Ten Thousand Graves

Ten thousand graves ... 

Tended with care ... lush grass precisely trimmed.

Crosses mostly ... and Stars of David ...

Young men and women cut down in the prime of life.

They were brave and they were afraid ...

Their pictures reveal that haunted look ...

Of soldiers too tired to be afraid, 

And too frightened to find sleep.

Seasick and wet, 

They hit the beach …

Under the cover of …

Steel and smoke.

Death and tears abound …

Ahead, my friends, ahead.

There’s no going back now.

No stopping for any of us.

A continent enslaved awaits the charge.

Nations, yes, and then some, to be unshackled …

And the years pass us by quickly …

Memories roll beyond the reach of words …

Silent tears still shed …

By those who made it home.

Slowly, now, they join their comrades,

As we all do … with the passage of time.

Hand-in-hand; arm-in-arm … a band of brothers …

A chorus of sisters …

Smoke and steel … 

And a victory in hand.

And may those 

Ten thousand graves remain ever well-tended!

© Tom Eggebeen, 2010

Moab, Utah

I’m in Moab, an incredible piece of work … God’s handiwork, of course, sublime, extravagant, bold and stunningly beautiful, ever changing with the march of the sun across the bluest of skies, and the play of clouds, billowing or wispy, and sometimes threatening, heavy with the treasure of rain in an otherwise dry land, and with plenty of small canyons, meadows, and creeks, all running into the cold and powerful Colorado, places to charm the weariest of travelers and ease away the strain of life.

And the handiwork, too, of people - a cross section of humanity, prospectors and writers, rock climbers and dreamers, hardscrabble, hardworking folks, quick to smile and lean of limb, who love the dessert, or long for an escape - the retired, too, with some spare change, and the tired, as well. Many a dream here. Some didn’t come to pass, with their closed storefronts, and some born anew, with fresh paint and clever names, ever the hope of making a living in a place carved out of the imposing stone, like the tourist attraction, “Hole N" The Rock,” dug and blasted by hand, or carved by a millennia of wind and storm, cold and heat, and always the River rushing to the sea.

My son lives here, and makes it home. A treat to be his dad, and more importantly, to be his friend. He cheers my soul and brightens the remaining days of my journey. My wife, dear wife, is here, too - with 54 years of marriage behind us, we push on with gratitude, looking to the panorama of mountains and sky as a constant reminder that we belong, but for a time, to something utterly good and glorious, and maybe something that transcends even the boundaries of time. But who knows for sure - that decision belongs to the Mountains, those mighty towers of stone and silence inviting our trust and our hope.

Thanks Moab, and thanks to our son!

Holy Week

It’s Holy Week, that strange and storied eight days, from Sunday to Sunday, beginning with a “triumphal entry” into the city of cities, a city rife with rumors and rebellion, under the iron fist of Rome and a local leadership bound and determined to maintain peace. The crowds roar their approval, with palm branches and cloaks laid down before the procession, the entry of Jesus and his disciples, from the Mount of Olives, on a donkey, rather than a steed of war - an image of hope and deliverance.

What was the crowd thinking?

Many things, I’m sure, but caught up in the moment of those days, that week, a time fraught with so much hope and so many dreams, the crowd welcomed Jesus. He had a reputation for tweaking proud noses, and irritating the righteous. The crowds loved that sort of thing.

But it didn’t take for the crowd to crow a different tune a few days later. Oh how fickle the crowds can be. Fame so fleeting, and then it’s gone. Another race, another bet.

The officials consider what needs to be done, and Judas conspires with them, for his thirty-dirty-pieces of silver, and what was he thinking?

With a kiss, just to make sure the police get the right man, Judas betrays him. Jesus is led away, beaten and bloodied, presented to Pilate, then to Herod, and then back to Pilate - a show of law and order, but a complete and total moral failure. Power always has trouble with truth … power understands power, but truth is another matter. Finally, the roaring crowds are given a choice: shall it be Jesus or perhaps Barabbas; a prophet or a rebel?

The story ends badly, at least for Jesus. He’s led to a cross, a Roman execution, in a most public place, to let the world know who’s in charge and who calls the shots.

Jesus is crucified, dead, and buried.

Of Barabbas, we know nothing.

Of Pilate? Well, it didn’t end well for him either. Rome wasn’t happy, and so he’s invited to an early retirement.

Holy Week - when the darkest of motives are exposed, when God’s presence in our world is utterly and completely rejected by the crowds, by the powers, by just about everyone.

It seems that one of the two rebels crucified with Jesus had some regard for him. And the women at the foot of the cross, too. And then Jesus is dead, and just to make sure, a spear is driven into his gut by one of the soldiers; was it the one who was struck by it all? Soldiers doing their job, but not always happy

about it.

Jesus is tucked away … hurriedly … in a borrowed tomb … the disciples slink away to gather their thoughts and plan the next move, but mostly to hide from the growing threat of retaliation against them. And that was that.

But we shall meet them again, in the next chapter. But for now, we have to wait. That’s part of the strangeness of Holy Week. Nothing is entirely clear; it’s a time of fog and fatigue, disappointment and despair … one of those times when we cling to one another, even as words fail us. We cry, and we cry out.

Until then …

Voter Suppression & 1 Corinthians 11.17

Voter suppression and 1 Corinthians 11.17ff - a place at the Table for everyone, and for those with a bit more in the larder, eat at home, drink what you want, and don't embarrass the poor with your abundance when coming together at the Table. Restrain yourselves, and learn how to eat together properly, recognizing in one another the love of God and the very presence of Christ. 

Strikes me that Paul's commentary on the Corinthian situation has some bearing on voter suppression, and the dreams of Lincoln and others, that voting belongs to all, regardless of class, race, or gender. 

Any effort made to exclude, however cleverly it may be disguised, is nothing less than a repudiation of Christ, and it's no wonder that so many are sick and dying in the throes of racist agony.

What think ye of this?

Mountains Snows - a Prayer

For the sun above, bright and clear.
For snow upon the mountains.
For fresh air and cold beauty.
O LORD, my God, my thanks.

And I pray, dear God, that I, in my own unusual way,
Might be the salt of the earth.
And the light of the world.

And if not the world, at least
My small corner of it.
My home, my heart, my circle of friends.

And of my friends, a word of thanks.
Friends present and friends new.
Friends old and friends long gone.

And for the women and men who write the books.
Who embrace the highest values of life and liberty.
Who follow in the steps of a Lincoln and an FDR.
Who challenge the prevailing moods with something higher.
Who listen, not to the clamoring mob, but to the cry of angel.

The push and pull of faith is just that, dear God.
No one fully knows your purpose.
Or the ways of the universe.
Yet, we know - love is everything.
Forgiveness is the heart of it.
Mercy can have no compromise.
Justice must be for all - and if not, it's not for anyone.

O LORD my God: my thanks.
You have been present and kind.
You have taken me by hand.
By calm waters and green pastures you have led.

I vow this day to be my best, as best I can.
To accept my limits, and those of others.
To affirm and lift up.
To speak peace and speak truth.
And if peace would be used to quash truth.
Then choose the truth and bear the cross.

Thank you for the bright sun.

The snow in the mountains.
The pleasure within my heart.
The hope of things to come.

In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Who daily teaches me the ways of life. Amen!

Dinosaurs Believed in Intelligent Design!

“Intelligent Design” was on top of the list whenever the dinosaurs gathered at their national and international symposiums. 

“We’ve been here, on top of the heap, for millions of years; the universe, this earth, designed, intelligently designed, for us.”

And of our kind, we’ve got a few on the pinnacle of the heap, who delight in eating one another. But the point is this: we’re the heap, and nothing else can get in our way. The world belongs to us. We eat what we want. We want what we eat. It’s good deal. 

And is that an accident?

Heck no! The gods made it so, just for us. A few degrees of climate variation one way of the other, and we’d not be here. 

How long has it been?

Millions of years …  I mean, millions, tens of millions … enough time to convince everything else that the dinosaurs were right: fate, the gods, everything, from the littles atom to the swirling stars, was on their side.

And, then, in the Yucatan, an asteroid … 

And when all was said and done, it was the shrew that survived and surmounted, because it could borrow. And when it emerged, and surveyed the world waiting for it, it wondered if maybe, just maybe, the universe was designed, intelligently designed, for its wellbeing.

"To Judge the Quick and the Dead"

 “From thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead,” my friend said, quoting The Creed, and then asked: “What does that judgment look like?”

His question caught my attention, but I held my piece for a moment and envisioned the creed, “looking” at it for a moment, and then, boom, the third part of The Creed came into focus. It doesn’t stand alone, or independent of what precedes it - but actually answers the question: “What does judgment look like?” 

For me, at least, God’s judgment is not retribution, but restoration; repairing what has been broken; undoing the damages of sin; restoring the lost to community, healing the broken hearted, and rebalancing, retuning, the earth, and the universe.

In this context, for me at least, the restorative justice of God, the judgment of God, which is never to be feared, but rather welcomed with grateful praise, is outlined in the third element of The Creed: “I believe in the Holy Ghost, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.”

Here’s is the judgement of God - the work of the Holy Spirit, consistent with Genesis 1 - that which brings life into being, deals with light and fecundity, ordains the trees and fish to make a go of it, reproduce, replicate themselves, create and recreate in their own ways and purposes.

The Holy Spirit initiates the work of Christ from the get-go, from creating community, forgiving sins, giving death a run for the money, to wrapping it up with life undying.

I don’t know what any of that will actually look like, but at least, for me, the third part of The Creed maps out the program - with evidence already at hand - evidence consist with Creation, and then the New Creation. 

When someone raises a question of justice and welcome, it’s the work of the Holy Spirit. When someone offers a cup of cold water to the thirsty, a ham sandwich to the hungry, a jacket to keep a child warm, and a political program to keep in check the hideous forces of greed, it’s the work of the Holy Spirit.

From the moment of creation, to the moment of recreation, and with and through and in every moment of time, the work of the Holy Spirit, bringing to bear upon creation the judgment/justice of God.

This is what it looks like: “I believe in the Holy Ghost….”

God be praised!