Darned Love

 

Darned Love

Look at that emphasis in the Bible on Love, two thousand years ago!  Palestina was a rough place and time!  Love?!  Where did that come from?!  You would not think people would even know what that was!  Love!

Every discussion of the Bible should promptly return to that core message, because that is the radical message, the unique message.  Everything else is filler and marketing to make the unpalatable Love less obvious.  Throw in the usual us vs. them, some blood and battles, a bunch of rules and regulations, some guarantees of a judgment day when we (the good guys of course) will finally win and get our tickets to eternal paradise, and you've got the ingredients for yet one more religion suitable for wielding condemnation, retribution, and persecution.  But then there is that darned Love.  Unique, and usually uniquely ignored, in words two thousand years old abides this curious and irritating admonition to change our innermost being, our external actions, and the world.  

Theologians will dissect verses and elaborate on eschatologies, while one single differentiating point, one overtly seditious word and its corollaries, distinguish the core message of this messenger from the jostling crowd of scriptures, teachings, and texts vying for our readily malleable belief.

Love.  Sacrificial, selfless Love.  One sermon.  One command.  One theology.  Leaving you one Choice.  

Sanctuary

 

Sanctuary, sanctuary.

Get me to the hills,

away, away,

safe, finally safe,

each breath, each breath

carrying away the pain and stress.

Here, finally here,

with God and God's Creation,

like the wild deer,

instinctively hiding,

seeking the tiny spot of recluse,

of embrace,

in the woods,

protected by the woods.

Sanctuary,

away, safe,

the blessed touch of Home.

Always peace here,

the abiding peace.

The hill, the hill,

its steep and rock strewn course

protecting from all who find it inconvenient.

Sunrise, sanctuary, healing, safety,

each breath, finally painless.

Christmas Cards

Christmas Cards 

Writing Christmas cards,

trite, shallow, pointless

Christmas cards,

growing more depressed with each.

'Tis the season,

the music,

Ol' Claus,

colored lights,

all contrived,

fake and facade,

no reality here,

wretchedly unrealistic…..

Yet images of Hope,

a wish,

relationships that will be, though not now.

The seemingly empty traditions

clarify and express our hopes,

granting vision of what could be.

The almost empty cards and carols

are desperately needed,

pulling us to something better.

…pulling us to be something better.

Son of Man

 

SON OF MAN

 

 "Son of Man".  What a perfect self-appellation Yeshu (Jesus) chose!....especially coupled with references to us as "this generation".  Yes, fully human, unambiguously human, yet a descendent, more advanced, of a different spiritual generation.  It is a title accurate and informative, meaningful because it was not bestowed, but matter of factly claimed.  

Son of Man…..knowing so much more than this generation could ever understand, homeless for lack of understanding by our generation, crucified by our rejection of the unheard lessons that might indict us.  

Son of Man, reduced to struggling for parables to try to communicate a little of what we would not want to understand.  

Son of Man, all ego stripped in that curious title, but at each mention dropping a hint as to His nature…..and ours.

Calling

 CALLING

You would think there would be some profound and wise instruction for how to follow your life's calling, whether you believe that calling comes from God, destiny, universe, or whatever.  There is a calling, or callings.  You can follow it.  But how it will be revealed is acutely individual.  

Of course you have to want a calling before you can discern it.  You have to surrender to something before you can be called by it.  It is a rare and curious thing in an age of materialism for anyone to surrender to a calling.  It is also a rare and curious thing in an age of basic survival to surrender to a calling.  Yet all are called, but few accept it.   You will be alone.  Following a calling is terrifying, fraught with doubt, a glorious madness, indefensible and inexplicable.  Yet once accepting calling, you can never again deny it, at least not for long.  You would have it no other way, the world's tawdry profits rendered banal and tedious by a glimpse, even a fleeting glimpse, of Purpose and meaning and the invitation to be a part of it.  

Hold Close the Darkening Moment; Touch Eternal

 Hold Close the Darkening Moment

 

So precious, gifts of God.

So shocking, lessons of God.

So denied, those lessons.

Daily I marvel at how wrong I was.

How right have been shown my understandings of God.

How pathetically wrong my estimation of humanity.

It all compounds of course,

a mother's abuse,

well justified guilt,

overwhelming opportunities,

irresistible opportunities,

unbidden opportunities.

 

I await the sudden sunrise,

and hold close the darkening moment.

 

 Touch Eternal 

So precious, so precious.

Warm, soft, fuzzy, miraculous gift of God, watching the screen in the dark as I type.

Intense, this awareness of touch.

Peace, calm peace,

before another day in the world.

A cord connecting that moment past,

A song connecting to that moment past,

All focused, all coalescing, in this moment.

Always surprising, the revelations of presence.

Never bidden, pure gift, a precursor to timelessness

when all will be gift, pure gift,

finally, finally aware that

nothing is of our own.

 

Rippling breath,

abiding touch,

touch of the angels,

when all will be touch,

enduring touch,

connecting the then 

to a timeless now,

connection 

across a no longer extant space,

separation no longer possible.

 

The briefest of eternal previews

enters even here,

even in this world,

in defiance of the illusion of time,

a deep and penetrating glimpse,

a gift, unbidden, unsought,

for you cannot seek 

what you cannot imagine.

Touch - warm, soft, all encompassing,

teaching its gentle lesson

of what will be and is,

when touch will no longer 

be localized and momentary,

but enduring, unending,

never again to seemingly end,

but always building, ever growing,

life finally come even to us.

 

There is no sharing of this experience,

no words can convey 

the meaning of touch

that fills and fulfills.

"Touch" seems 

so physical, so carnal, so temporal.

How can it possibly convey anything eternal?

Yet in that moment of warmth and softness,

in a tiny contact,

all meaning and Purpose abide,

for a moment,

the eternal moment

Almost Forgotten Words

 

Almost Forgotten Words 

We all long for peace.  But with the slightest miscommunication wars erupt, within the household or between nations.

The great conflicts and the domestic disputes coalesce out of the swirling storm of disconnection and distance.  Each of these inner worlds, each ensemble of beliefs and expectations and desires, i.e. each individual human being, churns within the prison cell of its worldly experience.  Words form feeble and distorted connections among the individual cells, but the almost universal aversion to really listening renders the words impotent and their effects unpredictable.  

So arguments ensue and wars erupt.  

It is tragedy unnecessary and horror avoidable, but our trenchant resistance to learning ensures the tragedies and horrors will compound.

Ludicrous sound the admonitions to turn the other cheek and give away your coat as well as cloak.  Such progressive ideas were and are resoundingly ignored.  But imagine the world in the absence of those admonitions.  Indeed, look at parts of the world untouched by those impractical admonitions.  

Against all odds those words and their source have and do make a difference.  They at least sufficiently prick our conscience that we give lip-service to the premise that war and divorce are not to be celebrated.  

We may not turn the other cheek, but at least we ever so slightly uncomfortably squirm upon hearing the phrase.  Maybe our retributive blows are in turn ever so slightly tempered by some nagging sub-conscious awareness that some unrealistic itinerant progressive long ago pointed out a better way.  

Do not listen.  Do not learn.  Continue as always, pragmatic and patriotic, resolute and righteous.  Try to deny that irritating tiny grain of sand in your well shined marching shoes,.... "turn the other cheek…..turn…...turn and repent."