Tough Times

Tough times.
Hard times.
Miserable times.
Such was the case.

For baby Jesus.
Parents on the move.
Ordered by Herod.
Hateful, hideous, paranoid Herod.

On the move.
Cold and dark.
The little inn was full.
But the inn keeper made room, anyhow.

We can always find room.
Jesus doesn't need much.
Just a little place will do.
And life begins anew.

And the birth came about.
Angeles sang to low-downs in the fields.
Foreigners saw the star and arrived.
Herod heard and Herod howled.

Who's this upstart?
This pretender to the throne!
This nobody!
Of no account!

But the wise men seem to know something.
I need to know, too.
Where's the little bastard.
Bethlehem, you say?

Kill 'em all.
Every last child.
Girl, boy - who cares.
Kill 'em all.

Parents flee to good old Egypt.
Nemesis and friend.
Where it all began.
Pharaoh and all.

Herod goes to hell in a handbasket.
Eaten up by worms.
Fitting end, I suppose,
For such a crummy creep.

But life wasn't to be easy for the child.
Life was one hardship after the other.
Maybe the first 30 years weren't too bad.
Good momma and good father.

But the last three.
A test for sure.
Easy way out?
Or the hard way in?

He choose the hard way.
And people hated him for it.
Couldn't wait to get rid of him.
Put an end to his malarkey.

But we're sort of stuck with him now.
But we still get rid of him, too.
We make his birth a commercial success.
And some yell Merry Christmas, in your face.

And groan and moan about taking Christ out of the deal.
When he's never been in the deal anyway.
Not the American deal of cash and carry.
Nor the evangelical stuff of sawdust and tears.

Life still isn't easy for the child.
For the man.
For God.
For Christ.

What Child Is This?

In the darkest of nights,

In the chilliest of times,

When all is lonely and questioning.

There comes a moment.

The cry of a child.

Parents’ amazed.

Shepherds and Angels.

Wise Men and a Star.

The craziness of Herod.

Flight for life.

Who knows:

What child is this?

Advent - Stand On Our Heads

Advent is perfect for our times.
It says, "Just wait."
Some, of course, wanted big times and fanfare.
But such was not the case.


A child, a manger, refugee status.
There's never a welcome for such love.
Such love disgusts the rich and the powerful.
The mean and the proud.


And especially the religious.
Oh, how the religious love to be religious.
They sing "Joy to the World" with tears in their eyes.
And pat themselves on the back.


They give to charity, yes they do.
And "those people" who receive the alms.
Better damn well shape up.
Or ship out.


Advent says, "Wait."
But there's a strong and strange power in:
That kind of waiting.
That kind of wanting.


Advent turns the world upside down.
And perhaps to see God a little more clearly.
We'd do well to stand on our heads.
To see what God sees.

The Good Old Earth

Morning musings, Rev. 12.16, "But the earth came to the help of the woman; it opened its mouth and swallowed the river the dragon had poured from its mouth."

Caught my attention, this reference to earth.
Good old earth, dear old earth.
Coming to the defense of the woman.
Swallowing the hate and malice of the dragon.

The earth is good, said God.
And good it is ... in all of its incredible pieces.
Mountains and rivers; deserts and oceans.
Field and forest; sea to shining sea.

And the winds come, and the rains fall.
The sun shines, and the earth is dry.
And human beings come along.
In the image of God.

And we bend and we twist the good old earth.
To suit our fancy and fit our needs.
Needs sometimes out of bounds.
Needs that seem dragon-like in their writhing.

How good is the good old earth.
How is seeks to cope with evil.
The dragon's evil, of course.
But our evil is another matter.

The good old earth tries to swallow our evil.
Our malice and our greed.
To serve the LORD and save us.
The good old earth tries so hard.

A New National Motto

I wish we could rid ourselves of the motto, "In God We Trust."

Why?

It's a ruse, a blind, a cover.

A deception of mind and soul ... to lull us into some kind of unreasonable stance, that because of our motto, we have a leg up on just about everyone else ... and the great God Above looks upon us kindly, and will offer us unstinting protection against our foes, whatever and whoever they may be.

Micah the prophet alludes to this, as to the other prophets, as well.

The ease with which the people count on God to save them, because they have filled their lives with easy slogans and easily performed rituals.

Reminds me of Little Jack Horner, sitting in his corner, eating his Christmas Pie, and delighting in a plumb pulled from the dessert, and concluding, "What a good boy am I."

The fact that he sits in his corner, all by himself, eating the whole damn pie, makes clear to me that he's not such good boy after all.

Though he may be no better or worse than any other boy ...

Sadly, all of our god-talk has blinded us to our sordid history.

Sure, I'm glad to be an American - it's suited me just fine ... me and mine.

But for millions, the bright American Dream has been mostly a nightmare of poverty and loss.

Can't we be a bit more honest about all of this?

It's in our guns we trust, and in our bombs, and in our second-to-none technology, satellites above and drones a-flying ...

Rather than saying, "In God We Trust," how about a new national motto, "We have a lot of work to do!"

Good Night!

I'm tired.
Of Drump.
Of the GOP.
Of the deceit and lies.


I feel for the people,
Who signed on with him.
The angry folks.
The bigots who thought they had a chance.


Yes, I feel sorry for them.
They've been fooled.
Bamboozled.
Trumped.


How it must hurt.
Betrayed again.
Betrayed by the American Dream.
Betrayed now by their Savior.


They're so angry.
So angry.
So angry.
So, so angry.


They need someone who can offer hope.
Who can address their needs.
For health care.
For jobs.


For hope.
Hope is the piece.
Hope is the power.
Hope can be an illusion.


But it can also be life.
With hope, things happen.
With hope, people stay the course.
With hope, folks can handle anything.


I'm tired.
I'm tired of Drump.
Of Pence.
Of the GOP.


Is Hillary perfect?
Is she the savior?
Is she the new Madonna?
The new Mary?


Get off of it.
Don't be silly.
She's a politician.
But she's my politician.


She's knows how it works.
She knows how to play the game.
She knows who the players are.
She knows how to tap the power.


Is that bad?
Does that disqualify her?
Has she made mistakes?
Who hasn't?


But she's got a heart for children.
For women.
For the elderly.
For the people.


She knows the world.
As few of us do.
She's been in the eye of the needle.
She knows how it threads.


Anyway, it's been a long, long, day.
The news is painful.
The American Saga sad.
But I'm hopeful.


Why not?
Hope is my life.
Hope is my blood.
Hope is my DNA.


Why not?
I can't help myself.
Hope is what I am
And I'm glad about that.


Good night.

Woke Up Thinking

Woke up this morning (thank you LORD),
Thinking.

Thinking of some who've played a pivotal roll in my life.
Whose words opened windows.

So the light, as I see it, came in.
To accent and accelerate.

I give thanks for Calvin College.
And two professors:

Sociologist Rodger Rice who had us read:
"The Other America."

And Don Wilson, anthropologist, who suggested that
The Church missionally could be boorish and cruel.

And another professor: theologian Dr. John Bratt, who
Gave me the term, "Theistic Evolution."

In high school (Grand Rapids Christian High School,
The Rev. Morris Faber who said, "I believe you will do it."

Along the way, other professors of English and History,
Who saw in me something worth redeeming.

And Seminary professors, Western Theological Seminary, who
Saw the world large and bright.

Folks skilled in things of mind and heart.
Who loved the LORD, and loved the world.

I've said this all before.
But it deserves saying again.

These teachers taught me well, and
Well they shaped my life.

They led me to a better place.
Where the light is bright and where compassion abides.

So, what can I say?
But Thank you!