Mother's Day Thoughts

On a more serious note, let's remember that women across the globe are victims of the male hierarchy, men who believe that equality given to women is a diminution of the equality of men, and besides, if given the vote, women will vote for people who'll "redistribute wealth" (horror of horror), and if given political power, will enact humane laws.

Sadly, some women buy into the male hierarchy, the male Oligarchy, failing to see what a hellish price they pay, never to be accepted as human beings, but only to be used as political pawns, trophy wives, and discarded when no longer "beautiful" or useful.

On this Mother's Day, it's vital that we see the larger picture, the depths of discrimination in nearly every culture, where women are only to be seen as mothers and wives, and never to be heard.

Such attitudes are a violation of every thing sacred. I pray that men will see how diminished and distorted they are when depriving women of their personhood, and how vital is the personhood of everyone to the welfare of the earth.

Mother's Day, a time to recognize women for all that they are - certainly many are wives and mothers, but that must never delimit or define their personhood.

A salute to all the women who are nurses and doctors, engineers and city planners, who work on the assembly lines and dig ditches, who wait on tables and teach at universities, who love and sorrow, laugh and cry, in all the transitions and vicissitudes of life ... who are wholly/holy human, reflecting the glory of God's infinite fullness.

Who Are the Quiet Ones?

Ecclesiastes 9:17-18 (NRSV) 

The quiet words of the wise 

are more to be heeded than the 

shouting of a ruler among fools. 

Wisdom is better than weapons 

of war, but one bungler 

destroys much good. 

Who are the quiet ones in our midst?

The wise ones whose words ought to be heeded?

Who’s doing the shouting?

Who’s the loud-mouth ruler?

Who are the fools?

Yes, wisdom is better than weapons.

Is it not true that wisdom builds up?

But weapons take away?

And who’s the bungler?

Whose shouting deafens the ear?

Whose weaponry is ridicule and bombast?

With drones of war and death?

And such a bungler destroys much good.

Does it take a host of bunglers?

Just one is all that’s needed.

In the right place, with those willing to listen.

For whatever reasons they might have.

The bungler serves their purpose.

And the good is destroyed.

The good of the ages.

The good and goods of liberty and dreams.

Freedom and choice.

Dignity and well-being.

The good and the goods of faith, hope, and love.

Grace, mercy, peace.

Much good has been accomplished.

But such good is destroyed.

By the bungler.

In our midst.

A ruler.

Among.

Fools.

A Poem Is Never Finished!

I have a bio of Auden.
I've read it several times.
Pen in hand, always underlining.

Read it enough, and the whole book'll soon be underlined.
His life means something to me.
"A poem is never finished," he said.

I like that.
Stuff is never finished.
Neither is life.

Sure, someone dies.
And that's that.
But life is never finished.

I'll die, too.
And so will you.
And so will our children.

And grandchildren, too.
Death is that finalizer.
It smiles with its power.

But the earth goes on.
And will likely go on for some time to come.
And so will the universe.

Expanding limits.
Stars exploding.
Protons and buffoons.

Life is never finished.
Life is movement.
Reaching.

For those who believe in eternal life.
Well, that's the on-going stuff, isn't it?
The stuff that's never finished.

I've thought, If there is an eternity.
It's movement ... like the Book of Revelation.
A bustling city, noisy; the lights never turned off.

In Christ, for sure.
Who says, "Follow me!"
To places yet unknown.

The inexhaustible heart of God.
If God had a beginning, it was the moment when
God realized there could be love.

Anyway, I like Auden.
His hold on faith.
Or faith's hold on him.

His struggles with his own flesh.
His being, identity, his love.
His dreams and desires.

No wonder a poem is never finished.

The Young Who Support Bernie

Why are young voters inclined toward Bernie?

Because they're already on the downhill side of Capitalism and all its promises.

Their future is not as bright as it was for their parents and grandparents. They see a bit more clearly the charade of Capitalism, and they're ready for something better.

They're not afraid of Socialism, either.

They're not fooled by the Capitalist equation of Socialism with Communism. They're not afraid of a government that works for all the people, a government that stands firm for social supports, infrastructure, national parks, education, civil rights, women's rights and universal health care.

Younger evangelicals have also seen the emptiness of their megachurches and froufrou preaching filled with promises that simply can't be realized.

The young see that America cannot remain engaged in constant warfare, but they're not afraid of the need for America to play a major role in peace, environment and immigration issues.

The young live in a multi-cultural, multi-racial, world, and have friends who are LGBTQ.

The young are compassionate and eager to make a difference.

The young are ready for another vision of a far healthier America.

A FB Rage Page

Because I'm friends with certain types, got a page recommendation, so I paid a visit.

OMG, Rump.
White Supremacy.
LGBTQ hatred.
Obama hatred.

Now, with some folks talking about "getting along" with those of another persuasion, I'm clueless, I will admit.

Maybe a cuppa would help.
Some face-to-face.
But I don't think FB, or any other social medium can promote communication, or communion. Information, yes; encouragement, for sure. Friendship and hope, always.

I looked carefully over the page for any sign of decency.
Found none.

The writer is self-listed as single.
He's a guy.
His brain is awash with hate.

I quickly left the page.
It left me nauseated.

I keep forgetting how bad it is.

I think of our forebears and the question of slavery.
They fundamentally knew there was no compromise.
Either yes or no.
Up or down.

Paul the Apostle understood there could be no compromise with some elements.
So did Luther and Calvin.
So did Jeremiah and Micah.

Of our own nation:
Washington.
John Adams.
And Lincoln.
FDR
Johnson.
And with regard to schools, Eisenhower.

All were leaders of great mind and energy.
Striving to build the Union.
But understanding that some ideas were inimical.

Some would have been more than happy to dismantle the fledgling Union in order to promote their own interests.
Then, or now, States' Righters, and White Supremacists.

A few moments on that page was enough.

Choose Wisely

The Christian Faith, like all religions, is malleable plastic - we can pretty well shape it as we please - anything from Thomas Merton to John Birch, from Joan of Arc to Mother Teresa, from Paula Poundstone to Paula White.

As a Christian, I can master every page of the Bible and know Christian tradition inside and out, but it's still up to me to make my decision as to what I'll believe and how I'll live. It's all there in bits and peaces, but scattered about defying any effort to put it all together into a coherent whole where every piece fits nicely, snug and tidy, relieving me of ever again having to think, heaven forbid.

The puzzle is never done ... just when it's all put together, more pieces appear ... "O crap," we say ... and either ignore the new pieces, throw 'em away, or labor on, creating an ever larger picture of faith, hope and love.

There is no God telling me, or anyone else, the specifics of the deal. To imagine such is to engage in a horrible illusion, and such illusions mostly prove deadly, if not for their violence, then passivity, while others suffer and die.

Things get really whacky when we look at the creation of our own hands and say, "God decreed it," or the equally illusionary phrase, "Well, it's in the Bible."

We like to put it on God, or some "sacred" text so we can "believe" without responsibility, and belief without responsibility is ideology. "The devil made me do it," or "God made me do it," amounts to the same thing: the abandonment of responsibility.

So, go ahead and be a person of faith, but remember the faith you choose is your choice, and not God's decree. God appreciates the effort, but above all, God desires honesty, which is the heart and soul of humility, a virtue some people of faith find utterly abhorrent.

So, go ahead and choose ... and like the old knight said to Indiana Jones, "Choose wisely."

You can choose to hate, you can choose to love ... you can choose arrogance or humility, you can condemn all other traditions and beliefs, or you can see the hand of God in all of it ... you can speak in tongues or be quiet, you can raise your hands and fan the heavens as some rock band wannabes pound away with flashing lights, videos and pics blinding the true believer, or you can worship with organs, incense, high altars and clergy vestments that cost an arm and a leg, you can go to church or stay home and watch CNN, you can claim to believe, or you can shrug your shoulders, you can fret and fuss about folks going to hell, or you can believe in universal salvation, or you can believe than when we die, that's it, job done, poorly or well, but job done, and back to the dirt we go.

God has decreed the "confusion of tongues," so that human responsibility would be preserved, and that we would never form some monolithic tower to the heavens, but spread out upon the face of the earth and learn how to live together - the original mandate of the Garden story, and the one thing humankind has always hated, and has always been willing to trade away for security and blind belief.

And that's the way it is ... maybe. Ha.

Early Morning Riser

I'm an early riser: this morning, 3:30.
When I awake, that's it.
My mind hums with energy.

Yet, I think: I should sleep a little longer.
But to no avail.
Books to read demand my presence.

So, I'm up, with cheer.
Some pills and a shave.
Teeth brushed ... I start the day.

Into the kitchen.
A cuppa via yesterday's brew heated in the micro.

Some walking devotions:
"Hail Mary full of Grace ..."
"I believe in God the Father Almighty ..."
"Our Father who art in heaven ..."
"Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open ..."

And then my 40 days of prayer journal.
Each name or need announced aloud, or silently.
The refrain: "Jesus my LORD."
And the date duly noted.

I pray for friends, near and far.
Sometimes strangers and ideas and darker things.
Some prayers are given 80 days.
Or 120,
Or the days of my life, as long as I should live.

Prayer is fitting for a season, as it goes.
The crisis passes; the need is met.
The journal page is lifted out of its three-ring binder.
And put away in the binder pocket.
And only later, tossed out.

Some pages are full with tiny columns of dates.
And occasional comments.
Ceaseless prayer.
As love never ends.

Then some coffee prepped for D.
When she awakens, out to the kitchen she wanders.
"Good Morning Dear Friend," I might say.
Or some other endearment, of a very long list.
Mostly sweet and some pretty silly.
She smiles and flips the switch.

I'll drink what's left tomorrow.