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)

eight::nine

You can't tell anyone anything
without them telling you something else.
It may not be that no one listens or hears,

yet how often does anyone?

With empty an stomach

who has an ear

but the one trained by fasting?

We're training--

without conscious knowledge

--quickly to run out of food,

to dry up all our waters,

and then will it be a choice to fast?

We'll still bitch and moan

and really have nothing to say,

the water flowing from the rock

wasn't enough to bid us silent.

Oh, we might even say the right words,

confess the correct creed,

listened at some point to a sound revelation,

but at the change of the breeze

everything is wrong.

The wrong song and poem and direction.

The beautiful temptation to walk away

from the self-giving love we were called by,

that easy stroll that leaves us in paralysis,

even though moving we are numb,

the further we travel the more deaf.

"Blessed are you

for great things have been revealed to you!"

This was not sarcasm,

yet our flesh can't tell the difference,

or rather makes irony out of things straight-forward.

Has this been worthwhile,

this thinking and grasping,

praying for a good word,

a truthful expression?

I want love to be in my thoughts

and on the tips and palms of my hands,

permeating the recesses of my spirit,

else all this is vain.

Might it still be vain--

am I one in the grumbling desert crowd,

or have some of us escaped its murmur?

Soon I will learn upon Peter's turn of the key,

the day we go to sleep beside the sea

on the hill with stationed cross.

(Numbers 20:1-13, Psalm 95, Matthew 16:13-23)

eight::eight

This world is becoming a desert hospice.
We will soon find ourselves waiting to pass.
We might have moved over the hills
into the promised land,
but gave over our voices
to princes, presidents, prime ministers,
executives and senators.
So now we are wandering and waiting.
But not for the wrath of God,
for God has already granted us pardon
upon openness;
even those once outside have faith.
No, our wrath is our own
in the hands of incompetent and evil powers,
our forgetting right desire
and grasping after whithering things.
We could have had milk and honey,
abundant fruit and bread,
but instead we chose machines
and outgrew the land,
making it desolate and dry.
And if we try? I don't know.
Yet a hospice implies care,
and care is born of love
which births hope, too.
Somehow, though we're waiting to pass,
we are being given life as well.

(Numbers 13:1-2, 25-14:1, 26-29, 34-35, Psalm 106, Matthew 15:21-28)

The Coming Waters

The waters will soon wash us away,
the clouds, dark and shining with flashes
will cover our mountains and valleys.
May I still be found on the mountain,
on the side of the hill
listening to a voice soft and still.
Certainly into sin I was born,
among the sins of a nation and nations,
among gases killing the world.
The seas of consumption,
and prideful assumptions.
thoughts of domination and greed.
Into this world I was born
and though I would have died anyway,
even more shall we all die.
I'm sorry to think such a thing,
to write and say such things,
but my mind keeps thinking.











Forgiveness is our only hope
to be able to walk on the coming waters,
the consumption of our flesh.
And we must become internal,
not to forget the outer parts,
but to realize all is actually one.
Yes, all these coming storms
live with the calm breezes
though they know not each other.
Help me, Lord, to forget what I needn't know
but always remember your goodness,
your still small voice in the thunderous rains,
even the perilous drought.

(Numbers 12:1-13, Psalm 51, Matthew 14:22-36)

eight::six

Today if the Feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord. The majesty of God has come among people, has been placed in the flesh of people.

I was supposed to prepare for this day. I had planned to for some time now. I didn't. This is the first year I even knew it was upon us, the first year I knew it's significance, and I balked once it was finally on the eve.

Is it good that I am here? For I have thought of deification. The hope of me, a man, becoming like God, like Christ, deity and flesh together, had reawakened my senses, but at times I still find myself numb. Is it good for me to be there, in that numb place? Do I there remember my great need for mercy and grace? Have I wandered a bit to find myself walking again toward the holy mountain?

I know God is good, that God has revealed God's self. When will I learn, however, that I am a part of that revelation? Is not deity to be revealed in and through me?

Forgive me, Lord, of my forgetfulness, my obvious departure from your beautiful way. Holy Spirit, fire of God, burn in and upon me anew, to see again great visions, to walk again the way forged for humanity.

(Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14, Psalm 97, 2 Peter 1:16-19, Luke 9:28-36)

eight::(four)five

Yesterday my best friend was married. It was a beautiful liturgy and celebration, an event that brought people together. I was supposed to give a toast at the reception with time going by quickly, but had I the chance, I would have told the story of how Amos and I met in a class called Plato and Aristotle, how we are friends in a sense that we bother understand, the Aristotelian way in which we are working towards a common end, a like telos. And now he will be doing so even more with his wife, Kaci, whom I think is wonderful for him, and he for her.

The lectionary texts yesterday even pointed toward the importance of their marriage. The Jubilee ordinances were proclaimed to the Hebrews, an economy that calls for the poor to freed, for justice to rule for the entire creation. Amos and Kaci are people that care about such things, and even more, are working for them with such things as gardening and starting a local farmer's market. The gospel text displayed a negative story about marriage. Herod the king had an unholy marriage and out of his humiliation and the nastiness of his brother's wife who was now his, he had John the Baptist beheaded. Marriage in our age is not something taken seriously. It is often done for the perceived need for pleasure of two selfish people, as opposed to being entered into in order to faithfully participate in God's economy of justice. I believe that Amos and Kaci know this and will work in this economy. I pray that as a single person I can participate in it, not that one must be married--my mind is simply focused on marriage at the moment.

(Leviticus 25:1, 8-17, Psalm 67, Matthew 14:1-12)

Further, today we are struck by the realization that as important as things are in our lives, much is vanity, vapor, and our work simply passes by. I was again stirred last night by a re-realization of my desire to justify myself. How vaporous that is. I have nothing to prove but that Christ has proven all things, that the Triune God is an abundant Love who provides. I haven't the need to store shit up, be it physical possession or ridiculous intellectual victories or "respect".

And such must be the call from my inner being to be still and silent. It will be a new silence, one that I have obviously not yet learned. But I hear the word. Now may my thanks be to God.

(Ecclesiastes 1:2, 2:21-23, Psalm 90, Colossians 3:1-5, 9-11, Luke 12:13-21)

eight::three

Who is he to say those things,
to come in here with words and deeds
we could not conceive of ourselves?
He was among us,
but now it is as if he is above,
and we cannot have anyone as such.
His listening must be a lie,
a waste of our time
to ears tuned elsewhere.
Let's continue to sing our own song,
to keep our own days,
from now on will ignore his way.
I wonder if he thought
anyone would truly accept him,
or could live near him.

(Leviticus 23:4-11, 15-16, 27, 34-37, Psalm 81, Matthew 13:54-58)

eight::two

I am about to go into the dwelling place, alone.
May it have been built for me to come out with a newness that is good this time.
Let the old and new be brought out, existing in a perfect dance, a reminder and a gift.

(Exodus 40:16-21, 35-38, Psalm 84, Matthew 13:47-53)

eight::one

Send me someone with a glowing face.
I think I'd probably listen.
They would tell me what to look for,
and where,
and I would go.
Not someone with a scheme.
Their face would not shine,
though they may oil it up
to get after the effect.
One anointing is different from another,
however,
and I think it would be possible to tell.

Blinding light that gives sight,
descend upon my nighttime,
and filter my days.

(Exodus 34:29-35, Psalm 99, Matthew 12:33-46)