Monthly Archives: January 2021

What We Care About

The hubris that one can control
their own resurrection
and the hiddenness of the virus
make need more visible.

Sometimes aesthetic sense fails
to develop even in the hardest times
so perhaps God is theology's 
greatest invention.

We do not recognize that 
we continue to benefit 
from the shameful history 
of our ancestors.

When the center is on fire
engage the periphery
for choosing where to begin
carries a great deal of power.

We argue about what we care about
attempting to get our story straight
and inviting the hope of hopes 
into hopelessness.

Ninety Minutes

Six senators and more than half of the House Republicans backed an attempt to overthrow our government, in favor of a man caught on tape just four days ago trying to strong-arm a state election official into falsifying the election results. Today the Confederate flag flew in the United States Capitol. – Heather Cox Richardson

Navy blue suit.
Polished hair.
Sky blue tie.
Presiding, straight-backed,
in a leather chair.
American flag 
pinned to the lapel.

Ninety minutes later.

Brown, animal skins.
Horned, animal hat.
Bare-chested,
Wearing a coat of tattoos.
Standing, arms flexed.
American flag 
in hand.

Ninety minutes.

Meaning-Making Must Wait (Notes on 2020 – 6)

Official agencies have fifteen days
to issue implementation guidelines,
though, tonight, there is little interest in
augmenting the music by committee.

No one counts the number of times
they, like Pilate, have washed their hands;
being more comfortable creating community 
connection from the comfort of the couch.

The seamless flow of setting boundaries
creates the embrace of imperfection,
a chance for one of those mornings 
spent on the wonderful edge of darkness.

For there is a peace brought on by 
a sense of inadequacy to perfection
when typical coping methods
and resources are overwhelmed.

The loss at the heart of disaster
makes lament valuable and
meaning-making must wait
as we habituate to survive.

Torn Fabric (Notes on 2020 – 4)

Everyone has been directed
     to their own household monastery.
A different space should hold
     something different.

Beware traveling the road less traveled
     as it will require maintenance.
An ancestor is a daughter that dies
     before a father has a chance to say, Goodbye.

One doubt is all it takes to open
     a possibility for a resurrection.
New metrics: People reached.  Engagements.  
     Number of Views.  Number of Unique Views.

Pandemic trauma slowly erodes
     the capacity for certainty.
There can be value in binge-watching
     given the current level of uncertainty.

What is the problem?
     The fabric of so many persons is torn.

Tidbits of the Divine (Notes from 2020 – 3)

Even in unison
     it all sounds so different.
Each of us is here because each of us
     has waived the right to remain silent.
Kind words of blessing are the bread of email.
     Words of love, the wine.
What else do you do with God's body
     but eat it?  Just rip the wafer in half.
Divisions are now divided such that
     the system built for diversity cannot function.
Consider the perspective of
     the discardable, the forgettable and the undervalued.
Why ask, when you can call the painting
     anything you want?
When there is no balance
     create a space for inquiry.
It is hard to imagine another way
     while running down a one-way street.
As quarantine restrictions increase
     so do suggestions on how to smile.
Interesting tidbits of the divine
     reside and hide in the glitches.

Unburden Her

Unburden Her…spoken
     to Karen

"And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years." Luke 13:11

We
We are
We are over
We are over with...

Seeing the woman bent over.
Knowing her being bent over impacts every part of her life.
Wondering if the woman in the story is done being bent over.
Knowing the woman in the story is done.

And...the woman shows up.

She is not sick.
She is burdened.
Bent over from burdens.
Eighteen years burdened.
Just as we are burdened 
with indifference
and apathy.
(How many dead as of today?  360k?  And counting...)

Eighteen years.
Eighteen years crippled.
Eighteen years bowed down.
    (Burdens are heavy.)

(We don't know how old she is.)
Eighteen years of her best years?
Eighteen years from birth?
Eighteen years after all her children are gone?

Eighteen years of hoping to return to normal.
Eighteen years the woman is coming.
Eighteen years to move from the margins to the center.
Eighteen years of bearing the crippling spirit.
Eighteen years of days wondering, Is this my done day.
No, but still eighteen years looking for what will make it right.

Eighteen years of leaders getting the rules right.
Eighteen years of every people getting the rules right.
Eighteen years of her closest relations getting the rules right.
Eighteen years of God making the rules right.

Eighteen years of everyone getting the relationship wrong.

Eighteen years of suffering through her freedom.
Eighteen years of suffering from our thraldom.

Until.
She appears.
Burdened.

Center.
Center this woman.
Center this spirit-crippled woman.
Center this burdened woman.

Unburden.
Unburden her.
Unburden your self.

Notes from 2020 – 2

It is nice...

...To get a real pair of shoes on
       and move around.
...To choose life-projects that require the fewest number of swear words,
       then, when the hammer hits the thumb, smile.
...To realize that bubblegum named after a weapon of war
       comes wrapped in a comic for a reason.
...To wonder if the ending of substance abuse is the result of 
       God's time or of having one's head in the toilet too many times?
...To watch her surf genealogically through the waves and waves
       of generations before her.
...To affirm, it still is not biblical to pray
       before eating the food.
...To not worry about proper approval, 
       but learn to work them first and worry later.
...To thank God, for Ecclesiastes has already collected 
       all our whines, worries and reflections.
...To rejoice, we all may come from away
       but here we all are.

Notes from 2020 – 1

Can it get any more bizarre?
     Answer: Yes.
Workouts, though, are much kinder 
     when nobody counts.
A fitting year to preach the hellfire and brimstone sermon 
     tentatively titled, Let's Get Horny.
For a sermon arrives in its own time.
     Sometimes right on time.
A dichotomy appears, Proper and Earthy, on either end,
     and, for a brief moment, arousing.
Maybe this time?
     Nope.  Next time, perhaps.

On Odilon Redon’s “The Mysterious Boat”

“My drawings inspire, and are not to be defined.  They place us, as does music, in the ambiguous realm of the undetermined.” – Odilon Redon

A blue boat
with gold sail
rocks across 
the white-capped,
rough, green sea.
Her clasped hands
on her lap.
His one hand
holds the tiller;
moves in the
opposite
direction
of where they
are heading.
Behind them,
the fiery,
gold mountain,
they escaped
with treasure,
burns.