the wind blows over the waters

New Blog

2009-06-22T12:48:00.001-04:00

wandrewgibbens.wordpress.com

Same Name, Different Ones and Zeroes.

New Poems

2009-06-21T13:19:00.005-04:00

Happening Frontier

It so happens, sometimes,
that eyes peer into and
past, and nothing familiar

is seen. Worried, as such,
the look excavates reaching
truths, and still,

only frontiers.
Intrigue scatters off to
clumsiness and it's all
hands up in the air;

shoulders shrug, and,
if careless, navel gazing
recommences.

Close

You wouldn’t know
at right off,
right before you,

that I’d like nothing
less than some

direct, tough questions.
It’s not, but it is
this public’s penchant

for vacillation,
gerrymandering voices,
that would have me seem
opaque
—at second glance.
Should we come close…

the breezes may break;
nothing seems to point
there, yet.

Interprative Verse of a Jack Tale About a Wishgiver

2009-06-11T15:26:00.002-04:00

Quick thoughts don’t come too quick.

All the time you’ve got to think, so
much so that you can even let others
think for you so you know what
thoughts you might need to have.

See, we don’t always see things the
way others see them. Right there
in front of us, see right there, is someone
else’s sight seeing the same thing
and something different, something
you probably need to see.

One day you’re going to find yourself
hoping, thoughts coming quick but
un-distilled, stagnating, eclipsing fine things,
and unless you see someone else’s hopes
measuring yours, it’ll just be your own wishful
thinking full only of yourself.

Else you’ll be eating at an empty table
set with shiny plates of sad gold.

Obedience

2009-04-22T20:59:00.009-04:00

What is obedience? We say we follow Jesus Christ, the one whom the Gospel of John says is from above, and of whom no one accepts testimony. Incidentally, following Jesus does not mean being accepted, does not mean finding worldly power. The kinds of power that the world offers require that we would obey humans rather than God. It would be institutions, structures of dominance and control, even seemingly altruistic religious systems, that we would have to submit to, rather than the God who would rather mysteriously break us out of jails at night so that we might preach in the power of the Holy Spirit.

Obedience is such a difficult thing for us to grasp. Embedded into us by the opaque notions of "homeland security," "surveillance," and "patriotism," is a discipline of self-policing, following the laws of the land so as not to be caught and punished. A psalm says that the Lord confronts evildoers to destroy remembrance of them forever; to the contrary, the society we find ourselves in is founded upon insidious institutions cloaked in secrecy. We might say, "There's no need to worry about remembering the deeds of evil done--most folks didn't know they happened in the first place." And so obedience is difficult to grasp because often we are unaware of our options. So often the church throughout its history has seen nothing wrong with blending in--oh, there's salvation in it, but it's alongside everything else. The Gospel and the witness of the Apostles greatly shake up the notion of a comfortable conviviality between the body of Christ and the world. To obey God is to choose Christ, to seek to be led by the Spirit, not to be dictated by the powers of the world.

We must be acutely aware of what we are doing when we choose to worship God in the name of Jesus Christ. Our purpose is not to maintain some institution. The heart of the tradition we come from brings into question all alliances that would crucify Christ again given the chance. (If we were to observe history, they do crucify Christ again and again in the oppression of the poor.) But God has exalted Jesus so that we might be granted repentance, the ability to turn around, and forgiveness, freedom from the bondage of false power. As we worship, as we share the Eucharist, we boldly identify ourselves with Christ's suffering and death, his rejection by the earthly powers, and humbly seek to join in his resurrection glory. In our faithfulness, may we be guided by the Holy Spirit to the table and back into the world obeying God and not humans.

Acts 5:27-33, Psalm 34:2 and 9, 17-18, 19-20, John 3:31-36

She Has a Name

2009-04-20T18:23:00.008-04:00

(A sermon preached April 14, 2009 at Adoration, Hopwood Christian Church, Milligan College, TN on John 20:11-18)

She has a name. Her identity has been condensed and construed and misconstrued and used for the purposes of various folk. She’s been called a former prostitute, once possessed by a handful of demons, a woman who may have been the one to shatter an alabaster jar to rub nard onto the soon-to-be-pierced-feet of the Lord. She’s the sultry seductress of the Greek writer Nikos Kazantzakis’ novel The Last Temptation of Christ adopted for film by Martin Scorsese. According to Dan Brown’s Code she’s a rose and the hidden wife of Jesus of Nazareth. Mary Magdalene, the Apostle to the Apostles. She was weeping and “Jesus said to her, ‘Mariam!’” Although her name and identity have been confused for centuries, this Mary that we encounter today in John’s gospel has a name which Jesus knows, and when she hears her name spoken by the resurrected Lord her eyes are opened to see the world transformed. Hearing and seeing her being named, our understanding and our world can too be transformed.

We all have a name. When I was young, my mom has told me, I insisted that people would call me “Andrew,” nothing else. When I was eight, a little league baseball coach repeatedly would call me “Andy,” and I’m told that I would either ignore his address or correct him. I knew my name. On the rare occasions when I would upset my mom or get caught for doing something I shouldn’t have been doing, I’d know I really was in trouble when she would raise and tighten her voice saying, “William Andrew Jehosephat!” These days, when my girlfriend Christina greets me on the phone or at door saying, “Andrew! Andrew!” she reminds me of her love for me. Beyond that, I recognize the great responsibility that comes with being named by someone, the call it entails, the humility and gratitude it bestows and conjures.

The weeping woman we encounter in the gospel reading has lost her sense of identity, has lost the one person that had offered her hope. He has been crucified by the State at the behest of religious leaders who wanted to maintain the status quo, their sense of security. Mourning early in the morning of the first day of the week, according to John, she goes by herself to the tomb in which Jesus had been laid to rest only to find the stone covering the entrance rolled back. She retrieves Peter, and he and the beloved disciple run to find the tomb empty. While they head back home, Mary remains in the garden weeping for her murdered and disappeared leader. But Jesus, now mysteriously unrecognizable, appears to her and asks her what’s troubling her. She mistakes him for the gardener and asks him if he’s moved the body. Imagine Jesus’ voice, tender, slightly amused, yet sure and steady, “Mary,” he says. In saying that small designation, that name, Jesus reveals himself to the weeping woman, and she is no longer the weeping woman, she is Mary. In hearing her name spoken by Jesus her world is transformed. She sees herself as she truly is, who she has been, and is given the power to become who she is meant to be. She is a student, a pupil, a listener, a worshipper, a follower, a sister of Jesus. Understandably, her emotions all in mess, she grabs hold of her Risen Teacher. But in naming her, Jesus gives Mary the awesome task of apostleship; she is to be the Apostle to the Apostles, the first witness of the Resurrected Christ. Mary is named to go and tell the gospel, to name the resurrection, to name the new reality of the Word of God.

We come to worship to be named and to learn how to name. The liturgy of this worship service, with its songs and prayers, its words and practices, is meant to name us. We are a people called to worship, a people who have come out of the darkness of the night into the light of God’s presence. We see ourselves with honest humility and confess our sins, asking for strength that only God can provide, endurance that can only be maintained with others. The reading of the Word opens us up to God’s truth. We will join with the host of angels singing, “Holy, holy, holy,” and proclaim Christ crucified and Christ resurrected. We will come forward and receive the bread become Christ’s body, responding with “Amen” to the celebrant saying “the body of Christ.” Yes it is. Yes we are. We are named clean by the Blood of the New Covenant. Here tonight, we are named the body of Christ gathered from different Christian communities nestled in the hills of East Tennessee into a church building beside the banks of Buffalo Creek. So named, we must ask ourselves: Who have we been? Who are we? Who are we to become?

Being named by Christ does not end with simply being able to say, “I am Mary,” or “I am Andrew.” It’s a calling, a sending. “Go to my brothers and tell them, 'I am going to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Being named means begin given a task. Jesus told Mary to tell the disciples that the world had been radically transformed because of the Resurrection. Now those who know Jesus have his Father as their Father, his God as their God. Like Jesus, Christian disciples have the gift of the Holy Spirit and, with humility and discernment, the ability to name things correctly, to bear light on things trying to hide in the dark. To see what this looks like for us imagine Jesus’ disciples, the body of Christ today, calling the wars, oppressive regimes, and financial crises of the world what they are. They have names—Idolatry, Greed, Racism, Theft, Sin. And imagine the disciples of Jesus today naming the poor and the neighbor: Blessed, Beautiful, Friend, Sister, Brother, Image and Children of God. By taking the time to name people and things, learning what they are, be they beautiful or in need of transformation, the Church of Jesus Christ participates in God’s work of reconciliation. It hears its call to continue the work of Christ’s gospel, “to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

Tonight, as we worship, as we sit, and stand, and kneel, as we sing, and greet, and reflect in prayerful silence, we are being named as the body of Christ, as children of God, as a people empowered by the Holy Spirit to go into the world as the light, as the presence of the One who emptied the tomb. May we listen carefully for our names and respond with great joy and thanksgiving: “Teacher! My Lord! My God!”

Amen.

Desert

2009-02-24T16:40:00.002-05:00

This screen and it's accompanying keys
do not hold a key to anything my fingers
can touch.

And I will desert them now, for
forty days in the desert of senses
and senselessness. To write

without metaphor, Let's stay away
from machines, and let's question our
need for them. They make us feel like

they need us, and they do; that's how
commodities survive--talking without
a voice, and demon's whisper in your

head communicating things you wouldn't
hear otherwise. Such is desire that must
be ratified by a dollar and devotion,

unclean. We will see a much greater
light as we turn down or off the lights;
closing my eyes I imagine it sparking.

In the Middle of Winter

2009-01-18T17:38:00.006-05:00

Reading another's verse on
winter, I was reminded of my
remembrance that the passing

silver solstice overcomes the
darkening months. It all
gets lighter from here. It is

that yellow solstice, that
brightest of days, that hearkens
the sun's shyness, its coy frolic

with the shadows. We don't
notice because of the heat
of those days. But today,

in remembrance, as a member
of this lazy, yet demanding
stroll, I look up from my

thoughts in the handed-down
chair and see crystallized water
flurries meander toward the

clipped grass and tarred
road, and I know it's still
cold, still, hopefully,

maneuvering into that place
where the days are yet
bright and pull warmth out

from, not pimple up and
close off, the skin.

The Epiphany of Gaza

2009-01-04T21:48:00.006-05:00

Today, Sunday 4 January, the western Church celebrated the Epiphany of the Lord. The Gospel reading told the story of the Eastern Magi coming to Jerusalem to find a recently born king. The prospect of a new king scared the piss out of King Herod the Great and the Jerusalem elite. In subsequent verses we find that Herod tried to kill all the children that might possibly be this new king. Jesus, we learn made an Exodus to Egypt, however. Nonetheless, the powers eventually got Him, put Him on a Roman cross. We would hope this would be the last time those in power would have tried to kill Jesus, but it struck me again today that they won't stop; be it the Jesus born in Bethlehem 2000 years ago, or the Jesus born next door, the Jesus living in Gaza, the one in prison, sick, powerless and therefore mirroring that which the powerful fear the most in themselves. I wrote this poem in reflection. It's probably not finished, but may we see the Epiphany of the Lord, even in a place like Gaza.

When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him... [H]e was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or younger.
The Gospel According to Saint Matthew 2.3, 16

These things happen. They always do,
always will. And you think you can do
something about this? You always will.

Jesus has been killed once, outside
Jerusalem. And Jesus has been killed
many times over and again, inside and

out, Jerusalem. For the the rulers, their
rubies and diamonds, it's more paletable
when Jesus is a Palestinian. Jesus, He

was killed once; she and her children
have been killed again. Troops on
cummerbunded horses, ironclad thinking

dungeons, with piercing arrows and
munitions. There is no God but God. No
Anglo or Semite. These things happen.

Jesus hangs inside and outside Jerusalem,
eyes crossing back and forth over
frightened Jerusalem, shrieking Bethlehem,

olive pitted Gaza.

To Arrange a Life

2008-12-20T00:10:00.004-05:00

This is a pointless practice, it could be said.
No one reads poetry these days, some think.
I didn’t until a year or so ago. I would take

the time to write my thoughts, that catharsis
of Aristotelian poetics, for a slowing down
of my breath—but to take the time to listen?
But now I want to hear the whispers of silence,

and somehow I think that involves this reading
and writing of words in strange arrangement,
open mostly to inconclusive endings, for you
can’t expect anyone to read these things,

anyway. Any way is not one way, and I’d
encourage you to listen your way, as long
as that includes listening. Sounds are not always

voices and messages. Lack of message is at
times the loudest message of all. That’s how
they get you. We think we know discernment.

We make a lot of choices. But who really reads
poetry these days, and why would I bother
to write out my life’s thoughts when they arrive,
to look inside my heart looking for what is not

dark that I might be freed from my strange
arrangements?

A Year Without Poetry

2008-12-18T14:01:00.003-05:00

I told myself, Write, and I put
the pen down. Told myself,
Write, and made a phone call.

They say you have to write,
just write, and write again, and
I don't know if they're right,

but I know I have not been. If
this has been a year without
poetry, it was not, I think, a

year without theory, a breadth
of time to be forgot. But a year
without verses must surely have

been recorded somewhere, even
an unseen somewhere; it was just
not so readily edited, spaced, paced,

or considered as it slipped by.

Advent Sight

2008-12-16T17:11:00.002-05:00

In a world embittered by what others have done in the name of God, we would do well to approach God in supplication with great humility when asking, Teach me your way, O Lord. Too often has God been morphed in our feeble minds into an enabler of bad tidings, into an oracle allowing our eyes to see whatever we want to see. But this is one of the many reasons we celebrate Advent, and all the other great festal seasons of the Church calendar. We need better vision. We need our actions to be guided by a holy pattern.

In this season, we await the in-breaking of the kingdom, the star and staff of Balaam's utterance (see Readings for Monday of 3rd Week of Advent), God in the flesh that all of our flesh might be renewed and quickened for the ways of God. Even now we partake in the Advent we await. And in this waiting we are strengthened to be humble, to be able to recognize the source of Christ's authority which shapes our whole beings to be faithful.

Hopeful Sadness

2008-12-10T10:22:00.006-05:00

I would imagine that only
those who would say, "the
Lord does not judge us

according to what we
deserve," can only say such
with any authenticity

if they do so with some
grieving. Otherwise, why
the need for the lifting

of heavy burdens? For
strengthening our weaker
parts? For water to keep

us from fainting? In other
words, a tinge of sadness
is a great gift. A sense

of hopelessness is the
awakening of hope. We ought
to still have doubts; never

leave behind those questions.
Only, realize they can be freed
to new modes of lucidity.

So, bless the Lord, O my soul,
all that is within me--
my dissipating fears, my

confidences, affections, visions,
sadness and joy. Fuse my paradox,
and help me to learn from the

meek and humble heart. Jesus Christ,
Son of God, have mercy on me,
a sinner.

(Isaiah 40:25-31; Psalm 103; Matthew 11:28-30)

Terra Incognitas

2008-12-06T12:18:00.003-05:00

These are terra incognitas, histories,
to wade through marshes of words,
to swim across lakes of images. Disguised?

Their retreats seem more apparent, yet
transparent, when we’d rather not
know the past as it is felt presently,

a ghost’s nip. On our heels, we’re
forced to face mirrored halls, and
often we do so with closed eyes. Why?

History hurts. Our own acts are enough
to swallow, to still be able to shrug,
and so now the weight of the Church?

Leave it unknown! Leave it alone! Keep it
away! Let me say my pledge, covering my heart,
easy words of heavenly citizenship, I believe,

enough. Ahistory is much easier,
no need to point to how we got here.

But slow down and breathe. Yes,
mystery is unknown. But let us not run
from our flailing efforts, graced by mystery

drawn near. Nor put our back to nuance.
Things shift. We’re shifty characters and
so were our forefathers. Shifting

solidity, solidification, foundation, and
apostles are still sent to speak us back
down to this earth where grace breaks in.

Breathe together, gathered, called of
the Church in the world. Walk the unknown—
they were known—ways, the paths

the aisles to the chancel, the nave of
saints’ prayers and texts. And in all
things, still, say in the Spirit the name

over all names, prayer of prayers, Word
of words, history made history; the truth,
confession, sanctifier of flesh, tongues,

hearts that speak, “Jesus Christ.”

Child, deep down

2008-12-02T17:59:00.000-05:00

You, child, reach deep down there,
into the deep opening of the earth,
the serpent's home. Not the cursed one,
but the eternal swallow, the staffed
snake, the swirl of your veins,
the path of you blood. Reach there,
into your depths, into your childlike
self, your revealed self, hidden person
freed from the lowliness of winter
and summer's despair. Reach down
and grow from there, flourish as justice
in the time of God's peace, with
blessed eyes that see what prophets and
humble rulers once only
imagined, now known
through the Son for the Father's good pleasure,
in the vitality of the Holy Spirit's
delightful fruit. Gather, now, all,
all you children and creatures—
those that bear piercing teeth now
purr; which bleat, coo in innocent
frivolity. Commingle around the
table, and banquet the gladness astir,
and taste that depth, that true good, that
endless end.

Confession

2008-11-28T13:19:00.001-05:00

Painful, it
empties tears, embraces
humility and, tingling,
moves forward.
The body relaxes,
throws off anxiety, with
lies uncovered, displaying
some truth, a step
toward assurance, uninsured.

Theology

2008-11-26T16:34:00.008-05:00

Theology is a (poetic) bodily act.
Its project of “detachment” is most fully
realized when the body and soul

are found to be in harmonious union.
Then the theologian hymns
beautiful poems to God. The hand, with a pen,

spills out in verse, by the soul’s meter, images of divine mystery,
often found in the most mundane experiences
of daily life. The heart, the pulse of a human life,

is given voice, helping humanity to re-imagine

the image

it has bestowed upon itself by

seeing that humanity is to be perfected
as it is—the image of God, ordained by God.
Preachers begin to preach

a Gospel, not of an escapist hope for the soul of
one day leaving the confines of the body, but
of the possibilities of striving toward

the perfected life now, in the body.
The strife, struggle, suffering, and solemnity
of life is redeemed by the catharsis

of moving words that point to an end—
putting affliction to verse—an end of
the pain, perversion, privatization, and pestilence.

Instead of being alone in their heads, people
are empowered to share
together in the community of divine life,

bound together by prayer, conversation, and letter.

Invitation, Acceptance, Power, and Humility

2008-04-28T10:31:00.004-04:00

(a homily)

Invitation is a powerful notion. To invite another person or group into your life or your home or your group is an act involving power. It is not a power that lords over the other, but one that empowers the other; to invite is to lower yourself in order to clarify that you see the other as worthy of your company, significant in your sight.

Conversely, the acceptance of an invitation is also an act of lowering and empowering. Acceptance is a gracious disposition, a humbled manner of facing the other and the world. It is living with thankfulness of heart and a true sense of dependence. Within this framework we see the deep significance of the invitation of the woman from Thyatira, Lydia, and Paul and the other's welcoming acceptance. The giving and receiving of invitation and acceptance give us a vision of the spiritual life, the life lived worthy of the Gospel, the testimony of Jesus in the Spirit.

Worship and the Eucharist teach us how to invite and accept. We worship God in response to God's invitation. The conversation of worship leads us to invite others into our personal lives, even into our communal life together. Even when others do not know how to accept our invitation, we continue to lovingly offer ourselves to them, empowered as we are by the Advocate who proceeds from the Father. Our life in the Spirit draws us into fellowship with the Triune God.

Worship humbles us so we might invite God into our hearts. The seventh or ninth century Palestinian monk, Theodorus the Ascetic, profoundly writes concerning the life with God:

The Lord makes his abode
in the souls of the humble,
for the hearts of the proud
are full of shameful obsessions.
Nothing strengthens the obsessions
so much as arrogant thoughts;
nothing uproots the weeds of the soul
so quickly as blessed humility.
[Quoted in The Book of Mystical Chapters: Meditations on the Soul's Ascent from the Desert Fathers and Other Early Christian Contemplatives, Trans. and Intro. John Anthony McGuckin (Boston: Shambhala, 2003) 58.]

May our worship and the high praises of God in our throats lead us to blessed humility. In this humility we are delivered from the kind power that finds its source in arrogance and instead we are empowered by the love of Christ which guides us in a way of invitation and acceptance of the other.

(Acts 16:11-15; Psalm 149:1b-2, 3-4, 5-6a and 9b; John 15:26—16:4a)

The Holy Spirit, and the Heavens, the Earth, the Seas

2008-04-21T09:22:00.006-04:00

(a homily)

Does our vision, our way of life, have an advocate? Do we rightly see that the heavens and the earth are God's, that the Lord made them, that we are on the earth as a gift? We have being because of the overflowing love of a Creator God, who is so full of love that perfect union is known in a community of Three, a God who is not only transcendent and above the creation, but also immanent, present, desiring dwell in the lives of those who keep the word of love in Christ. This love, this presence, this union is manifested among us by the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, our Teacher, our lens. Do we allow the Advocate to re-mind us of Jesus words, to make our minds new, to dwell in our thoughts, our hearts, our hands, our eyes, our own words?

Vision is easily skewed. We may see the work of God before our very eyes, but attribute the deed to a false god, a god in our own image. Our world struggles today with the affects of the philosophical turn that made humans the image of divinity, the bearers of power in the earth. We wrongly think that the earth and the sea and all that is in them, even the heavens, belong to us.

Now, it is not wrong for us to see that our fate is the fate of the world, but it is misleading for us to believe we control that fate. Humans seeing themselves as masters of the earth has led to the earth's destruction, and the earth's destruction in turn leads to humanity's misery. The creation groans in pain; we too must learn to weep with it. The source of our tears, the source of living water that wells up in our innermost beings, is the Holy Spirit, the Liberator of the creation, the giver of New Life, the presence of God. It is this Spirit that makes holy that which we do in the love of Christ, by the direction of the Word. The Spirit makes us holy, makes us advocates of the creation, gives us vision to see the image of God in others and the work of God in all that is.

May all we do serve to remind us of Christ's words, that we may hear anew the promise of being made the dwelling of God. Let us listen to the teaching of the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, listen to the breeze through the grasses and trees, and go forth knowing that the God who heals, who can help us to see aright, is the God who made heaven and earth and the sea and all that is in them.

(Acts 14:5-18; Psalm 115; John 14:21-26)

Lay Down

2008-04-15T10:48:00.002-04:00

(a homily)

What shall we lay down? What is there that causes us to fuss, to exclude? Who are we to hinder God from granting the gift of life to the world, even ourselves?

It seems that more questions arise than answers are received when we face the word of the Gospel. In the light of the love of God we are humbled; we ask ourselves, if we are willing to reckon Christ the rightful role of shepherd, Why are we not following the Voice of God? This is such a troubling question to ask, for we must look deep within ourselves to find the answer, and break through the barriers we've built up between our hearts and God. Such a view is not flattering.

But let us be at peace in the knowledge that God desires us to bid the Holy Spirit to come, to send forth light and faithfulness so that we might be led to the dwelling place of God to find rest. God desires to pour out the Spirit upon all flesh, to unite humanity, to bring together all people into one flock. We, as the church are called to be a part of this work. We have been granted life-giving repentance, and so we can turn away from death, from exclusion, and turn towards the still, small Voice, towards trust, love, contemplation, and selflessness. We can lay down our lives.

The Eucharist teaches us this way of life, the way of giving and receiving and giving, of being broken and being made whole. Let us give ourselves to the Good Shepherd who will lead us in the way of love, in life baptized by the Holy Spirit.

Eunucized Mind

2008-04-10T17:44:00.002-04:00

I admit, I want to
spread my seed,
sow my virile
oats. To leave a mark,
a point of
remembrance for
my name. But, no,
not now, not when
marks mark the
lands with the
works of hands
led by minds
corrupt. My name
is enough, my thoughts
and my touch
are of love and
possess only themselves,
them being held
by the fingernail
that scraped the
humus and humanized
the dirt, moved by
the breathing wind.
Enough, this is.
Enough and no need
to leave marks.
The humus already
stands to be consumed.

When Did He Get Here?

2008-04-07T15:02:00.004-04:00

(a homily)

"Teacher, when did you get here?" the crowd asked. It seems the evangelist John meant to imply that the people were dumbfounded that Jesus had made it to the other side of the lake during the night, alone, without a boat. Even more, they were upset that he had gone on his way because their meal for the day left with him. But Jesus looks through their questions. He doesn't bother addressing their intrigue, but instead leads them to consider deeper things than transportation and dinner: food that does not perish, everlasting food, the Son of Man's food; this they are to look and work for. We are to look and work for.

But what is our work? We are very much like the crowd, going to church, going to various places, looking for Jesus, looking for something. Christ is there, but I'm sure at times we wonder to ourselves, When did he get here? We recognize there is work for us to do, work for imperishable food, but what is it? (Manna, Exodus 16.) And what is imperishable food, anyway? Such a thing seems inconsiderate to imagine in a world plagued by hunger, cruel to people suffering from the havoc wrought by unjust economic systems and the greed of others.

And yet, perhaps we get a glimpse of the work of the Jesus of John's Gospel in the action of St. Stephen. Stephen, who's speech and story we will hear in the following days, spoke in the Spirit to the people with great wisdom. And what was his work, his task that occasioned great wonders and signs? Waiting tables and distributing food to widows. (Now, at the same time, the twelve apostles were going about their work of prayer and teaching--this too is a work for imperishable food.)

So, what is our work? To believe. If we could, in English, make "faith" a verb, "to faith." (We wouldn't have such a problem in Greek.) Our work is to give our whole selves to the one God sent, Jesus Christ. It is to allow his word to cut through our questions, so that we might be given a new petition, to say with the psalmist, "Remove from me the way of falsehood, the way of truth I have chosen." Our work is to pray, to feed on the meal Christ gives, to seek justice for the poor and the widows and the orphans, to create a place in which the apostles' teaching can be received. People will ask, "When did Jesus get here?" and we will be able to say, "We are working for an answer."

(Acts 6:8-15; Psalm 119:23-24, 26-27, 29-30; John 6:22-29)

The Believe is to Breathe

2008-04-02T11:15:00.005-04:00

(a homily for Adoration, Hopwood Christian Church)

We often think that to believe is to simply give mental ascent, to appreciate in our minds and probably with our lips that “such and such is true” or that some particular proposition is trustworthy. Such is the legacy of Western “enlightenment.” On the other hand, it seems that those who have become aware that belief is not merely a mental thing, but a bodily way of life, often run the risk of becoming busy-bodies. “There are so many problems to be taken care of in the world, and if I don’t do something, who will?” such folks ask. I must admit that I think active believers are probably going more so in the right direction than merely rational believers. They say, like “doubting” Thomas, “I want to touch the scars of Christ.” Our Gospel reading tells us that Thomas was not with the other ten disciples when the risen Lord appeared to them. Some Christian traditions hold that Thomas was absent because he was already out doing the work of the Gospel. The other ten, were, in a sense, still in a state of shock, and they locked themselves up in a room trying to wrap their minds around the news they had received from Mary of Magdala, that she had seen the risen Lord. The question arises, however, as to which type of disciples we should try to be like: the active, physically oriented Thomas type or the hiding, mentally oriented type? All of us are potentially like Thomas and the other disciples. Perhaps there’s a way to bring both together.

What if our mentally-minded friends are not entirely wrong, just merely misguided by the likes of Descartes, talking head politics, state education required aptitude tests, or that great disembodying device, television? It is to be our hope that all are able to be made new; such is the promise of the Resurrection. But where does Resurrection Reality bring the ephemerally fanciful mind back into fellowship with the hardened, busy body, those parts of the person never meant to be considered divided? Well, take a deep breath. No, really, breathe deeply.

We must regain our hearts, the seat of our very beings. The Greek term in the New Testament and other ancient Christian writings often translated as “mind” or “intellect,” is nous. Nous is, however, something more than “mind,” or the faculty of reason. It is our “spirit,” that essential part of us that connects to God, being even the image of God in humanity. Thus, as the Eastern spiritual fathers express, true prayer and worship is “to descend with the mind (the nous) into the heart.”[Timothy Ware, in Introduction, The Art of Prayer, compiled by Igumen Chariton of Valamo (London: Faber and Faber, 1966), 17f.] If we’ve forgotten, or never learned, the profundity of the mind, that it’s not only for thinking and mental ascent, it will be difficult for us to let it reconnect with the heart. However, a practice that can help us do this is that of being attentive to our breathing. Perhaps a selection from a poem by the contemporary poet Scott Cairns about the subtle meaning of nous will help to illustrate:

“… Dormant in its roaring cave,
the heart’s intellective aptitude grows dim,
unless you find a way to wake it. So,

let’s try something, even now. Even as
you tend these lines, attend for a moment
to your breath as you draw it in: regard

the breath’s cool descent, a stream from mouth
to throat to the furnace of the heart.
Observe that queer, cool confluence of breath

and blood, and do your thinking there.

[Scott Cairns, “Adventures in New Testament Greek: Nous,” Compass of Affection (Brewster,
MA: Paraclete Press, 2006), 104-105.]

When we become mindful of our breath, when we slow down to take notice of something so easily unnoticed as breathing, we become profoundly aware of the inseparable nature of our mind—our spirit—and our body. We come to recognize that the mental aspect of believing is wedded to the flesh, to our mouth, our throat, our lungs, our heart. We find that to believe is to breathe.

Now, I must tell you that we are not to do all of this believing and breathing alone. Bringing the mind and the heart and the body back together, mending the internal divide caused by sin, deception, and a philosophical inheritance will be a trying process. And thus we find, at least in part, the wisdom of gathering here together in this place to fellowship and foster friendship in the context of worship. We need help in believing, that radically active disposition that takes hold of all we are, and points us towards all we are becoming. When we find it difficult to breathe, our fellow believers in Christ are a peaceful presence. In worship, in receiving the body and blood of Christ, we are given true breath and we learn how to breathe in the everyday.

Here in this place, and in life’s mindful encounters, the risen Jesus comes among us, his disciples, and he says to us, “Peace be with you,” and he shows us the marks of his crucifixion, those gruesome and glorious reminders of the reward of fulfilling the law of love, of faithfully living the Gospel. Jesus tells us, and he shows us, that believing is not something simply done “up here, in the mind, with sheer thoughts.” Belief is done in and with the body—in our wrists, in our sides, with our hearts, with our very breath. But neither is belief merely physical; it is truly spiritual, the mind’s activity of repentance and purification, the turning of our whole selves towards God to be cleansed and renewed. Let us breathe. Let us believe. Let us think not only about the body of Christ, nor simply touch Christ’s scars, but let us be the body of Christ, broken for the world and raised to new life.

Jesus, breathe on us anew, that we may receive the Holy Spirit, the Advocate sent by your Father. Thank you for the gifts of worship, prayer, life, doubt, belief and breath. Give us breath, so we may live in a way that gives you glory. Amen.

(Gospel: John 20:19-31)

Together the Handmaid

2008-03-31T15:17:00.003-04:00

(a homily)

Today we celebrate the Annunciation of the Lord. The story is told that the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary to tell her that she would bear the Son of God. The conception was to be the work of the Holy Spirit. Though the news puzzled her, she accepted the word of the angel and declared, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.”

Not being the kind of human that would be able to bear a child, I admit that I tend to struggle with how to place myself in this story. Who am I? Certainly I'm not Mary; really, none of us are. Neither am I Gabriel, though this particular morning I am supposed to bring a message. But perhaps part of the problem for me to conceive of my place in this story is that I'm trying to find my place, my individual self. If we're going to read ourselves into this story, we need to do it together.

It is true that the story depicts one particular event in history. However, the Word of God still speaks today, still "stories" those who read and hear it. The Annunciation is announced among us today, even here in East Tennessee. Today, an angel tells us, the Holy Spirit will come upon you and the will of the Son of God will dwell in you. We must respond, "Behold, we are the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to us according to your word."

Christ is among us in our gathering. We receive the bread and wine, his body and blood, and the grace of God is conceived within us and among us as we are made anew the Body of Christ. We even are made messengers, heralds of the impossible made actual. And thus, by God's empowerment, we too can say, "Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will." We may not be Mary, or Gabriel, or even Joseph or King Ahaz, but by the Word of God, we fellowship with them, we are incorporated into their stories together. Hopefully we will respond well to the signs given to us, a response made possible by the one sacrifice of the Son of God, a response that reverberates throughout all our lives, individually and communally.

(Feast of the Annunciation of the Lord: Isaiah 7:10-14; 8:10; Psalm 40; Hebrews 10:4-10; Luke 1:26-38)

good, Friday

2008-03-21T21:14:00.003-04:00

What year, which reading,
will the cries of "no king but Caesar"
curdle our own blood when we speak them
with our lives?

Our legs broken that we might bow,
bend the knee, quibbling
before governors for our murderous
intentions fulfilled.

Righteousness, goodness,
love, meekness: despised and crucified.

Enemy forgiveness, suffering swallowed,
endured.

O Caesar, you don't understand.
Forgive us for giving
you power, corrupting you,
giving you reason
to smirk.

Lord, we kill, we die,
but let us rise above
our derelict voices, our
choice for power.

Restore us to
exiled love.

An Ecotheological Thought for Holy Week

2008-03-18T11:40:00.003-04:00

To know that the world is essentially united is excruciating; a person in that moment of recognition, that experience of unity, realizes the place of the cross in creation. That person feels in that moment the separation that sin generates between created beings in themselves and among each other; even more the separation between the created order and God. Such a recognition will lead a person in the way towards the cross, towards the work of participation in the restoration of unity begun, completed, and to be in Christ and perfected by the Spirit.

Tea on back deck, under the sun

2008-03-17T17:25:00.007-04:00

A cup of amber tea.
My friend crafted
the cup from clay
made by God, packaged
by humans, glaze
probably mechanically
distilled. Amber tea,
from yellow, black
leaves, Chinese. Iron
Japanese pot for steeping.
Unbleached sugar, its time
as Paraguayan cane
crystallized, shipped last
in plastic. Dust bits float
on the surface. Am I
swallowing my own skin?
Spume, mirror of the sun,
of a face, diminutive,
effervescent, from
the center out to a
circumstantial part
of the potter's
boundary, minus the three
aloofly polar domes
there alone, noticed
and inspiring. Inspiring
to be not too concerned,
not merely observant.

Nothing to Fear

2008-03-17T14:18:00.003-04:00

(a homily)

"Of whom shall we be afraid?" Even though this week we prepare to walk again the way to the cross, we have nothing to fear. Even though we face the truth that faithfulness to the Gospel brings upon us opposition from the powers, we ought not withhold the Word of Love. This Word has set us free, and it calls us to work for the freedom of others. We have something to say to those who seek to imprison the nations if we in our spirits are freed from their ways of oppression. Literally, there are people in this world in dark dungeons, and not so figuratively in prisons, be they penitentiaries, covert detention centers, ghettos, slums, hollers, and projects; or mansions, high-rise apartments, cubicles, and corporate boardrooms. The very philosophical foundations of our surrounding culture and political system seek to confine us by fear to our individual selves, our individual families and friends, and to make us blind to the just union that God seeks to bring forth to the nations in Jesus Christ, and through the body of Christ, the Church.

But let us remember, we have nothing to fear. We, in our baptisms, were placed in the grave. We have already tasted death (though, perhaps, its stench has been hidden from us). Having tasted death, we shall not be afraid of death any longer. Instead, this Holy Week we walk in the steps of Jesus to the Cross. We hear his teachings, witness his betrayal, see his agony. We can see these anytime we read the news or make an effort to observe and engage the world. This day, and throughout the week, too, we gather around the table; we feast with the company of the saints. We recognize that we must break open our perfumes and anoint the feet of Jesus, wash the feet of our brothers and sisters. We like Lazarus have been raised from the dead, only to watch the Lord of Life go to the cross to truly conquer death. With the cross there is resurrection; release from the dungeons and the mansions.

Let us become prepared in the worship of God, the fellowship at table, to walk in the way of Jesus in the power of the Holy Spirit. Such a walk leads to the cross, but we are guided by the Lord, our light and our salvation, so we shall not be afraid. Christ gives himself for us, and we ourselves for his cause, the Kingdom. At this table we taste death and we taste life, the life of the world.

(Isaiah 42:1-7; Psalm 27; John 12:1-11)

Not He

2008-03-08T15:49:00.004-05:00

When I think to myself
of myself:
"Here, this is the prophet
who was to come
into my world.
By force,
make him king"--
I must withdraw
to a quiet place
by myself
to remember kingdoms
were not meant
to be of this world.

To the City of Peace and Wholeness, Unfamiliar

2008-03-03T12:48:00.001-05:00

(a homily)

Those who can give up their native place will be open to making room for the other for they recognize their own displacement. Rejected, we can become accepting people, which is to love the enemy, the estranged and the stranger. Prophets have no honor in their hometowns. Miracles are performed in neighboring communities; the water is made into wine, the unfamiliar is familiarized and all the more made mysterious and beautiful.

This is newness of life; a new home, a new way of living in the City of Peace and Wholeness, the Kingdom of God. Past wrongs are forgiven and forgotten. Bitter tears are transformed into joyous exaltation. Wine is pressed from abundant grapes, the fruit of labor done not in vain. All work becomes a prayer, our practice becomes praise of God.

Let us continue journeying together toward Jerusalem, the city where we will meet our fate. It is where we have been heading in this Lenten season, following Jesus to the cross, His glorification. Today, feasting on simple bread and wine transformed by the Holy Spirit into transforming spiritual food, we taste the bitterness of Christ's broken body, Christ's death; but, we also receive a taste of the celebration to be had in the new city, a celebration that begins even now. Here, the new heaven becomes present, and we are made seed for the new earth.

As we near death this very hour, at just this time we too are told and we come to know that we will live; the Holy Spirit, the Breath of God, dwells in us. We may have to leave the place of our original comfort, but in so doing we walk towards the City of Peace and Wholeness.

(Isaiah 65:17-21; Psalm 30; John 4:43-54)

Sight Anointed

2008-03-02T21:39:00.004-05:00

Blind and blind
and awake O sleeper.
I'm tired, but I may be awake.
When do I see?
When I see I don't see, I see.
Small, slight, unobtrusive,
the light can be seen;
though it would be
better to not have a king.
Olive oil and wine poured,
tasted and absorbed.
Anoint with spit and mud,
words' liquid and earth.
Awake O sleeper, see.

(1 Samuel 16:1b, 6-7, 10-13a; Psalm 23; Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9:1-41)

The Small Law of Love

2008-02-27T16:31:00.004-05:00

The smallest mark,
the little insect,
fleeting thought in the dark.

Over all these,
and you with and over them,
streams the law so wise.

We would worry
about the smallest details
of the most foolish party,

but, see, we learn
all life is in the finest print.
It is not so we will burn

with anger, judgment, neurosis,
but so to discern with love,
with praise of fair justice.

We see the pupils
of our widened eyes,
the windows of people

closed in reflection,
looking upon intelligence,
the law of love in meditation.

(Deuteronomy 4:1, 5-9; Psalm 147; Matthew 5:17-19)

history, no longer repeating

2008-02-25T10:58:00.008-05:00

Last night I read this:

"In the age when life on earth was full, no one paid any special attention to worthy men, nor did they single out the man of ability. Rulers were simply the highest branches on the tree, and the people were like deer in the woods. They were honest and righteous without realizing that they were "doing their duty." They loved each other and did not know that this was "love of neighbor." They deceived no one yet they did not know that they were "men to be trusted." They were reliable and did not know that this was "good faith." They lived freely together giving and taking, and did not know that they were generous. For this reason their deeds have not been narrated. They made no history."
(Thomas Merton from The Way of Chuang Tzu, 1965, quoted in Echoing Silence: Thomas Merton on the Vocation of Writing, edited by Robert Inchausti. Boston: New Seeds, 2007. 204)

After reading this, I wrote the following. It should not be considered dogmatic. It is simply good to allow ourselves to struggle with the things we encounter, and that is what I am trying to do here. If you would like, struggle with me, please.

"A persons greatest goal ought to be to not make history. Certainly, our world is shaped by historical figures, 'history makers,' yes. They overcame the nameless folks, the censused and numbered of history. Our goal is to not be numbered. 'Sell your possessions.' Give up your binding objects, abstractions and senseless images that entangle you in the messiness of history disconnected from the story God wants to tell. Only in giving up that which is most cherished, your superficial name, that place in the Annals of Babel, will you gain your name, gain your story.

I will grant, we are all historical figures, but whose history? History is told from a certain perspective. Our perspective must change, and our voice must be muted by the still, small Voice, the meek Voice which spoke all things into being with a lyric of grace. From there we speak. Entering into this Voice, into its Word, moved by Its Spirit, we transcend history, and in so giving we mark time with the stamp of eternity come down, the beautiful touch of love which has no attachments, only a name and a God. There, history ceases to repeat itself for it is rightly placed and only the Voice speaks."

The Gospel Takes Us, Not Us the Gospel

2008-02-25T10:50:00.001-05:00

(a homily)

Imagine... Jesus had just been tempted in the desert and overcame the devil. He came home and declared that he had been anointed to bring good news to the poor, release for captives, sight to the blind, freedom for the oppressed, and the year of the Lord's favor. His hometown neighbors were rather amazed at their quiet son's words, but soon their amazement turned to horror and offense when they were told these words were not their own. They were told they weren't going to get it. And they didn't disagree. They weren't going to wrestle with His words, either. They didn't want to share the words with Sidoneans or Syrians or anyone else. Instead, they simply wanted to kill that which they couldn't understand. They wanted these words for themselves, they wanted Jesus' proclamation of freedom to be their key to power, but he would not let them have it.

When we take the Gospel by force, or make it our own without letting it own and re-make us, it passes through us and goes away. We are left alone, burning with anger, blind and leprous, standing at the cliff from which we wished to hurl the Word we would not hear.

But, there is a prophet in Israel, a prophet in the Church. There is a river into which we can plunge. There are waters that will forever quench our thirst. The Holy Spirit is among us here. God's breath is here. When we are here, and when here is with us wherever we are, when Christ is in us, peace is with us. Love moves us. We are compelled to send word that there is good news, release, sight, freedom, and favor. We are compelled to be those things. However, to be such, we must first be at peace in ourselves. We must let go of our angers, our fears, our mistaken expectations, our comforts, the ghosts of exclusion. These are the things that should be thrown off summit of the hill. Having release from these we can take in the body of humility, the life force of forgiveness. We shall then go on our way transformed, renewed, remade, neighbors, brothers and sisters, the body of Christ for the world.

(2 Kings 5:1-15; Psalm 42:2, 3; 43:3, 4; Luke 4:24-30)

Church Death - Church Growth

2008-02-19T10:55:00.006-05:00

(Forgive me for not regularly posting these days, those of you who you check to see if I am. And forgive me for not doing the usual work I do when I do make a post, such as today.)

For some reason, the idea of church expansion and growth came to my mind while I was working on a paper due this week. I'm sure there are healthy churches that grow, that is, acquire new members and converts. I'm sure there are some that are actually preaching the Gospel. But, I am also aware that some church leaders (yes, I have particular ones in mind--this is not a sweeping statement) today have a feeling that if they do not plant new churches, franchises if you will, the church will die. I'm not very familiar with their logic or arguments, but I have a gut feeling they are wrong, at least a bit misguided. Now certainly, I don't want the church to die. I want to see churches doing the work of the Kingdom of God. But franchising? Seems more like McChurch, and as most of us know by now, McAnything is not healthy for the body or soul.

It's not even that I don't want churches to grow or expand. However, we must consider what it is we mean by expansion. Empires expand, but they do it by violence, force, and imposing fear. The seeds they sow are those of hate. Corporations expand, but they do it by acquisition, shady deals, corrupt trade and manufacturing practices. They sow seeds for things that will never be harvested in the Kingdom Come. And yet on the day that Peter spoke to the people in Jerusalem on Pentecost roughly two-thousand years ago, three-thousand were added to the number of the fellowship of the Way, heeding the call to exit their corrupt generation. (Acts 2:40-41) But it was not exactly Peter doing the talking. To those with faith, we see that it was the Spirit of God moving and speaking through him. The old Peter, the old Apostles, had died; the new Creation had begun.

And this leads me to my punchline, if you will, the phrase that came to me when I should have been writing a paper: A church that thinks or feels that it must grow or expand probably needs to die first. Churches cannot go on acting like the corrupt generation they come from. They have been called to move out of the way, to allow the Spirit to take the reigns, not the market-mindset. That day of Pentecost and the days following, it was not fancy marketing schemes and cookie-cutter, or even contrived non-cookie-cut buildings, that attracted people and cut them to the heart. It was death and it was new birth. It was sorrow and it was joy. It was the impossibility of the whole situation that made sense. All the logic of empire and power was shown to be false. Only the Crucified could save them, the one who refused to save himself on their behalf. And now we too can choose to not save ourselves, but to be open to death, open to the life of Christ which leads to the cross and saves us from this corrupt generation. And it is through this openness to death that we actually show love and mercy to those corrupted. Our transparency allows others to see the beautiful Triune God that animates our life together. This death to the old and the normal is life anew. It is growth.

Towards a Full Nothing

2008-02-18T20:04:00.004-05:00

Nothingness, nothingness
in the heart of all that Is,
the Is, that which always was and will Be.
There in that heart, nothing beats
except what Is.

And then something, something
happens with great light,
not piercing darkness,
for there was only light,
but a new light,
a light fathomed
by those given fathoming.

An empty light, a void of light
indistinguishable of itself,
except from the heart that made,
the Is that opened up,
made a space to share,
to overflow.

What are these thoughts
from on high here on earth?

The heavens stir the waters,
thoughts hovering over
this new, deep void.
Floating upon the face
of the void.

From void it began,
to void it will return,
all that is in it,
all that dwells to reckon
emptiness,
nothingness with shapeless shape.

Such formless beauty,
potential breathed movement,
flux resting in stability,
peaceful craft.
The fullest emptiness.
A prayer whispered,
still heard when nothing
is seen for all it is.

Scattered Grain, One Loaf

2008-02-18T12:28:00.004-05:00

(a homily)

We are scattered people. The sins of our past, the heavy weight of our present, the uncertainty of our future lead us to be detached, isolated from our very being. The prophet's of God have spoken to us so often, we're heard their call to repentance, to mark a change of direction in our lives, and yet we still manage to rebel, even when we know God has something better for us. We choose disorder over discipline, being ill at ease over serenity, conflict over peace.

Why are we like this, why are we a scattered people? Not only are we fractured in our individual selves, we are socially divided. We fail to be merciful as our Father in heaven is merciful. Why? Why wouldn't we want friendship, community, a peaceful world, even the Kingdom of God? I'm not entirely sure. However, when I do go inside, when I do search my inner being, attempting by the gace of God to get beyond my isolated person, I see that one of the reasons I'm unable to show mercy, unable to bring myself back together, is that I'm not at peace with myself. Sometimes, frankly, I don't like myself.

But this is not the way it should be among us. We are a people called out to show mercy, and we can do this because we have been shown the most perfect mercy. We are a people called to take the lead in repentance, to listen to the prophets, even to be prophets, for in the power of the Holy Spirit we follow Jesus Christ, who though being God and without sin, took on the flesh of his beloved creation to lead us in the way of righteousness. We are to be a just people, a forgiving people, a thankful people, a people not scattered in our very selves nor among each other.

In this season of Lent we look to see ourselves as we are. This may be painful, but we must look. We are also to look to see ourselves as God sees us, beautiful, forgiven, loved and loving people made in God's image. And that is why this stark season is actually a season of joy. We a sometimes scattered, rebellious people have, like grains of wheat into a loaf of bread, been brought back together, united in peace and love, so that we, like sweet wine, might bring calm and happiness to a world so desperately needing to be embraced with the compassion, mercy and love we have been given by God to offer. And this we do through Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit to the glory of God the Father. Amen.

(Daniel 9:4b-10; Psalm 79; Luke 6:36-38)

Say Nothing

2008-02-13T16:59:00.004-05:00

(a homily)

No words that I say, no phrases that I write will make sense of this moment (of listening to the words of Scripture). I would like to speak lovely words, but in this moment I know they will do nothing. If anything, words spoken after the hearing of the Word can merely hop to bring the hearer back to the Spirit and life that moments ago descended upon the place in which it was heard. Silence is our best response. Not mere quietude, but deep, slow silence. Our words must cease so that they may be enlivened by that Word come down...

"Be holy, for I, the LORD, your God, am holy."
"I am the LORD."
"I was hungry and you gave me food,
I was thirsty and you gave me drink,
a stranger and you welcomed me,
naked and you clothed me,
ill and you cared for me,
in prison and you visited me."

What can we say? What can we do? What will we do? What will we say?

"Holy, holy, holy, Lord, God of power and might,
heaven and earth are full of your glory."
"The peace of Christ be with you."
"Lord, I am not worthy to receive you,
but only say the word and I shall be healed."
"The body of Christ.
The blood of Christ.
Amen."

What Have You To Do With Me?

2008-02-04T21:56:00.001-05:00

So much of the subject matter of today's readings might seem foreign to the ears of the average modern American. Princes rising up against their kingly fathers with swords; the calling down of actual curses; the leader of a country actually allowing the voice of descent to continue; being surrounded by actual foes; demon possession; exorcism. How do we, Christians living in a land ruled by arrogant leaders, a faulty system of government, during a time of perpetual war against no-so-clearly named enemies how do we act faithfully and responsibly? Are we able to conceive of the possibility of those possessed by possessions and power and fear asking us, "What have you to do with me, followers of Jesus, Son of the Most High God?" To live in this setting, in this time, we must be imaginative as we approach the Word, not so much so we can engage it critically (though this is a good thing), but more so that we allow it to engage us. The Word gives life, and even teaches us how to live, how to view our surroundings, if we listen well. By the Spirit, we can within the bounds of orthodoxy, read our selves into the story of salvation, the Good News that has reached us and finds its place on our tongues and fingertips to be spoken and to guide out reach.

Today we are surrounded by friends, by brothers and sisters in the faith, not by enemies, not by misled, power-hungry rulers, but by those whose presence reminds us there is salvation for us in God. It is our hope that others might come among us and see us in our right minds, not so that they might be fearful, but so they might join us as we make space for a people no longer ruled by the surrounding culture of fear. No, we are a people who, in recognizing our brokenness, are made strong together, made one in baptism, made one body in the feast of bread and wine. It is not that we are not allowed to be sad, or to be like King David and weeps for the state of the world around us; that we must do. But we must also go and announce the Lord's pity and God's happiness. May that salvation and the meal we are preparing to share guide us in our prayers and our proclamation of the Good News.

(2 Samuel 15:13-14, 30; 16:5-13; Psalm 3; Mark 5:1-20)

Unforgiveable: Blaspheme of the Holy Spirit

2008-01-28T10:50:00.001-05:00

(a homily)

There are perhaps no words for me that ring as mysterious, humbling, and troubling than Christ's words heard today. "Amen, I say to you, all sins and all blasphemes that people utter will be forgiven them. But whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will never have forgiveness, but is guilty of an everlasting sin." Such a pronouncement weighs heavily on my heart. It arouses a great flurry of questions and things to contemplate. What exactly is this blaspheming against the Holy Spirit? Is it a denial of the Spirit's power? Is it primarily related to the work of Christ as might be gleaned from the wider context of the passage in which he is said to drive out demons? Is it something that post-Enlightenment Christianity is guilty of by default? After all, it seems that the Spirit has been ignored by much of the Western Church, even though at times we can see with the eyes of faith that the Holy Spirit has moved in various movements in recent centuries.

Something leads me to think that perhaps one of the central issues here is the greater matter of authority. Jesus chides his misguided critics because they are unwilling or unable to recognize the source of his authority, and in so doing they deny God. Jesus was "offended" by their rumors because they sought to make him look to be one who conjured an evil spirit in order to mislead people by by crooked power, that is Beelzebub was a power-hungry spirit. However, the source of Jesus' strength was his humble submission to the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the Giver of Life who is sent by the Father. The scribes in saying Jesus' ability to exercise demons was given by the prince of demons did violence to the understanding of the very essence of the Triune God, the One God in Three Persons who continually and perfectly love and submit to one another.

We to do violence to God and ourselves when we deny the life giving Spirit. Perhaps we are tempted to do so because we observe various church movements that certainly abuse the mystery of the Holy Spirit for their own attempts at gaining and maintaining power and wealth. Or perhaps we ignore the call to wait and pray in silence for God. But let us be thankful, for here as we worship together, God invites us to be touched by the Holy Spirit, even to enter into the mysteries of the Godhead as we eat bread and drink wine that is blessed and transformed by the very Spirit, that is God, to be the Body and Blood of Christ. See, here we are able to focus on the source of any authority, in earth and in heaven, that may be enjoined to us, that is, love and submission to God, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Let us wait and pray for the manifestation of that loving power of the Holy Spirit among us and in so waiting and receiving the blessed sacrament we can go and with Christ continue to the Gospel ministry in service to the Father. Amen.

(2 Samuel 5:1-7, 10; Psalm 89; Mark 3:22-30)

Obedience Relearned

2008-01-21T23:21:00.001-05:00

(a homily)

Why do we do the things we do? We'd probably like to a reasoned account for our daily ways of being, perhaps more accurately an answer aimed at justifying ourselves. "I do this because of that, because of so and so, and so on and so forth." There exists a plethora of reasons for anything that needs to be reasoned. We've got systems of thought at our fingertips to get ourselves through almost anything. And yet do these accounts, these reasoned apologetics, offer us any hope of salvation?

The lessons today seem to point to something beyond giving an account, something beyond our beloved Reason. Obedience. The word makes us shudder. It's chíc to be a rebel. It's expected that at some point you won't take heed of some authority figure's word, be it your mom or dad, or the principle. It's part of growing up. Rules are there to be broken. Yet, the law of the land, we're told, keeps everything from going up in flames.

We're told so many storied about obedience throughout our lives that it seems silly, stupid, impossible, pointless. And, in all honesty, I think I would in many instances agree with such sentiment. But not with the obedience we hear of today. This is the kind of obedience that overcomes the fearful law-abiding of national citizenship. It is the kind that enters into a purer way of being, one of sacrifice, of praise. Its focus, its center is on the Triune God, the Father Almighty, the Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord, the Holy Spirit, the giver of life. This obedience transforms the one obedient; we are made free, not afraid. (The law of the nations are sustained only by fear. Love is not in the picture.) We must relearn obedience, come to recognize that it is a right response to the perfect love of a God who sees all we do and stills loves us.

We learn this obedience here, together in worship, in the presence of God and God's people at Christ's table. We are made able to follow by the Holy Spirit who transforms our meal, quiets our hearts, bids us to wait and listen. I would not venture to say that God is without reason for bringing us here, but to us such reason is mysterious. Such a wine as God's Spirit requires that we be made new to receive the fruit of such a vine. Let us now be humbled and recognize who we truly are in the light of God's mercy and love. God will put praise on our lips that we may go in the right way and see the salvation of the Lord.

(1 Samuel 15:16-23; Psalm 50; Mark 2:18-22)

Enough

2008-01-14T17:05:00.001-05:00

(a homily)

God is enough. God's call is plenty. Faithfully following God, heeding the Word is hard.

Though all grace has been offered, though our lives have been given us by God, inevitably life will at times be unbearable. There may be clear reasons why something is wrong; at other times it will be a mystery. Nonetheless, this gift of life will on occasion, even for long seasons feel as a curse. Like Hannah the Ephriamite, we will loose our appetite, our will to bear the stress that others, circumstance, and the plain evil in the world places on us.

In these times we must remember God is enough. God's call is plenty. God says to us, "Am I not more to you than anything you could ever determine to be that which makes you worthy?" And does not Christ call us to the shore, bidding us to leave our perceived task, our comfortable homes, our burdensome professions and follow? This, even in our weakness, our despair, ought to replenish our appetites if they have been diminished. And if our lives are fine today let us be thankful, and out of the abundance God has blessed us with offer ourselves in service to our downtrodden brothers and sisters.

We can never fully return to God the good things we have received. But we can follow God's command to take up the cup of salvation to our lips. Let us be filled today with God's comfort, God's blessing, God's most Holy Spirit.

(1 Samuel 1:1-8, Psalm 116, Mark 1:14-20)

The Storm to Unknow

2008-01-09T17:52:00.001-05:00

Turbulent waters
from the side of a silent mountain,
look like ripples,
like crashing tidal waves,
like monsoons,
like contingency,
look like calm.
You see what they see,
and you will walk alongside,
you will walk by,
walk in love,
looking ahead
from above and below.
You see better
and ask us to close our eyes
to view from your quiet.
No one has ever seen,
but love,
here is sight,
truest salvation.
And the sea storm
is no cause for fear,
but a moment for unknowing.

(1 John 4:11-18, Psalm 72, Mark 6:45-52)

A Paradoxical Kingdom

2008-01-07T20:25:00.001-05:00

(a homily)

"Repent for the Kingdom of heaven is at hand."

The Kingdom. It is Spirit and it is physical. It is, in a word, Jesus. It is repentance and grace.

It is Gentile and Jew, man and woman.

It is sickness cured, enemies reconciled, the poor sustained.

It reaches the darkest regions imaginable, the ends of the earth. It is preaching, teaching, confessing, listening, praying. It is all we have.

It is God's work and it is our gift. It is our work and it is what we present to the world. It is truth and it has conquered falsity.

It is justice and it is mercy.

It overcomes adversity and yet it patiently bears persecution. It is "yes" and it is is "no."

It is the most profound silence and the the most beautiful chord.

It is understanding and it alludes understanding. It is word and it is deed, contemplation and action. It is fasting and it is a great feast. It is bread and it is wine.

It cannot be defined and it is the only reality with meaning.

It is overwhelming and the greatest calm.

It is love.

"Repent for the Kingdom of heaven is at hand."

(First weekday of Epiphany, 1 John 3:22–4:6, Psalm 2, Matthew 4:12-17, 23-25)

Hebel - Abel

2008-01-05T17:45:00.002-05:00

Hebel*,
I am a void to be found,
a death to be lived,
a love to be resided in.
Do I know myself?
Have I lived long enough
before slain by a brother,
proved a breath,
a bit of dust
blown in twirls by the wind?
I feel the quake--
when I am listening
--of judgment
meant to release
when lived through,
when swallowed
and presented to absurd trust.
Upon the ridge of despair
I prepare to recite
the Jubilate.**
Should we admit
the desire to see spectacles?
Yes, and so we will,
if only to shake them off,
to let go of our name,
our nation,
our pretension,
our visions of light
actually blindness.
I am meaningless
and so have meaning;
you will kill me
and I will have meaning.
For I am giving up,
and will leave to return new.

(1 John 3:11-21, Psalm 100, John 1:43-51)

*Hebrew. Means "meaningless," "vanity, "void," "breath," perhaps even in the sense of Albert Camus "absurd" (ex. Ecclesiastes 1:2f.). Though it is not from the same root, Abel, the first son of Adam and Eve slain by his brother Cain, has a name that sounds the same in Hebrew. Poetically, this serves for us to consider our own beings.
**Psalm 100

To Be Translated

2008-01-04T09:33:00.001-05:00

Sometimes, probably often if we're honest, we need things to be translated for us. Not simply words of different languages, but concepts, gestures, activities. This can be frustrating because we must reconcile with the fact that we don't understand everything, perhaps very little, whereas we're probably heard from various sources out whole lives that understanding, mentally grasping things is possible. The readings this morning, however, present a different view, one that shows that translation is necessary, not merely for mental knowledge, but for our entire way of being.

Rabbi. Messiah. Cephas. These are words, titles, concepts, names we've heard so often, yet the Gospel writer, though we are different from his original audience, tells us today to not be quick to think we understand their meanings. Teacher. Christ. Peter. He translates them. Words, the Word, have such depth, such life. They contain no space, and yet they shape everything. We must be careful to not assume we understand just any word, some name. We need translation.

"Children, let no one deceive you." We need a rabbi, a teacher, one who has overcome the work of evil and sin. "The person who acts in righteousness is righteous, just as he is righteous." We need a Messiah, one christened by the Spirit, the Lamb of God, who walks in righteousness for he is the author of righteousness. "The children of God are made plain." God, through the work of Jesus, has by the Holy Spirit given us a name, one that sets us apart, renews us, captures our very essence.

Not only do we need translations, we ourselves need to be translated. Too often we act, speak, live like, as the epistle writer puts it, children of the Devil. But we are called to something so much greater. We are called to sing a new song, a song proclaiming the saving power of God throughout the earth. We are called to live the son in loving our brothers and sisters. We are to tell our brothers and sisters, like the apostle Andrew did Simon, "We have found the Messiah." The good news is a work of translation, a transformed reality. The bread and wine we will eat and drink transform us into the Body of Christ. The Word of God, the Lamb of God, is brought into our very beings. Here, in our prayers, our worship, our listening, our fellowship, in our silence, we are taught, we are anointed, we are named.

(1 John 3:7-10, Psalm 98, John 1:35-42)

Weeping Waters

2007-12-28T17:33:00.002-05:00

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

2007-12-18T15:46:00.001-05:00

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

2007-12-17T19:06:00.000-05:00

(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

2007-12-13T22:45:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-10T10:19:00.000-05:00

(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

2007-12-09T20:50:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-27T09:00:00.001-05:00

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

2007-11-26T23:01:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-19T09:55:00.000-05:00

(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

2007-11-18T19:13:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-14T12:29:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-13T15:04:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-12T11:56:00.000-05:00

(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

2007-11-11T23:26:00.001-05:00

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

2007-11-09T14:18:00.002-05:00

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

2007-11-08T10:53:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-06T10:19:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-05T14:07:00.000-05:00

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

2007-10-31T21:46:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-30T18:08:00.001-04:00

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

2007-10-29T09:58:00.000-04:00

(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

2007-10-27T10:23:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-26T10:35:00.000-04:00

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)

2007-10-24T21:52:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-22T09:39:00.000-04:00

(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

2007-10-21T15:45:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-20T12:25:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-17T08:37:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-15T17:06:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-14T21:58:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-11T11:05:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-10T17:22:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-09T12:22:00.001-04:00

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

2007-10-08T08:58:00.000-04:00

(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

2007-10-07T23:16:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-04T11:21:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-03T22:46:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-02T23:15:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-01T09:52:00.000-04:00

(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

2007-09-30T18:34:00.000-04:00

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

2007-09-28T11:12:00.000-04:00

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)

2007-09-27T10:08:00.001-04:00

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

2007-09-25T09:10:00.000-04:00

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

2007-09-24T16:10:00.000-04:00

--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

2007-09-22T19:31:00.000-04:00

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

2007-09-20T11:04:00.001-04:00

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

2007-09-19T21:52:00.000-04:00

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

2007-09-17T15:24:00.000-04:00

(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

2007-09-16T21:33:00.000-04:00

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

2007-09-14T14:50:00.000-04:00

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

2007-09-13T17:18:00.000-04:00

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

2007-09-12T15:28:00.000-04:00

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

2007-09-11T17:33:00.002-04:00

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

2007-09-10T09:33:00.000-04:00

(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

2007-09-09T20:57:00.000-04:00

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)