there is albatross chained round the neck

old grey bird found limp upon the deck

a weight

a weight

like lead piled on a sinking fate

each of us a mariner on groaning earth

each one a notched arrow let fly at birth

who would sing in salt dry heat of day

when each pain upon our own shouders lay

denied

denied

dragged down beaten by blind hubris pride

deserving the deepened cover of moon-tugged tide

pulled beneath the waves to drown in seas of loss

pulled out again and rescued by life-giving cross

while links do burden break and let fall dead albatross

and now is light

and freedom-flight

a breathing in through starry living night

till sun does rise restoring new eternal sight

 

walking world wanderer understands something of still lies

that it is foolishness to think the foolish cannot act wise

world wanderer cannot decide upon a single whispered wish

for knowing that greater still it is to think the wise cannot act foolish

this tread upon treader has found the unconsciousness of midway

the unplanned beauty of a not early, not late sanguine sun of midday

 

so upon the equatorial fence he’ll ride

with neither terror nor joy at either side

while every wandering eye that wanders by

can wonder at the one with no time to bide

 

this dusty traveller is neither foolish nor wise

he cannot bring himself to wear either disguise

so he’ll tread the living line between the two

he’ll walk the tightrope called try-to-be-true

 

 

 

Crush cry lively in a broken blue sky day

as adrenline screams like star-sun inside

shout songs of praise through throat of clay

while heart swells like bursting red-full tide

 

 

and

 

 

sometimes I hear the silent voice of ghostly God

warm wet breathing breeze sings soft past my ear

a swimming in deep and dark, the mysterious odd

the kind of bone chilling comfort that causes fear

 

 

and

 

 

i am crushed beneath the weight of selfless love

hard pressed to hold head toward the giving one

covered over by woesome wings of ageless dove

I am crushed and reforged anew; recreated; undone

 

cold-spun days are dancing on sun away away

while twirling frost has packed her window paints

stepping lightly into bright warm skies like memory

her skirts lifting in playful zephyr’s daring grasp

too bold! too bold!

silver beauty is chased away till the south wind wanes

 

 

and while cold love lies deep in winter’s storehouse

lusty Persephone yawns forth – luxurious stretch of bud and blade

her banks spill forth a swollen bursting ‘cross her shores

wet promise of life floods the prairie plains in embrace

she draws flushed vaulted sky’s rainy reach toward her

future’s foreshadowed in the enmeshed earth and heaven

 

 

till every green shoot is birthed in the cradling arms of Spring.

 

lioness lays like threat in the gilded grass

golden hunger wrapped in murderous muscle

with a frenzied eye for the feeding flesh

till sacrifice steps onto the altar before her

like sweet Venus before dead red Mars

she’s a savannah-savage lightning strike

who whispers death in her heaving chest

words for passing prey and prey alone –

 

"let claws sink in to close this embrace my love

this is the nearness that never ends

let mouth drink you in while teeth tear your life to mine

make my crushing kiss is your last memory"

 

sun sets till sky is bruised black and blue

and the world outside my window disappears

as interior phantoms begin the glass glow

hinting at the washed out walls within

till light is gone and the deepening dark comes on

leaving golden ghosts a real world inside

casting doubt on the created-without as though it never was

 

little glass bottle of india ink

tips slow before my eyes

a study of night falling in curves

while black spills like blood on paper in the dark

white linen spreads the stain

raven feathers strewn across pure snow

obsidion straw drawing down corvus covers

a cross-thatched inter-woven 8 1/2 by 11 portal

revealing

…nothing

covering

…everything

 

The following is an excerpt (pages 62-63) from a book I am reading by N.T. Wright entitled After You Believe: Why Christian Character Matters.

 

This is a picture of how God’s grace works. God loves us as we are, as he finds us, which is (more or less) messy, muddy, and singing out of tune. Even when we’ve tried to be good, we have often only made matters worse, adding (short-lived) pride to our other failures. And the never-ending wonder at the heart of genuie Christian living is that God has come to meet us right there, in our confusion of pride and fear, of mess and muddle and downright rebellion and sin.

 

That’s the point of the Christian gospel, the good news: "This is how much God loved the world – that he sent his only son, Jesus Christ, so that anyone who believes in him will not die, but will have life, the life of the age to come." That summary, is one of the most famous verses in the New Testament (John 3:16), says it all. God’s love comes to us where we are in (the form of) Jesus Christ, and all we have to do is accept it – when we welcome the new choir director into our ragged and out-of-tune moral singing – we find a new desire to read the music better, to understand what it’s all about, to sense the harmonies, to feel the shape of the melody, to get the breathing and voice production right…and, bit by bit, to sing in tune.

 

Out of our desire to become better musicians (Christians, humans), we begin to practice and to learn the habits of how to sing; to acquire the character not only of good individual singers but of a good choir (community); and so to take our place within the ongoing story…There is a sequence: grace, which meets us where we are but is not content to let us remain where we are, followed by direction and guidance to enable us to acquire the right habits to replace the wrong ones.

 

Just a quick note with some spiritual insights and observations of late.

 

1. I love to preach and have been blessed with many opportunities. I am thinking about writing, recording and posting sermons on a regular basis even when I have not been preaching in the church. I am thinking of this primarily for selfish reasons. It is powerful and kathartic for me. I need to write and I love to preach and to do it regularly is very attractive. Sharing them just makes sense and I would value the feedback.

 

2. My daughter Itsy and I went for a walk the other day to enjoy the warming weather and dominate some of the Spring run-off streams pouring down the streets. It was a good time and we ended up at the local burger stand (recently re-opened as a sure sign of Spring around here) where we both ordered Banana milkshakes. The walking resumed and along the way dialogue ensued.

 

Itsy: Daddy, a car’s engine is like a heart isn’t it?

Me: I suppose it is.

Itsy: and when the car’s engine stops it gets towed away right?

Me: Yes that’s usually what happens.

Itsy: So when our heart stops Jesus comes and tows us to Heaven right?

Me: Yes, I suppose that’s one way to look at it.

 

I appreciate the theological insights of 7-year-olds and how after a very brief conversation about the most serious of subjects they can simply move along to something else completely satisfied with their conclusions and not fret or over-dwell on things.

 

3. I went for a walk today at lunch (you should guess by now that I REALLY enjoying walking) with DH a good friend of mine. It was something of a prayer walk. DH. had proposed that we get together once a week and pray for one-another. I thought it was a good idea. So today we walked and talked and got to a quiet place where DH proposed a particular way of prayer. He suggested we select a portion of scripture and then place ourselves into the scene in an imaginative way…then from said new perspective offer up prayer fed by this.

 

I really appreciated the idea as it has led to some great insights for me. Now don’t get me wrong, as a preacher you realize one of your primary roles in honoring the Word of God is to first understand the text from within the context of the culture of those who first received it and then you bring these truths into our own context. This exercise for me however has been primarily linguistic and grammatical in nature and not as personal as today’s effort was.

 

DH suggested two areas we could work with – the sermon on the mount and the woman at the well. Both excellent areas and both heavily preached and taught and so fraught with the potential for boredom. What happened however was quite the opposite. Here are some insights (and two preaching ideas) I gained through the exercise:

 

The Sermon on the Mount: Imagine you are part of this crowd of 5,000 men, not to mention women and children. You have come to hear this new teacher and likely because you have heard rumours that wonders seem to follow him where ever he goes. You are not that close to him, it is hard to hear because you are far away and the crowd is noisy. Hours have gone by and morning becomes noon. You are restless with hunger and are thinking of going home because you are, quite frankly, bored. Then an interesting thing occurs – food begins to move through the crowd. Baskets of fish and bread. You don’t know where it came from and really don’t care. You take enough to satisfy your hunger and decide to remain for the rest of the teaching. Life goes on.

 

You don’t realize that you have participated in a miracle because you are not close enough to Christ to see the reality that all of this food which fed thousands of people started with one boy’s lunch. From our own perspective what we see is the all encompassing nature of Jesus’ ministry and especially the wholeness of the sermon on the mount. We begin to understand the advantages of getting close to Jesus in order to see what he’s up to and possibly even be asked to participate in serving our neighbours. Here we have a setting where indifferent humanity comes together for all kinds of righteous and unrighteous reasons and Jesus feeds everyone – body, mind and spirit. He is concerned with the whole person – Flesh and Soul and whether we realize it or not depends on our place in the crowd. One thing that becomes perfectly clear is that Christ ministers to all regardless of their place and awareness.

 

The Woman at the Well: It is noon in Samaria and most people have settled into their homes for a few hours to wait out the heat of the day. The drawing of the daily water has happened earlier in the cool of morning and included in that activity is the opportunity to commune with friends and neighbours. One gathers at the well the way people today gather at the water cooler or coffee pot at work – to share news and community, to joke around and relate. Today though something interesting is happening. There is a woman, solitary gathering her water at the well at noon. No one else is around. She is alone. Very quickly you realize that she wants it this way. She is avoiding people and coming here in the heat of the day to not have to deal with community. Unfortunately today a man has come to the well at the same time…and not just any man, a Jewish rabbi. This is shocking to the woman because Jews generally avoid Samaria if they can help it. Worse still this man decides to speak with her. He must know she would rather be alone because of the time of day. He should also know that men do not lower themselves to speak with women they are not married to, especially when they are alone. Still this man is compelling. He speaks to her of living water and being able to quench her thirst forever if she would only ask. If she only knew who he was. Then he goes on to reveal that he is aware of why she comes to the well alone at noon…a woman many times married and now living with a man out of wedlock. A woman ashamed of who she is. A woman whom everyone else is ashamed of too. Despite this he still speaks with her. Still ministers to her. Revealing to her that he is Messiah and if he is willing to commune with her and offer healing. With this revelation the opinions of others no longer matter.

 

The story reveals to us the reality that Christ will often come to us at the least convenient of times (from our perspective). He comes when we are hiding from ourselves, our communities and even God. He comes anyhow and offers healing.

 

 

 

there within my mouth is laid

soft seraph placed hot coals

with the woven word engraved

tattooing truth upon my tongue

would that fire-breathed blessing

could strain past parched lips

like water for the dead

while I stand like the rock I am

staff-struck before the gathered

till fresh fountain pours forth

from the ever-beyond

from the all-unreachable

and the desert blooms green

and the holy invisible is seen

by the creating voice of God