Prayer from the Belly

O LORD my God, creator of heaven and earth, speak tenderly to my troubled soul ... remind me of those who've gone before and bore the burdens of care ... and remind me, as well, of those who'll be here long after I'm gone, to bear the light of hope.

Though there may well come a time, O God, when humanity has run its course, when the experiment of melding dirt and divinity will have proved, once and for all, whether it was worth it or not.

Perhaps the flood should've done it, but you still had faith in the dream ... that flesh and spirit could work ... and to give us some image of that, you sent your divine love to take up the mantle of flesh, to be incarnate, showing up in a wee little cradle in a wee little town, in an outta the way place that just happened to be an intersection of the world ... to show that it was possible, that it was necessary.

And what did we do, dear God?

We nailed it to a cross.

And we'd do again.

And we do.

We nail one another to crosses of pain and sorrow, with our hammers and nails, our privilege and power ... humanity has its ways, O God, and mostly the ways of death. We know so well how to dispatch one another, and never shed a tear, or if a tear, then one of feigned sorrow, along with our thoughts and prayers.

Yet brightness shines in brilliant moments of peace and hope.

All around the world, women and men who call out for something more than destruction and death.

Who bear in their flesh the signs of the Spirit.

I pray, O God, for those who embody the love of Christ.

Whatever the Christ may be.

Wherever the energy of spirit and bone merge into something full of life, life-giving, life-sustaining, life-generating.

In this hour of crisis, I pray.

I weep.

I fret, and I fuss.

I'm weary to the bone, and in my spirit, I tremble.

I long for something more than belly of the whale.

Silence Unholy

Silence, in the presence of God.

Silence, beneath the cross of Christ.

Silence, by a mountain stream.

Or a crashing sea.

Silence, it must be.

Silence, the assent of the inner being.

That here, words are gently taken away.

No sound to be uttered.

Perhaps a deeply indrawn breath.

An exhalation.

Joy, wonderment, bewilderment.

Silence.

But silence is another thing.

When a child is losing her life.

To the stupidity and pride of

The powerful.

Silence, when folks are denied.

The right to love.

By those who take upon themselves:

The right to decide who can love, and who can't.

Silence in the face of hate

And the suffering it causes.

The suffering of the innocent.

And who are the innocent?

But those who are borne down.

With the shackles of tradition.

The chains of history.

The whip of courts and legislatures.

Silence, when the world is turning upside down.

And lies are welcomed as truth.

And truth is denied as a lie.

And the cruel liars laugh at the death of others.

Silence, in such times, is a crime all the more.

A crime more than those who commit their crimes:

Of hatred and fear, lies and bullets.

Great wickedness wearing designer jeans.

Greater still the wickedness of silence.

The silence of one's own comfort.

The silence of our pleasant little bubbles.

Because I'm not a racist, a bigot, or mean!

I'm good, aren't I?

I care. I really do.

But care is such a pain.

Care is good for awhile, and then must be discarded.

Silence is good.

Others suffer for their own sins, not mine.

Children die, when god visits upon them.

So my silence will bury their cries.

Silence, a deadly sin.

A fever of the soul

A virus with a millions little crowns.

Hooking into the mind.

Silence, that is never holy.

Never right, never good.

Silence, that means death for others.

Such silence demands: A voice lifted up.

A voice to sing.

A voice to cry.

A voice to protest.

A voice that shatters the ice-cold silence.

A voice.

Never silent.

A voice.

From the heart of God.

Manifest Destiny

"Manifest Destiny," eh? 

The GOP has clearly lost its marbles, and though 5 senators are now begging off of the Convention, they and their colleagues have failed the nation. Whatever "protest" they're mounting, it's too late! They might have given this a little more thought when the McConnell Senate failed to affirm the impeachment-vote of the House.

The GOP IS the problem; it embraced the worst in America's story, believing that white supremacy, evangelicalism, and greed would win the day. 

But history makes clear: sooner or later, in spite of some initial success, the "values" embraced and proclaimed by the GOP rot the soul of a nation, and it doesn't make any difference whatever the nation or empire may be. 

All the cheering of the evangelicals and the hideous Epstein-Money Gang can't prevent the collapse.

Will it get worse before the skies clear?

The GOP is crazy, just plain crazy. Within its ranks are some decent folk, no doubt, but they're as rare as hen's teeth. The truth be told, the GOP is run by a desperate cartel of greedy men and besotted women who long ago sold their souls for power.

Thank God, I say, that God's Manifest Destiny for humankind more than trumps the small and narrow versions trumped by the GOP's lost cause.

When Abel's Blood Cries Out

I have always loved to sing, "Rock of Ages," not that I can sing. For years, I'd gurgle "Rock of ages, cleft for me," and my family would run off holding their ears.

I love the hymn nonetheless.

It speaks of refuge and safety.

But as of late, a phrase has caught my attention: "Let me hide myself in thee."

Good enough, for sure.

Who does't need a hiding place now and then?

But when hiding becomes permanent, we've got a problem.

I cruise around a lot of fb pages - friends, colleagues, and friends of friends of friends ... especially ministers serving churches.

I find a lot of hiding.

As if the world didn't exist, but only sweet jesus and my happy, happy, congregation.

Covid?

BLM?

Confederate flags?

White supremacy?

Women's rights.

Voter suppression.

Not to mention Brexit, Syria, Russia, and Turkey.

Don't mention it.

Hush up.

Quiet.

Just hide.

Hide from it all.

I think of Elijah in the cave.

And finally God says: Get outta there and do your work.

And it's work, all right.

Political work - kings and such to be anointed and a successor to be mantled.

Who knows?

I'm retired, and that's a safety cleft all of its own.

But I'll express my surprise.

At just how still some are.

When Abel's blood cries out from the earth.

This Has Been My Life

I cry.

I hurt.

I rage.

I’m sad.

Disturbed.

Broken.

But now, this morning.

I’m clear:

Now is not the time.

To indulge such things.

Lest they capture me.

And hold me captive.

Way too long.

Now is the time to remember.

Who I am.

What I’m about.

I am a man of God.

By God’s grace, alone.

And servant of Christ.

This has been my life.

My hope.

My being.

I’m also a rank sinner.

Full of self.

Thoughts terrible, to even shame hell.

Such things burden my soul.

I’ve failure enough to fill a book.

But grace is the larger story.

Bookending all that I am.

Holding me close to the great mysteries.

Faith, hope, and love.

So, here I am.

Darkness at the edges.

Light there, too.

I reach … 

At the tip of my fingers.

Something.

I see it, cloudy and dark.

Bright and opaque.

Sheer and shiny.

Rumbling and grumbling.

Roaring and crying.

Cooing and singing.

My destiny?

It’s my heritage.

What I’ve been is my guide.

To announce good news.

Noting cheap about it.

Hard won and bloody.

Cradles and crosses.

Disciples and dust.

Terror and tombs.

But good news.

The Spirit of God.

Wrestling with this crooked world.

And the likes of you and me.

The Spirit of God.

Still hovering over the dark waters.

To bring out something.

Something right and bright.

Good and wholesome.

Something bursting with fecundity.

Which is a good word, I think.

Something ready to get and to give.

Well, enough of that.

That’s my story morning glory.

To be what I am.

And I’d say the same to you.

Care and cry.

But don’t lose your story.

To God forever.

We belong.

You me, together.

God Enters Our Lives Through Our Wounds

"God enters our lives through our wounds," writes my friend.

This came to me this morning in a paper written for a study group meeting later today via Zoom.

These words fit my world well ... I've often wondered why God didn't fully heal my wounds, but I've learned over the years that my wounds have kept me humble.

I'm given to arrogance, spiritual and intellectual, but wounds mitigate that tendency, wounds that still seep and hurt.

Paul's "thorn in the flesh," whatever that may have been, was God's tool to keep an otherwise brilliant man, a man given to spiritual/intellectual arrogance, open to God's mercy and sensitive to the human condition.

I've thought in recent years - this is why the resurrected body of Jesus still bore the ugly wounds - the broken bones of his ankles and wrists, the spear thrust beneath his ribs, a forehead marked by the thorns. I think Jesus walked with a limp.

Even the son of God needed to be wounded, even in the state of resurrection, as to never be tempted to spiritual arrogance.

Calvin said, "We all walk with a limp." We have to walk a bit more slowly in our spirit, and it's harder to run away from God.

"By his bruises (wounds) we are healed," writes Isaiah 53.5. Those bruises are a passageway from the heart of God to the soul of humankind ... and in our daily walk with others, our own wounds become a similar passageway, from one to another - the healing balm of mercy, kindness, truth and justice.

God enters our lives through our wounds, and through our wounds, God enters the world.

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.