I’m afraid that I, calm like a candle,
"Do not be afraid, Mary, am a fuse, a muffled firework,
that one day I’ll go off, his kingdom will never end
and she who was said to be barren is in her sixth month
and peel the skin, the arms of all who huddled close—
I’m afraid that I, with the gospel on my lips,
We know that the whole creation has been groaning
as in the pains of childbirth, am buckled with a rusty sword
Not only so, that one day I’ll arrive on pregnant shores
but we ourselves groan inwardly
and when I leave there will be little more—
as we wait eagerly for our adoption,
the redemption of our bodies.
For in this hope we were saved." Then the angel left her.
May it be so.
29.11.11
14.11.11
God Reigns
Two snakes, a sailor, a monk who was said to pray the Lord's Prayer in his crib, and the image of a woman. These are the five friends of Godric, "one for each of Jesu's wounds, and Godric bears their mark still on what's left of him as in their time they all bore his on them. What's friendship, when all's done, but the giving and taking of wounds?"
Godric, who lives alone and walks the earth barefoot like Jesus to calvary. They call him a saint, who wonders what life could have been had he walked different roads, who sees the peoples' deaths before they die, and prays that God might ease their suffering. This is his ministry: prayer, and this is his prayer: memory. Memory is his curse and the telling of his memory his ministry.
Godric, the little Christ who prays,
Godric, who lives alone and walks the earth barefoot like Jesus to calvary. They call him a saint, who wonders what life could have been had he walked different roads, who sees the peoples' deaths before they die, and prays that God might ease their suffering. This is his ministry: prayer, and this is his prayer: memory. Memory is his curse and the telling of his memory his ministry.
Godric, the little Christ who prays,
Gentle Jesu, Mary's son, be thine the wounds that heal our wounding. Press thy bloody scars to ours that thy dear blood may flow in us and cleanse our sin.
Be thou in us and we in thee that Godric, Gillian, Ailred, Mouse and thou may be a woundless one at last. And even Reginald if thy great mercy reach so far.
In God's name Godric prays.Amen.
30.10.11
Poem in the Night Sky
Someone scratched a comma in the sky tonight
but the rest of the sentence, they didn't write--
they just left it hanging there, glowing more bright
while the sunset faded out of sight.
I wonder if this Poet with a white pen didn't write
the rest, just to see what words we might fill on the right
and the left of that mark.
(Such a simple spark!)
Or maybe it's a message in itself to say,
"Wait,
Listen,
Take a break.
The world will be clear once again,
when you wake.
"And there's enough space up here to take
everything you daydream, everything you hate
your mistakes and everything you mistake for mistakes
everything you celebrate
or hide in your pockets, afraid you're too late."
And when is too late
for the One who recreates the night sky every night,
that great, dark weight of notebook paper
never filled and always full,
its depth so glassy, and ink so bright?
So, what will you write?
Praise be to the One
who scratched a comma in the sky tonight.
but the rest of the sentence, they didn't write--
they just left it hanging there, glowing more bright
while the sunset faded out of sight.
I wonder if this Poet with a white pen didn't write
the rest, just to see what words we might fill on the right
and the left of that mark.
(Such a simple spark!)
Or maybe it's a message in itself to say,
"Wait,
Listen,
Take a break.
The world will be clear once again,
when you wake.
"And there's enough space up here to take
everything you daydream, everything you hate
your mistakes and everything you mistake for mistakes
everything you celebrate
or hide in your pockets, afraid you're too late."
And when is too late
for the One who recreates the night sky every night,
that great, dark weight of notebook paper
never filled and always full,
its depth so glassy, and ink so bright?
So, what will you write?
Praise be to the One
who scratched a comma in the sky tonight.
19.10.11
"This is what the LORD says"
In Old Testament class, we are reading the prophets, such as Hosea, Amos, Isaiah, and Jeremiah. During this time I've been thinking of Jon Foreman's song "Instead of a Show," which is based on passages in Amos and Isaiah.
Also, when reading Jeremiah, I was astonished when I came across certain passages. Here's one I'd like to share, from chapter 31:
"The time is coming," declares the LORD, "when I will make a new covenant
with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah.
It will not be like the covenant I made with their forefathers
when I took them by the hand to lead them out of Egypt,
because they broke my covenant, though I was a husband to them,"
declares the LORD.
"This is the covenant I will make with the house of Israel
after that time," declares the LORD.
"I will put my law in their minds and write it on their hearts.
I will be their God, and they will be my people.
No longer will a man teach his neighbor,
or a man his brother, saying, 'Know the LORD,'
because they will all know me,
from the least of them to the greatest,"
declares the LORD.
"For I will forgive their wickedness
and will remember their sins no more."
Also, when reading Jeremiah, I was astonished when I came across certain passages. Here's one I'd like to share, from chapter 31:
"The time is coming," declares the LORD, "when I will make a new covenant
with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah.
It will not be like the covenant I made with their forefathers
when I took them by the hand to lead them out of Egypt,
because they broke my covenant, though I was a husband to them,"
declares the LORD.
"This is the covenant I will make with the house of Israel
after that time," declares the LORD.
"I will put my law in their minds and write it on their hearts.
I will be their God, and they will be my people.
No longer will a man teach his neighbor,
or a man his brother, saying, 'Know the LORD,'
because they will all know me,
from the least of them to the greatest,"
declares the LORD.
"For I will forgive their wickedness
and will remember their sins no more."
22.9.11
Why I Chose Grilled Cheese
Culture shock--when you don't know which line to stand in to order food.
Tonight I treated myself to dinner at The Coffee Shop at Earlham College, the undergraduate campus next to ESR. Between burgers, chicken sandwiches, wraps, and other options, I decided on a wrap.
The Coffee Shop is similar to PLNU's Point Break Cafe (now split between "Point Break," which prepares food, and "Bobby B's Coffee Co," which prepares drinks). For starters, both are owned by Sodexho, and both have the oval "155°" sign hanging above their grills. In addition, the workers at The Coffee Shop wear the uniforms PBC workers used to wear, maroon Polo shirts covered with black aprons, and black caps. Plus, the guy making the sandwiches tonight looked like one of my friends who worked at the Peebs.
The difference, I discovered, is that if one wants a wrap, one must order it in the other line, just south of the line I was in, where you can also order Subway sandwiches. So I waited in the Subway line, looking around the cafe. Above me was a wooden loft with a computer, students sitting at tables and a lounge area with couches, and framed photos hanging on a wall. In the center of the cafe, someone rotated in a round station preparing drinks: fruit/ice cream smoothies, tea, coffee.
During my first two years at PLNU, I worked at the PBC. Making drinks was probably the most challenging task, especially during a lunch rush, when the line would extend beyond the cafe doors, almost into the bookstore. The person behind the cashier would thrust you empty cups of various sizes and transparencies, and with hieroglyphs:
S/B/PC
Y
W/C
Catherine
That, by the way, would have been translated into "Make a strawberry, banana, and pina colada smoothe with yogurt and topped with whip cream. No, not ice cream--yogurt. When you're done, put it on the counter and say loudly, 'Catherine. . . Catherine!' And HURRY!"
The smoothies were easier than coffee, though. At first, I could never remember how to make a shot, and once I did, I couldn't remember how many shots you needed, when to pour the shots in the cup, when to pour the hot milk, when to make the milk hot, how to make the milk hot, and what the difference was between an espresso, an Americano, a capucchino, and a double-shot decaf mocho latte Americano. I eventually got the hang of it--after strange looks from my manager, Jon.
The grill was my main base. That's where I learned how to tell the burger is ready to be flipped: "When the blood is gathered in a circle about the size of a quarter," Jon said. That's where I made salandwiches so good they took them off the menu, to keep people cliffhanging. Also, that's where I learned to make a grilled cheese sandwich.
So tonight, when it was finally my turn to order, I changed my mind from a wrap to a grilled cheese sandwich, in honor of those days.
"You have to order that over there," the worker said. She pointed further southward, to a dark corner of the cafe with a cash register.
I made my order, handed it to the guy who looks like my friend, he made the sandwich and said, "Grilled cheese!" I thanked him and ate. The Swiss cheese hung on as long as it could before being tugged off the sandwich. There were no seats by the windows out which to smell the Pacific Ocean, but my booth was fine enough. I'll get the hang of this.
Tonight I treated myself to dinner at The Coffee Shop at Earlham College, the undergraduate campus next to ESR. Between burgers, chicken sandwiches, wraps, and other options, I decided on a wrap.
The Coffee Shop is similar to PLNU's Point Break Cafe (now split between "Point Break," which prepares food, and "Bobby B's Coffee Co," which prepares drinks). For starters, both are owned by Sodexho, and both have the oval "155°" sign hanging above their grills. In addition, the workers at The Coffee Shop wear the uniforms PBC workers used to wear, maroon Polo shirts covered with black aprons, and black caps. Plus, the guy making the sandwiches tonight looked like one of my friends who worked at the Peebs.
The difference, I discovered, is that if one wants a wrap, one must order it in the other line, just south of the line I was in, where you can also order Subway sandwiches. So I waited in the Subway line, looking around the cafe. Above me was a wooden loft with a computer, students sitting at tables and a lounge area with couches, and framed photos hanging on a wall. In the center of the cafe, someone rotated in a round station preparing drinks: fruit/ice cream smoothies, tea, coffee.
During my first two years at PLNU, I worked at the PBC. Making drinks was probably the most challenging task, especially during a lunch rush, when the line would extend beyond the cafe doors, almost into the bookstore. The person behind the cashier would thrust you empty cups of various sizes and transparencies, and with hieroglyphs:
S/B/PC
Y
W/C
Catherine
That, by the way, would have been translated into "Make a strawberry, banana, and pina colada smoothe with yogurt and topped with whip cream. No, not ice cream--yogurt. When you're done, put it on the counter and say loudly, 'Catherine. . . Catherine!' And HURRY!"
The smoothies were easier than coffee, though. At first, I could never remember how to make a shot, and once I did, I couldn't remember how many shots you needed, when to pour the shots in the cup, when to pour the hot milk, when to make the milk hot, how to make the milk hot, and what the difference was between an espresso, an Americano, a capucchino, and a double-shot decaf mocho latte Americano. I eventually got the hang of it--after strange looks from my manager, Jon.
The grill was my main base. That's where I learned how to tell the burger is ready to be flipped: "When the blood is gathered in a circle about the size of a quarter," Jon said. That's where I made salandwiches so good they took them off the menu, to keep people cliffhanging. Also, that's where I learned to make a grilled cheese sandwich.
So tonight, when it was finally my turn to order, I changed my mind from a wrap to a grilled cheese sandwich, in honor of those days.
"You have to order that over there," the worker said. She pointed further southward, to a dark corner of the cafe with a cash register.
I made my order, handed it to the guy who looks like my friend, he made the sandwich and said, "Grilled cheese!" I thanked him and ate. The Swiss cheese hung on as long as it could before being tugged off the sandwich. There were no seats by the windows out which to smell the Pacific Ocean, but my booth was fine enough. I'll get the hang of this.
19.9.11
Tree Maracas and Leaf Rain
Greetings from Richmond, Indiana!
I am here now, attending the Earlham School of Religion. I've found warm welcome here, especially from people at ESR and my friend Dylan.
In the picture of the rock band Pasifire below, you will see Dylan on the drums.
Dylan has been a big help in making Richmond a home away from home (away from home). When I first arrived, he and his girlfriend Laura took me shopping for things you don't think you really need right away but end up being important--things like clothes hangers, shampoo, food. Dylan and I have also been able to jam some. I brought a 12-string guitar here, and it's been fun becoming acquainted with it beside Dylan on his cajon.
My first Sunday here, Dylan, Laura, and I spent the afternoon in Ohio at the Great Darke County Fair. It was as crowded as PLNU's cafeteria at lunchtime. I enjoyed the Wisconsin cheese curds, donut holes of warm fried cheddar cheese. I was also exposed to elephant ears, an Indiana fried cinnamon-coated delicacy (don't worry, it wasn't a real elephant). For a little while, we watched children competing by taking turns leading their cows around a track, with certain tasks the cows had to complete, like touching two walls and leaping over mounds and walking through a metal frame.
Yesterday, Dylan and I drove to Fountain Acres Foods, an Amish market about 40 minutes north of Richmond. One side of an aisle is dedicated to spices--curry, cilantro, crushed garlic, chili, and hundreds more. The back of the store features apricot, blackberry, plum, strawberry, and about fifty other kinds of jam. One shelf sells tubs of peanut butter, but none you can find in San Diego: "Kickin' Hot Peanut Butter," one pretzel-stick swipe being about as spicy as an entire bag of Takis, and "Butterscotch Peanut Butter." This reminded me of an idea Dylan and I came up with last October, when I last visited Richmond, the idea of opening a restaurant that prepares variations on the peanut butter and jelly sandwich theme.
Richmond is on the eastern edge of Indiana (the green star in the picture). I live in a boarding house next to a Catholic church, along with eight other people, most of whom are also students at ESR.
I'm tempted to say it's quieter here than in San Diego, but Richmond has its own sounds. Right now about 30 squirrels are partying in the various trees in the neighborhood. They sound like maracas. Behind them, the crickets are humming, and behind me, outside the window, some bug is clicking. During the day, though, the wind blowing through the trees is louder than the squirrels' crawling around them. One foggy morning, on my way to school, I walked beneath a tree. For a couple seconds, I heard a shimmer of rain--but I saw no movement, and I felt no water. The sound had come from above, droplets from the high leaves tapping the leaves below.
Last week, I was able to drink in the richness of Richmond's trees. My friend Will, another first-year student at ESR, and I rode our bikes down the Cardinal Greenway. We stopped about 10 miles in, but the entire path goes north about 60 miles from Richmond to Muncie, Indiana. During the beginning, we were walled in by trees, and before us was a flat road of smooth asphalt with soggy leaves glowing in torn pieces of sunlight. We biked by a lake, and ended up between soy fields on our left and corn fields on our right. One day we'll bike the whole way.
The attentive reader may ask, how did you obtain your bike? Earlham College, the undergraduate campus across the street from ESR, has an annual auction for abandoned bikes. The auction was intense, but I was able to wrestle for my blue horse for a favorable cost. The bike co-op at the college has helped me fix it up.
I'm thankful for the adventure of being here, and also for my family, church family, and friends, who have supported and encouraged me.
Until next time, I will close with the words of a good friend:
"Indeed and absotutely!"
 |
| From left to right: Josh, Jon, Dylan, and Jarel |
My first Sunday here, Dylan, Laura, and I spent the afternoon in Ohio at the Great Darke County Fair. It was as crowded as PLNU's cafeteria at lunchtime. I enjoyed the Wisconsin cheese curds, donut holes of warm fried cheddar cheese. I was also exposed to elephant ears, an Indiana fried cinnamon-coated delicacy (don't worry, it wasn't a real elephant). For a little while, we watched children competing by taking turns leading their cows around a track, with certain tasks the cows had to complete, like touching two walls and leaping over mounds and walking through a metal frame.
Yesterday, Dylan and I drove to Fountain Acres Foods, an Amish market about 40 minutes north of Richmond. One side of an aisle is dedicated to spices--curry, cilantro, crushed garlic, chili, and hundreds more. The back of the store features apricot, blackberry, plum, strawberry, and about fifty other kinds of jam. One shelf sells tubs of peanut butter, but none you can find in San Diego: "Kickin' Hot Peanut Butter," one pretzel-stick swipe being about as spicy as an entire bag of Takis, and "Butterscotch Peanut Butter." This reminded me of an idea Dylan and I came up with last October, when I last visited Richmond, the idea of opening a restaurant that prepares variations on the peanut butter and jelly sandwich theme.
Richmond is on the eastern edge of Indiana (the green star in the picture). I live in a boarding house next to a Catholic church, along with eight other people, most of whom are also students at ESR. I'm tempted to say it's quieter here than in San Diego, but Richmond has its own sounds. Right now about 30 squirrels are partying in the various trees in the neighborhood. They sound like maracas. Behind them, the crickets are humming, and behind me, outside the window, some bug is clicking. During the day, though, the wind blowing through the trees is louder than the squirrels' crawling around them. One foggy morning, on my way to school, I walked beneath a tree. For a couple seconds, I heard a shimmer of rain--but I saw no movement, and I felt no water. The sound had come from above, droplets from the high leaves tapping the leaves below.
Last week, I was able to drink in the richness of Richmond's trees. My friend Will, another first-year student at ESR, and I rode our bikes down the Cardinal Greenway. We stopped about 10 miles in, but the entire path goes north about 60 miles from Richmond to Muncie, Indiana. During the beginning, we were walled in by trees, and before us was a flat road of smooth asphalt with soggy leaves glowing in torn pieces of sunlight. We biked by a lake, and ended up between soy fields on our left and corn fields on our right. One day we'll bike the whole way.
The attentive reader may ask, how did you obtain your bike? Earlham College, the undergraduate campus across the street from ESR, has an annual auction for abandoned bikes. The auction was intense, but I was able to wrestle for my blue horse for a favorable cost. The bike co-op at the college has helped me fix it up.
I'm thankful for the adventure of being here, and also for my family, church family, and friends, who have supported and encouraged me.
Until next time, I will close with the words of a good friend:
"Indeed and absotutely!"
16.8.11
12.8.11
Alyosha's Speech
I have decided to move to Indiana to attend the Earlham School of Religion. Part of me still doesn't believe that I've made that decision. And I don't think I fully have, yet. But I am trusting that, for some reason unknown to me, the Lord is guiding me there.
Before last week, I was planning on staying in San Diego. But when the school told me that I was accepted, I did not expect to feel such joy at the thought that maybe God was opening doors for me to attend. Now, a week later, my eyes are fixed on Indiana.
It isn't going to be easy to leave. At the same time, I'm excited for the road ahead. I will be studying writing and ministry there, and I'll also get to be with my good friend Dylan, one of my best friends from high school and my favorite drummer in the rock band Pasifire.
I was talking with my dad tonight, and something in our conversation reminded me of Alyosha's farewell speech in The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky. I began reading that book when I first moved into the Redemption House and finished it almost two years later, around the same time I was moving out. Alyosha's speech to the the boys of his neighborhood isn't the same speech I would give the people I have befriended, people through whom Christ gave me life, but the emotion is similar, so I wanted to share it.
"Boys, we shall soon part. I shall be for some time with my two brothers, of whom one is going to Siberia and the other is lying at death's door. But soon I shall leave this town, perhaps for a long time, so we shall part. Let us make a compact, here, at Ilusha's stone that we will never forget Ilusha and one another. And whatever happens to us later in life, if we don't meet for twenty years afterwards, let us always remember how we buried the poor boy at whom we once threw stones, do you remember, by the bridge? and afterwards we all grew so fond of him. He was a fine boy, a kind-hearted, brave boy, he felt for his father's honour and resented the cruel insult to him and stood up for him. And so in the first place, we will remember him, boys, all our lives. And even if we are occupied with most important things, if we attain to honour or fall into great misfortune--still let us remember how good it was once here, when we were all together, united by a good and kind feeling which made us, for the time we were loving that poor boy, better perhaps than we are. . . . You must know that there is nothing higher and stronger and more wholesome and good for life in the future than some good memory, especially a memory of childhood, of home. People talk to you a great deal about your education, but some good, sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education. If a man carries many such memories with him into life, he is safe to the end of his days, and if one has only one good memory left in one's heart, even that may sometime be the means of saving us. . . .
"Let us be, first and above all, kind, then honest and then let us never forget each other! I say that again. I give you my word for my part that I'll never forget one of you. Every face looking at me now I shall remember even for thirty years. Just now Kolya said to Kartashov that we did not care to know whether he exists or not. But I cannot forget that Kartashov exists and that he is not blushing now as he did when he discovered the founders of Troy, but is looking at me with his jolly, kind, dear little eyes. Boys, my dear boys, let us all be generous and brave like Ilusha, clever, brave and generous like Kolya (though he will be ever so much cleverer when he is grown up), and let us all be as modest, as clever and sweet as Kartashov. But why am I talking about those two! You are all dear to me, boys, from this day forth, I have a place in my heart for you all, and I beg you to keep a place in your hearts for me!"
Before last week, I was planning on staying in San Diego. But when the school told me that I was accepted, I did not expect to feel such joy at the thought that maybe God was opening doors for me to attend. Now, a week later, my eyes are fixed on Indiana.
It isn't going to be easy to leave. At the same time, I'm excited for the road ahead. I will be studying writing and ministry there, and I'll also get to be with my good friend Dylan, one of my best friends from high school and my favorite drummer in the rock band Pasifire.
I was talking with my dad tonight, and something in our conversation reminded me of Alyosha's farewell speech in The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky. I began reading that book when I first moved into the Redemption House and finished it almost two years later, around the same time I was moving out. Alyosha's speech to the the boys of his neighborhood isn't the same speech I would give the people I have befriended, people through whom Christ gave me life, but the emotion is similar, so I wanted to share it.
"Boys, we shall soon part. I shall be for some time with my two brothers, of whom one is going to Siberia and the other is lying at death's door. But soon I shall leave this town, perhaps for a long time, so we shall part. Let us make a compact, here, at Ilusha's stone that we will never forget Ilusha and one another. And whatever happens to us later in life, if we don't meet for twenty years afterwards, let us always remember how we buried the poor boy at whom we once threw stones, do you remember, by the bridge? and afterwards we all grew so fond of him. He was a fine boy, a kind-hearted, brave boy, he felt for his father's honour and resented the cruel insult to him and stood up for him. And so in the first place, we will remember him, boys, all our lives. And even if we are occupied with most important things, if we attain to honour or fall into great misfortune--still let us remember how good it was once here, when we were all together, united by a good and kind feeling which made us, for the time we were loving that poor boy, better perhaps than we are. . . . You must know that there is nothing higher and stronger and more wholesome and good for life in the future than some good memory, especially a memory of childhood, of home. People talk to you a great deal about your education, but some good, sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education. If a man carries many such memories with him into life, he is safe to the end of his days, and if one has only one good memory left in one's heart, even that may sometime be the means of saving us. . . .
"Let us be, first and above all, kind, then honest and then let us never forget each other! I say that again. I give you my word for my part that I'll never forget one of you. Every face looking at me now I shall remember even for thirty years. Just now Kolya said to Kartashov that we did not care to know whether he exists or not. But I cannot forget that Kartashov exists and that he is not blushing now as he did when he discovered the founders of Troy, but is looking at me with his jolly, kind, dear little eyes. Boys, my dear boys, let us all be generous and brave like Ilusha, clever, brave and generous like Kolya (though he will be ever so much cleverer when he is grown up), and let us all be as modest, as clever and sweet as Kartashov. But why am I talking about those two! You are all dear to me, boys, from this day forth, I have a place in my heart for you all, and I beg you to keep a place in your hearts for me!"
26.7.11
straddler (poem)
between poem and song,
land and sea
between cliff and river,
the decision to leap
between here and there
and you and me
between midnight and morning,
doorways out of dreams
between decisions and revisions,
what i want and what i think
between boy and man
at the river's rising
between instinct and grace
and who we come to be,
always i'll be straddling.
land and sea
between cliff and river,
the decision to leap
between here and there
and you and me
between midnight and morning,
doorways out of dreams
between decisions and revisions,
what i want and what i think
between boy and man
at the river's rising
between instinct and grace
and who we come to be,
always i'll be straddling.
21.7.11
Grace
Tonight my family watched the movie "The Tree of Life." I liked it a lot, and it is a lot to chew on. The movie seemed to be, at least partly, about the life we receive in and through grace and forgiveness. The movie's exploration of grace reminded me of a short story called "Babette's Feast" by Isak Dinesen, especially the following passage:
"Man, my friends," said General Loewenhielm, "is frail and foolish. We have all of us been told that grace is to be found in the universe. But in our human foolishness and short-sightedness we imagine divine grace to be finite. For this reason we tremble. . . " Never till now had the General stated that he trembled; he was genuinely surprised and even shocked at hearing his own voice proclaim the fact. "We tremble before making our choice in life, and after having made it again tremble in fear of having chosen wrong. But the moment comes when our eyes are opened, and we see and realize that grace is infinite. Grace, my friends, demands nothing from us but that we shall await it with confidence and acknowledge it in gratitude. Grace, brothers, makes no conditions and singles out none of us in particular; grace takes us all to its bosom and proclaims general amnesty. See! that which we have chosen is given us, and that which we have refused is, also and at the same time, granted us. Ay, that which we have rejected is poured upon us abundantly. For mercy and truth have met together, and righteousness and bliss have kissed one another!"
2.6.11
Sunrise over Green Canyon (poem)
The dawn draws a long yawn of yarn along the canyons of my room,
a strong comet on the southern wall,
a freefall. It starts out small, horizon-like
and becomes a lawn of ocean glow
beneath a starry sky.
The sky is white paint pushed up into a corner, gray heights;
the stars are donut sprinkles scattered
in the fog of reflected light.
a strong comet on the southern wall,
a freefall. It starts out small, horizon-like
and becomes a lawn of ocean glow
beneath a starry sky.
The sky is white paint pushed up into a corner, gray heights;
the stars are donut sprinkles scattered
in the fog of reflected light.
Foam (haikus)
In this blue sweater,
my chest is muffled, heavy
beneath the spring sky.
Eucalyptus leaves
whisper poems like wind chimes
behind a bird's song.
The white Nissan truck
and the navy blue Honda
reflect the June sun.
The spring sky clears out
the fleet of clouds; the ocean
clings onto its foam.
The birds' songs follow
a night of vacant dreaming;
I forget them both.
The June sun beckons
me outside, where I will hear
birdsong in spring skies.
my chest is muffled, heavy
beneath the spring sky.
Eucalyptus leaves
whisper poems like wind chimes
behind a bird's song.
The white Nissan truck
and the navy blue Honda
reflect the June sun.
The spring sky clears out
the fleet of clouds; the ocean
clings onto its foam.
The birds' songs follow
a night of vacant dreaming;
I forget them both.
The June sun beckons
me outside, where I will hear
birdsong in spring skies.
16.5.11
40 (song)
Tonight during Bible study, we sang the hymn "He Brought Me Out," #381 in the Nazarene hymnal. It alludes to Psalm 40. The words express how I've been feeling lately.
1. My heart was distressed 'neath Jehovah's dread frown,
And low in the pit where my sins dragged me down.
I cried to the Lord from the deep, miry clay,
Who tenderly brought me out to golden day.
Refrain: He brought me out of the miry clay
He set my feet on the Rock to stay
He puts a song in my soul today,
A song of praise, hallelujah!
2. He placed me upon the strong rock by His side.
My steps were established, and here I'll abide.
No danger of falling while here I remain,
But stand by His grace until the crown I gain.
3. He gave me a song; 'twas a new song of praise.
By day and by night its sweet notes I will raise.
My heart's overflowing; I'm happy and free.
I'll praise my Redeemer, who has rescued me.
4. I'll sing of His wonderful mercy to me;
I'll praise Him till all men His goodness shall see;
I'll sing of salvation at home and abroad,
Till many shall hear the truth and trust in God.
And, here's U2's version of Psalm 40.
1. My heart was distressed 'neath Jehovah's dread frown,
And low in the pit where my sins dragged me down.
I cried to the Lord from the deep, miry clay,
Who tenderly brought me out to golden day.
Refrain: He brought me out of the miry clay
He set my feet on the Rock to stay
He puts a song in my soul today,
A song of praise, hallelujah!
2. He placed me upon the strong rock by His side.
My steps were established, and here I'll abide.
No danger of falling while here I remain,
But stand by His grace until the crown I gain.
3. He gave me a song; 'twas a new song of praise.
By day and by night its sweet notes I will raise.
My heart's overflowing; I'm happy and free.
I'll praise my Redeemer, who has rescued me.
4. I'll sing of His wonderful mercy to me;
I'll praise Him till all men His goodness shall see;
I'll sing of salvation at home and abroad,
Till many shall hear the truth and trust in God.
And, here's U2's version of Psalm 40.
29.4.11
"Holy as the Day is Spent" by Carrie Newcomer
Holy is the dish and drain
the soap and sink, and the cup and plate
and the warm wool socks, and the cold white tile
showerheads and good dry towels
and frying eggs sound like psalms
with bits of salt measured in my palm
It’s all a part of a sacrament
as holy as a day is spent
Holy is the busy street
and cars that boom with passion’s beat
and the check out girl, counting change
and the hands that shook my hands today
and hymns of geese fly overhead
and spread their wings like their parents did
Blessed be the dog who runs in her sleep
to chase some wild, elusive thing
Holy is the familiar room
and the quiet moments in the afternoon
and folding sheets like folding hands
to pray as only laundry can
I’m letting go of all my fear
like autumn leaves made of earth and air
For the summer came and the summer went
as holy as a day is spent
Holy is the place I stand
to give whatever small good I can
and the empty page, the open book
redemption everywhere I look
Unknowingly we slow our pace
in the shade of unexpected grace
and with grateful smiles and sad lament
as holy as a day is spent
And morning light sings “Providence”
as holy as a day is spent
24.4.11
Lowly (poem)
The spinach is finally growing!
You can see the leaves sticking out
like lengua del rez on a styrofoam carton
and already with holes, where roley poleys, ladybugs, and perhaps scorpions have trespassed.
Correction--it's always been growing,
just
slowly
like
a cocoon becoming a butterfly (or
so I've heard) or
a bus ride home when you've given up walking.
Only, Popeye would not for one second think of eating a butterfly
You can see the leaves sticking out
like lengua del rez on a styrofoam carton
and already with holes, where roley poleys, ladybugs, and perhaps scorpions have trespassed.
Correction--it's always been growing,
just
slowly
like
a cocoon becoming a butterfly (or
so I've heard) or
a bus ride home when you've given up walking.
Only, Popeye would not for one second think of eating a butterfly
30.3.11
Song for the Dawn (poem)
Like the sunflowers in our side yard, I want to face the morning sun
without a blink, not shrinking in the wide mouth of a gun.
I want to drink the golden air when the music has begun,
plucking out my yellow fingers slowly, one by one
from this branch that was a withered worm when the dry spell had been spun,
from these fists that will be faces by the time the song is done.
without a blink, not shrinking in the wide mouth of a gun.
I want to drink the golden air when the music has begun,
plucking out my yellow fingers slowly, one by one
from this branch that was a withered worm when the dry spell had been spun,
from these fists that will be faces by the time the song is done.
14.3.11
Thought: Mourning and Praying for the World
During Bible study tonight, Pastors Steve and Chris asked us to mourn and pray for the world. This is what we are called to do as Christians, since we are a "chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation" (1 Peter 2:9): just as the role of priests is to intercede for the community, the role of Christians is to lift up the world in prayer to God.
We mentioned the tsunami in Japan; revolutions in the Middle East; violence in Libya; poverty and human trafficking in the Philippines and around the world; and more. Then we prayed for the world.
Our discussion and prayer reminded me of Eugene Peterson's exploration of the word "liturgy" in his book Eat This Book:
"Harlem" by Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Romans 8:22-25
"We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently."
We mentioned the tsunami in Japan; revolutions in the Middle East; violence in Libya; poverty and human trafficking in the Philippines and around the world; and more. Then we prayed for the world.
Our discussion and prayer reminded me of Eugene Peterson's exploration of the word "liturgy" in his book Eat This Book:
It is useful to reflect that the word "liturgy" did not originate in church or worship settings. In the Greek world it referred to public service, what a citizen did for the community. As the church used the word in relation to worship, it kept this "public service" quality--working for the community on behalf of or following orders from God. As we worship God, revealed personally as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in our Holy Scriptures, we are not doing something apart from or away from the non-Scripture-reading world; we do it for the world--bringing all creation and all history before God, presenting our bodies and all the beauties and needs of humankind before God in praise and intercession, penetrating and serving the world for whom Christ died in the strong name of the Trinity.
"Harlem" by Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Romans 8:22-25
"We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently."
12.1.11
"Psalm for the January Thaw," by Lucy Shaw
Blessed be God for thaw, for the clear drops
that fall, one by one, like clocks ticking, from
the icicles along the eaves. For shift and shrinkage,
including the soggy gray mess on the deck
like an abandoned mattress that has
lost its inner spring. For the gurgle
of gutters, for snow melting underfoot when I
step off the porch. For slush. For the glisten
on the sidewalk that only wets the foot sole
and doesn’t send me slithering. Everything
is alert to this melting, the slow flow of it,
the declaration of intent, the liquidation.
Glory be to God for changes. For bulbs
breaking the darkness with their green beaks.
For moles and moths and velvet green moss
waiting to fill the driveway cracks. For the way
the sun pierces the window minutes earlier each day.
For earthquakes and tectonic plates—earth’s bump
and grind—and new mountains pushing up
like teeth in a one-year-old. For melodrama—
lightning on the sky stage, and the burst of applause
that follows. Praise him for day and night, and light
switches by the door. For seasons, for cycles
and bicycles, for whales and waterspouts,
for watersheds and waterfalls and waking
and the letter W, for the waxing and waning
of weather so that we never get complacent. For all
the world, and for the way it twirls on its axis
like an exotic dancer. For the north pole and the
south pole and the equator and everything between.
that fall, one by one, like clocks ticking, from
the icicles along the eaves. For shift and shrinkage,
including the soggy gray mess on the deck
like an abandoned mattress that has
lost its inner spring. For the gurgle
of gutters, for snow melting underfoot when I
step off the porch. For slush. For the glisten
on the sidewalk that only wets the foot sole
and doesn’t send me slithering. Everything
is alert to this melting, the slow flow of it,
the declaration of intent, the liquidation.
Glory be to God for changes. For bulbs
breaking the darkness with their green beaks.
For moles and moths and velvet green moss
waiting to fill the driveway cracks. For the way
the sun pierces the window minutes earlier each day.
For earthquakes and tectonic plates—earth’s bump
and grind—and new mountains pushing up
like teeth in a one-year-old. For melodrama—
lightning on the sky stage, and the burst of applause
that follows. Praise him for day and night, and light
switches by the door. For seasons, for cycles
and bicycles, for whales and waterspouts,
for watersheds and waterfalls and waking
and the letter W, for the waxing and waning
of weather so that we never get complacent. For all
the world, and for the way it twirls on its axis
like an exotic dancer. For the north pole and the
south pole and the equator and everything between.
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