that assembly in Nazareth and fell in our hearts that we are to speak the poem with Jesus:

The Spirit of the Lord is upon us,
because He has anointed us to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent us to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sign to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.

This way of life, a life of proclamation and service, is our cicada chant; it is to fill the air we breath.

In great part, we receive the tempo of our song in this liturgy, in prayer, in the hearing of Scripture, through confession, in table fellowship. The Word made flesh consumes us in the Eucharist as we are brought together in unity as the Body of Christ by the Holy Spirit. Let us listen to the songs of creation, let us sing of love in service to the stranger and each other. All else is mere chatter, empty notes. But we have a beautiful song to sing, a song of hop, of truth, of love.

(1 Thessalonians 4:13-18, Psalm 96, Luke 4:16-30)

nine::two

A place, tranquil and sublime,
attainable in humility
at the darkened setting of a table
is waiting to invite.
Known is this place
with listening and lowering,
a mountain top touched now.

(Sirach 3:17-18, 20, 28-29, Psalm 68, Hebrews 12:18-19, 22-24, Luke 14:1, 7-14)

nine::one

Be not afraid of being yourself.
There is no greater fear,
and no more unnecessary scare.
Fooling your Self.
Ill at ease, unaware.
I tell myself this because I have not yet learned,
but I have learned that I do not know
tranquility.
With myself or with others
we are not yet all together,
and we are not ourselves.
We don't use our hands,
nor our minds,
the day does its thinking for us,
and we are simply here,
but not so simply, for we complicate
all those things not complicated.
Life is not complicated.
Life as it was to be,
but now as it is, it is not.
I admit I am not all here right now.
I have been in the presence of others,
and this was a good thing.
I am running over,
as I planned.
Yet, part of that which needed to leave
has gone away,
and I am more here than I was.
And I certainly am not afraid.

(1 Thessalonians 4:9-11, Psalm 98, Matthew 25:14-30)

eight::thirtyone

Here comes the time of question,

the challenge to promises I may have made.

I've never thought of myself as a single string,

blowing in the breeze,

but I've thought of being alone.

Should I be?

Why not, but why so?

If not, can I be right at all?

Might holiness be a part,

have I trained as such?

Are my wicks and oils ready?

I do want to love,

some one and all,

and that is not a thing to simply be ready for.

It is not simple at all.

May I be stitched into the garment

to be made to clothing for the feast.

(1 Thessalonians 4:1-8, Psalm 97, Matthew 25:1-13)

eight::thirty

Awake, a wake, the subtle parting of the waters.

Conscious to the movement of God,

awake to that wake.

Awake, we give thanks

in humility, for humility, for learning

we are children of men and women

returning one day to the dust of the earth,

that lofty and high mountain of origin.

We will melt into a thousand years,

somehow enter the untime of God,

the reign of love,

in the company of distributors of grace,

openness to others,

ready in solitude and rightly praying to be with others.

And be awake!

Be at peace with your heart's eye open,

beholding, beheld, in the palm of God,

in the cradle of creation,

in the movement of God upon the waters of life.

(1 Thessalonians 3:7-13, Psalm 90, Matthew 24:42:59)

eight::twentynine

Words can be Word if heard in such a way that life is drained
then filled again.
The color has drained from my face,
the blood finding a new home somewhere beneath the surface,
but it cannot hide for long,
for darkness cannot be for much longer with the Word heard.
Heads may roll, or at least be bowed
searching for the source of that feeling in the gut.
Eyes may be christened with tears,
closed to seek the silence,
the thoughts of release,
the prayers for dreams to be lovely, again, or for the first time.

Burdensome Word, why do you seek me?
Word made flesh, how did you find me?
And I wanted to think everything was okay.
Have I now only found myself again trying to hide,
a pointless, numb and dull enterprise?
Word, have You come into my mind,
brushed upon my lips with an exhale,
and if so, did I even hear myself speaking?

Mercy, Lord, have mercy.
Every spot matters, every breath is a holy moment.

(Memorial of the Martyrdom of St. John the Baptist, 1 Thessalonians 2:9-11, Psalm 139, Mark 6:17-29)

eight::twentyeight

(A Sermon for Morning Eucharist)

Are we to be more cut to the heart this morning by Christ clarifying to us how easily we can become hypocrites or by the Apostle's account of faithful Christian ministry? I'm not particularly inclined to articulate which softens me up more, but I must confess that hearing Paul's words concerning his affection for the Thessalonians and the way those feelings were translated into a way of being causes me to pause. Is my affection obvious, or do callused feelings show? And what of all of us? How well does our love for people show? Are we willing to pause?

These are not readings for people who want to go through life inattentive. Nor are they readings for a people wanting to walk around feeling bad for and about themselves. No, this morning we give thanks for hearing the Word of the Lord, for being given a glimpse of what it could look like to walk in the Way of Truth by the Light of Christ. This walk begin with confession and penitence, yes, but it moves along to faith and trusting in God, God who knows us better than we know ourselves and God who wants us to join Him in becoming who we truly are. The God who knows our inmost being wants to cleanse us from the inside out, to make us a people with genuine affection for others, even the whole of the created world.

It is here, in the context of worship and prayer that we begin the walk. We offer bread and wine, the gifts of God, back to God who sanctifies them by the Holy Spirit so that we too may be sanctified, that we too may speak the Gospel and withstand the struggles that accompany that way of life. We were meant to be cut to the heart today. It is good to see ourselves plainly as we are. But we are also meant to be healed, to be set aright, to continue that walk towards who we are to be. Thanks be to God for sharing His very self with us in Jesus Christ by the loving power of the Holy Spirit.

(1 Thessalonians 2:1-8, Psalm 139: 1-6, Matthew 23:23-26)

eight::twentyseven

(A sermon for morning Eucharist at Hopwood Christian Church. For those interested, we meet every weekday at 7:15.)

As God's people, how are we to know and how are we to be known? I suppose many folks would be comfortable saying people know by study and/or by experience. Perhaps such an understanding of knowledge isn't a problem for God's people, after all, it does seem we should study and we should learn from experience to better know how to live in the world. And, yet, listening to today's Scripture readings, I can't help but imagine that as God people we are called to a different kind of knowing.

Much of the time we are tempted by the Western culture to commodify knowledge, a sort of capitalistic gnosticism where we own facts and thoughts in our minds by our own supposed merit and abilities. From Paul, however, we learn that knowledge is a gift of the Holy Spirit. The Gospel is made sensical to us by the Spirit, and, even further, it is truly made sensical in the world of senses where the Gospel is lived out in the flesh. Knowledge, for God's people, is a gift and a gift we share in the way we love.

The Spirit of God is ever present in the world, giving life to the trees, to the natural grains and fruits of the plains and orchards and gardens on the face of the earth. The Spirit is present here in this building, in the people gathered here. It is here that we come to know the gifts of God, to taste provision of wheat and grapes, bread and wine, body and blood. The sanctifying Spirit makes this place holy, and makes the people gathered in it holy.

See, here we come to know God, and yes, we come to be known. Our identity as God's people, a family of faith, hope, and love, is revealed in the breaking of the bread, the passing of the peace, the descent of the Holy Spirit upon us. May we come to know the greatness of the gifts we receive here: hope, identity, the Spirit, a family, peace, purpose. Let us give thanks to God and go forth into the world with the Good News we taste.

(1 Thessalonians 1:1-5, 8b-10, Psalm 149, Matthew 23:13-22)

eight::twentysix

I have balanced myself upon the rope of a forlorn heart
for many moons, now, and continually wonder why.
Discipline, I have heard today, and I would hope so,
for that would help my mind to recover,
to trace back the steps to that place I was meant to be.
Yet, have I ever been there?
Have I stood upon its shores, smelled its breeze,
tasted the nectars of its wines?
Perhaps, but its moments are fleeting,
a company kept now for no certain time,
and yet I have knelt at the holy alter
to offer what fruits I have been given,
words from my land and tongue that do well to be spoken,
some that do better in the well of my heart
to ferment for taste and be poured out one day for others.

As such, I must learn to bear silence,
to be moved beyond this thin string to the hand of hope.
For though my tongue promises much,
though the praise it offers at times is blessed,
I have a knowledge of my recess,
the games that lower my head.
First, I must again be healed,
then I should speak,
for we are being drawn near the holy mountain,
the sacred alter prepared for the peoples,
a gathering of priests and priestesses and laity,
life giving life to life.

The unexpected thrives, and mystery dines with hope.

(Isaiah 66:18-21, Psalm 117, Hebrews 12:5-7,11-13, Luke 13:22-30)

eight::twentyfive

Authority belongs to no one,

that is it is not naturally an endowment,

not something to be possessed,

for quickly it becomes that which possesses

dominating all motivations

blinding all vision

until one sees only objects to be ruled.

Such is the curse of civilization,

that overnamed justification for rule.

Rule has gone uncontrolled,

insane,

and we who love must give up.

Give up our positions,

give up our dreams for high places.

"Let no one call you teacher or master."

Those seeking power, take note.

Those ascenting to the lords of nations,

resting in the drapery of flags

and bowing to idols of ideals,

let go of your slave master,

they will not defend you

nor shall you every feel the warmth of love

from their cold hearts.

And, yes, who would apparently be described

as authorities are actually not,

though quickly one slips,

but they may actually come beside you as servants.

Deny yourself power and false promise of power's hand.

Then you will know the sweet taste of trust,

the lingering aroma of peace.

Authority and governance is a hateful lie,

but you may know loving truth.

(Ruth 2:1-13, 8-11, 4:13-17, Psalm 128, Matthew 23:1-12)

eight::twentyfour

To the Governors Above with a Bad Sense of Truth, I'm Sorry, Perhaps

Seeing is believing,

and believing is a kind of seeing,

being that you are always looking from some point of view.

My vision may convince you to see differently,

or it may not.

Yours can been seen the same.

I see bad things that you see as good,

and, yet, you may be blind.

I'm sorry.

The thing is

I'd rather be just than right,

and I would rather trust than fight,

for I see that I don't always know,

knowing as some kind of aboveness,

I reckon myself to be below.

This may lead to something unfair for me

you finding yourself to be high, mighty.

And strength is the greatest weakness,

straining the heart beyond capacity.

Did anyone see this coming?

Cities falling from the sky,

falling from the tops of buildings in the sky

to the ground.

You think of yourself as grounded

yet want to be above.

Such a hard position to be in.

I'm sorry.

I suppose we get what we want

but our wants may not be good.

You will find this out sooner or later,

but that may not be enough for some of us.

I'm sorry.

(Revelation 21:9-14, Psalm 145, John 1:45-51)

eight::twentythree

Today is a day where good sense has left the air.

Promises that promise only failure.

Work that only brings on fatigue.

Reading that only welcomes worry, or

even worse,

a numb feeling with no desire to dialogue.

The only sensical thing today is the lack of sense.

I'm tired.

I wonder why people do what they do.

I wonder if they wonder.

And I don't wonder at all, today.

"Jesus Christ, Son of God, Have Mercy on Me."

(Judges 11:29-39, Psalm 40, Matthew 22:1-14)

eight::twentytwo

The more I reflect on the history and ways and humankind I am further convinced something is terribly wrong. It would not take much to convince others of this, however, everyone has their own explanation, or at least they have swallowed another's. (I suppose some, maybe too many, haven't an idea, this being good or bad.) Some of the explanations are part of the problem. The Fall, depravity, Original Sin. These become excuses.

I wouldn't call our problems the result of immaturity, though, perhaps we haven't quite yet grown into our roles. What if for years people did know how to live with one another? They did not live above each other, but with one another. There was no need for governments, for the world brought them along. The trees provided their fruit, the ground its roots and roughage, the sun its warmth, the clouds their water. No one possessed a thing.

But then possession came in. Then government. Then owners. Then slaves. Then scarcity. Then destruction of forests. Then sin.

We've been trying to get back ever since.

Oak trees are meant to be oak, the day lily a day lily, and I am meant to be a human being. But I've forgotten how. I'm trying to remember.

I am not meant to have a rich man rule over me, nor am I meant to kill anything.

I am meant to love, which is to be in harmony with all, to sing my part, and listen to the tones of others. The wind is my friend as is the silence.

Fairness and justice inhabits naturally in the original reality. Everyone receives the same wage, for no wage is needed.

I'm not speaking of utopianism, communism, conservativism, monarchy, theocracy, liberalism. No government. We were not meant for that.

History, let us be.

(Judges 9:6-15 , Psalm 21, Matthew 20:1-16)

eight::twentyone

The rich, we hear again, will not inherit the Kingdom.
At times this message is a comfort,
but not so much as of late.
The world is being divided down to its parts,
shredded and disposed of, finding its way
either into the atmosphere or fountains.
How can this message be a comfort to the billions
sitting in the trash heaps and floods,
their lives far from some kind of actualization,
something before the rich they wouldn't have had to go after.

Yet is the spirit divisible?
Is the journey we must make inside?
Yes, I think, but not as retreat,
inside and outside are part and parcel.
And the journey cannot be only for comfort, relief ,
but for peace surpassing, as untouchable as that seems.

Guide, Lord, my dreams.

(Judges 6:11-24, Psalm 85, Matthew 19:23-30)

Sell

"Sell all that you have and give it to the poor."

Shit.

That's enough to make anyone walk away sad,
anyone who believes possessions are part of them,
who lives within a mind that thrives on amassing
wealth, health, years, times, things that shine.

A whole people whimpers, "Shit,"
For we have forgotten to leave others alone,
to each their own,
not to own but to be at peace with the sacred surroundings.
Israel's mingling was not abhorrent because of other tribes,
it was their search for comforts that were no comfort at all,
bigger crops, bigger storage, taller hills for worship.
And then they cried
and called their despoiling the judgment of God.
Such is what happens when you outgrow your provisions
and seek to enculturate and dominate your neighbors.
There is abundance for a people of faith and care,
but once all a people wants is to want
there can never be enough.
And so we know why we're to sell all of our shit,
give it away,
we were never meant to have it,
for to have is to commit adultery against provision and providence,
to lust after poles on hills,
to cheat and steal,
to never know abundance or happiness.

(Judges 2:11-19, Psalm 106, Matthew 19:16-22)

eight::nineteen

"Jeremiah ought to be put to death;
he is demoralizing the soldiers who are left in this city,
and all the people, by speaking such things to them;
he is not interested in the welfare of our people,
but in their ruin."

"Do you think that I have come to establish peace on the earth?
No, I tell you, but rather division.
From now on a household of five will be divided,
three against two and two against three;
a father will be divided against his son
and a son against his father,
a mother against her daughter
and a daughter against her mother,
a mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law
and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law."

Let the Evangelical Right here these words:
You were never meant to "support the troops"
and your Focus on the Family isn't stabilizing a thing.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Condemning others because their idea of peace
does not include the subjugation of those you dare not see
has left you in a precarious place.
For the peace you offer is waging wars
for comfort behind doors
locked in a room with a brainwashing screen,
ephemeral green floating through chips and wires.

This is not peace.

This is not bringing the kids together,
for they are separated, too.

(I love my folks, though.)

However, I hear of the tearing apart
of families with some cowardly standing
behind blinding and engulfing flags,
the offspring not listening to the state's propaganda
and following instead a God who loves.

Do you not see you are condemning
the prophets of God?
Of course you do, but that God is of not consequence.
Your god pays in dividends and land grabs
and irresponsible acquisition,
so put those in the way in cisterns and prison.

I want to call you brothers and sisters,
and I may try for a while,
but brothers and sisters,
this can go on for only so much longer.

(Jeremiah 38:4-6, 8-10, Psalm 40, Hebrew 12:1-4, Luke 12:49-53)

Paradise Belongs to Children

Paradise belongs to children.
Let us not, however, assume their assignment
is some merit of innocence.
Innocence, in much of our thought,
presumes a guilt to soon, inescapably, come,
therefore being a present reality even in
that supposedly short season of guiltlessness.

Forget, then, innocence.

It is of no consequence.

Remember instead that all God has made is good.

We've simply come to believe

we can make ourselves good,

declaring those not in line with our rule guilty,

and condescendingly calling those who

"can't yet understand," innocent.

"Keep them all away from our savior,

his will belongs to us.

Our will be done in heaven as it is on earth."

So we think, unthinkingly.

And our cycles of knowledge trample on forward,

drought and war,

those innocent children starving,

those guilty citizens by the shore drowning.

How far our understanding has brought us!

How blessed by the promises we make,

the rules we obey!

But don't we know paradise is a child's place?

Oh, it's not something to be known,

understood, maintained, controlled.

Its growth is a mystery of God,

a provision of the Spirit that stirred the waters

and brought up the land from their depths,

and sowed the trees and flowers,

put flight into birds,

courage into the lion,

trust into the lamb,

breath into the human being.

Why do we try to breath on our own,

for ourselves?

Why have we fabricated wealth?

It has decreased what we call health

with the Creation moaning

as we wither her away

for selfish and passing gain.

Paradise is a child's for she comes with nothing,

and nothing in the hands of God,

in the eyes of the Son,

upon the winds of the Spirit,

is everything,

for there,

in the Void and Presence,

her being is.

To be a child,

unbound by the pretensions

of man made manners and civility,

oh, what grace and wonder!

Become a child and no longer despise yourself,

but see the sacred all around,

in you,

in the ground and out of it,

God being in and through all.

Hear God's voice,

"It is good, you are very good.

Let us dwell and delight in paradise."

(Joshua 24:14-29, Psalm 16, Matthew 19:13-15)

eight::seventeen

The sweetest fruit is the provision of God,
that taste for which we are so thankful,
that vegetable fleshed in mystery.

At best, we can participate in God's fruition,
humbling ourselves to the seasons
and the soil and seedlings,
to the Creator of life's cycles,
denying not the Earth her abundance,
nor her apparent hesitation.

Respond well to the Word,
whether to bear flesh of your flesh
or to listen to the subtle whispers of the Spirit,
a birth for all and not many,
though the few do not hold their heads high.

And it all comes together in the mercy of God,
in the now and not yet,
the inward look beyond the horizon.

(Joshua 24:1-13, Psalm 136, Matthew 19:3-12)

eight::sixteen

There is a land that you were made for,
a people even with whom you're inclined to reside,
a community different than falsified race
invented to aid the race for conquest.

You will be more than inviting,
but accepting,
and more than accepting,
but thankful,
embracing the stranger,
forgiving the debtor,
praising God for all people, all gifts.

Touch the beauty of the presence of another,
a precious infusion of love enfleshed.

Forget not the times the streams
seemed to slow for your passing,
the Creator leading you on the way.

Forget not the time of great relief,
release from the bondage of guilt
built on misplaced trust.

You will enter upon the landscape,
be it a desert in your bones
or a high mountain in your heart,
a resting place,
a giving place,
a place entrusted to your care,
your sensitivity.

(Joshua 3:7-11, 13-17, Psalm 114, Matthew 18:21-19:1)

Beautiful Woman

Beautiful woman,
Mary,
and the ones before you
and after you,
givers of life,
wise women.

No wonder in his hallucination
John on Patmos
saw a dragon after you.
But the dragon has not scales
but the appearance of scared men.
Not the dragon
found on pages celebrating
inhuman masculinity,
but the insane brotherhood
on quest for power.

But you reflect the earth,
and the heavens,
life giving,
blessed for all generations,
for through you are generations.
Teach me to love,
to open up,
to receive the promise.
Our God has prepared
a place for you
in the desert.
May I come for a visit
to be reborn?

(Revelation 11:19, 12:1-6, 10, Psalm 45, 1 Corinthians 1 20-27, Luke 1:39-56-- Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary)

eight::fourteen

The command, "Destroy,"
percolates in minds
when only air and acid
stir in a people's belly.
And suddenly the God
carries out mass murder
to explain the raping
of the creation,
humans, honey, milk, wheat,
olives, trees, chickens, cows,
by a people immature,
a crowd prone to whining.
Masses forget the Garden
planted by the hands of God,
and they forget
the command to commune
to be made one again,
to be found once again,
to recline without end
under the luscious green branches
of the trees
some thousands of feet
below an old Mesopotamian sea.
And then one remembers
and reminds,
telling friends and enemies,
"Become children, again."
For this people forgot the soil
from which it was raised,
to which it will return,
and assumes it has always been
in the afternoon of its life,
denying the morning,
blinding its eyes to the night,
working, working, working
with no end in sight.
If only a simple sheep
would find itself found
brought back into the cycle,
back into the wide creation.

(Deuteronomy 31:1-8, Deuteronomy 32:3-4, 7-9, 12, Matthew 18:1-5, 19, 12-14)

eight::thirteen

Nothing, not a thing.
I can't keep anything to myself.
But I still take.
We all take, we all think we have.

Oh, but to consider the one without,
the stranger, the widow, the orphan,
the ones without our law and order,
our silly daily way of life,
our heaps of shit
corralled between walls and under roofs
how could we ever have the time.
Time we can't hold,
and others simply must be good
for us at the right time
else they are nothing,
or only a thing,
an object, a tool,
or merely useless,
and what use is there for useless things?

And why should I bother devoting lines
to nothing that can't do anything for me?

But, see, I am dying
and the new life I'm rising towards
melts into a life that existed before me,
the me that doesn't quite exist
in a way we can comprehend,
for it is a we that only makes sense with us,
and not us and them,
for us is them,
thought we may be a bit different, too.

And this is OK.

This is the way.

This is the world of nothing, no thing,
where all is some of one,
though we don't count or govern.

Oh, God, I can't quite breathe well now
knowing there is better air to be breathed.

(Deuteronomy 10:12-22, Psalm 147, Matthew 17:22-27)

eight::twelve

All the things I hold onto have a hold on me,
but not my hand or arm,
for most days I don't touch them,
most days I don't see them,
and if you asked me what they were
I couldn't tell.
My most beloved possession is worry.
It is an empty pit I keep digging
and nothing can fill its cavernous descent.
Yet, I can put down the shovel
and do different work,
a work of consciousness.
Otherwise that pit of worry is merely a grave
and I'll die without it as it is,
so why bother with a pit I can't fill on my own?

(Wisdom 18:6-9, Psalm 33, Hebrews 12:1-2, 8-19, Luke 12:32-48)

Virginity (?)

I'm going to need something
to keep me going strong, to continuously
remember my God, my love and fortitude.
Many throughout time have given
themselves over to no one else but that One,
and I've thought of that way. To trust Virginity,
a strange sign in others' eyes, hell, even mine;
I see how they wander. Yet, why should I doubt
in my heart of hearts that this is what
has been approaching? Hear! The Lord is One:
Love with all heart, soul, strength, and mind.
Damn! My wandering eyes, will you find
that kind rock to rest my spirit upon?
May I embrace with whom and how I am to be.

(Deuteronomy 6:4-13, Psalm 18, Matthew 17 14-20 - Memorial of St. Clare)

eight::ten

Life cannot be without death,
death leading to life,
life leading to death,
something of a conversation.
Both are gifts
blending into one another.
There is no reason to deny breath
nor defy,
for one must breathe to live,
and even to give one's life,
that last breath,
one must live with death in mind.
And then in death
God grants life unbound.
Live life unto death
and life unto life.

(2 Corinthians 9:6-10, Psalm 112, John 12:24-25)