practice
1,2,3,4
time to practice
they say –
practice what you pray
do the things…
the things that you say
but words are so fine
light misty words
like a cool sun shower
on the baking summer days
still,
maybe it is that time
that time to practice
practice what we praise
cuz  –
we become the object of our desire
and while it may be very nice
an empty voice is as killing ice
better to wrap ideas in flesh’s fire

i thought i would write something
a poem of great impact and beauty
but instead the words came like a shopping list
everything I wanted but could not have
two boxes of beauty on sale for the price of one
maybe a case of courage to get drunk on
nothing of any significance though
then when i wheel it all to the checkout
the cashier lady looks at me as if to say

“what the hell man, this stuff will kill you?”

but instead she just says “is that all?”
and i think ‘oh if you only knew’
which came out like “yeah…i guess”

then i packed my crap into stanzas
walked out and wondered where it went
and when it will come again.

did you wake to cold killer world today
reaching hands would twist tear
while none, not one did seem to care
keyword, overarching theme – slay

sometimes against the dying dark
as the crush bears down upon lost life
and every note is woven with sad strife
all to be done is lift into sky as lark

and

sing like a fool in joy stealer’s face
laugh at the ones who would ravish grace
stand before morning’s murderous breath
then lean in and kiss away the death

colon :
so uncertain like a door
holding back the flood

semi-colon ;
schizophrenic
wants to end, but…not really

comma ,
is hope for more
knowing the future lies ahead

dash –
just trips you
takes your wallet as you walk by
while hyphen _ laughs in delight

ellipsis …
strange uncertain language
saying nothing…a stuttering stop

apostrophe ‘
wants more and more
endless desire

parenthesis ()
holds tight to it all
too possessive for its own good
like formal cousin bracket []

quotation ”
it mocks me
marks my words

exclamation !
shouts stupid in the air
and comes drunk to every party

question mark ?
so philosophical
drains the life from the air itself

period .
my confident favorite
stands strong at the back saying
that this…

this is the end.

As a writer I believe words are powerful. In fact I believe words are the most powerful things in the world. As I have written before words are the bridge from the interior life to the exterior world. They communicate something of our true and personal selves to others. The problem of course is that words rely on the receiver to interpret them correctly. It absolutely does not matter what the intent of the author of the words is, it is the receiver who determines what the words mean and then responds accordingly.

One of the solutions to this problem is to take words and put flesh to them that the audience may not have to do as much work in interpreting intangible concepts and ideas because they might witness the words in action by witnessing the author act them out. Such is the case with God and Christ. God, who had revealed his truth in multiple ways and through multiple avenues finds that the word, as powerful as it is, is challenging for humanity to understand and so often we get it wrong. It is one thing to misinterpret one-anothers words. Certainly conflict can arise and frustration too. But when we misinterpret the word of God whole nations are destroyed, whole peoples obliterated.

God in his wisdom knew this and prepared for just the right time (in the fullness of time as it were) to release himself into the world and act out his word for all to see. If we wish to know how to interpret the word of God we look to Christ who is the living word; the word made flesh; the word who tabernacled in our midst that we might come to know the power and love and grace of God and then seek to emulate it in the lives of the people around us and so transform the world.

Still there is a problem. The word made flesh was God incarnate. Albeit this is God who has chosen to empty himself of himself and become a servant like us…still it is God nonetheless and somehow we fall short in our own interpretations even of this.

Why is a word given? A word is given that it might transform the receiver somehow. A word by itself, with no audience, is irrelevant. It is not a word. It is nothing. So the divine word is given to us that we might better understand the will of the one who sent it and be transformed into that which he seeks us to be transformed into. “We love because he first loved us”. It might be further said:

– he forgave that we might forgive
– he healed that we might heal
– he felt compassion that we might feel compassion

But there are things he did that we are not called to do. He died that we might not have to die (though we enter into his death it is only that we might also enter into his resurrection). He judges but we do not (yet). How do we know these things? We are told. We are told explicitly that he died so that we would not have to. We are told that there is one judge and it is God and not us. We will judge (future tense)…but it is not ours to judge now. Once again this is explicit. Judgement infers authority and we have only the authority that God has given us.

So we know who we are to emulate and we know what we are not to do at the same time. It seems so simple so why do we so royally screw it up? More often than not we do the things we are told not to and avoid the things we are called to do. Think about it? We are terrible at dispensing grace, love, forgiveness and healing but simply amazing at judging, shunning, hating, gossiping, etc. I learned a long time ago that we do best what we love most. Sometimes we are brazen enough to even rationalize our evil by claiming to be doing the “will of God”.

It is a real conundrum. A puzzle. How do we unwind it? “Be perfect therefore as your father in Heaven is perfect.” Did he really mean that? Why has he called us to be what we cannot be? Why did he call us to fulfill a law we cannot fulfill? Some have suggested that God has been attempting through history to save his creation in multiple ways and we simply keep disappointing him. He gave us the garden of innocense and life before him and we failed him by proving to be corrupt. He gave us a new earth cleansed in flood and we failed him. He gave us his law and we failed him. He gave us himself and we failed him. We thwart each attempt.

Let me be clear about this idea of God “attempting” anything. It is a stupid idea plain and simple. God does not “attempt” anything. God simply does. He simply is. With this idea before us we come to realize that while the law reflects his character he did not expect us to keep it and thereby save ourselves because he knows his creation. He expected us to look into the law and come to know ourselves as well…and when we come to know ourselves we come to know him better and our need for him becomes crystal clear.

Do not kill.

Within seconds of the utterance we rationalize and determine that he meant “do not murder” and that we can and should kill when the time comes. After all is there not a season for everything…even war?

Do not commit adultery.

Once again we rationalize and claim that our having not slept with our neighbour’s wife constitutes keeping the law and we are proud of ourselves and can stand before the Christ and say – “I have kept all of these laws” and the Christ knowingly responds “I tell you if you have even looked at your neighbour’s wife you are guilty of adultery.” He says to us “sell all that you own and follow me” and we respond by turning away in sadness. What is his response to us then? He looks after us and loves us.

He says be perfect and when you are not I am here for you but – be perfect and again when you are not – I am.

It is in the intentional, desired act that we are transformed and so transform others. It is not simply in the act…he does not desire that we clothe the homeless…he desires that we desire to clothe the homeless while we clothe them. He does not desire a giver he desires a cheerful giver. We must want to be like him and then act within that want.

But…it is difficult. It is difficult for us to try because we know we will fail. We do not like trying things that we will fail at. The solution lies in knowing the mind of God which can be known in the life and actions of Christ. It is in taking the place of the adulterous woman and hearing the words of Christ and making them his words to us – “is there no one here who condemns you?” “No Lord.” “Then go and sin no more (be perfect as your father in heaven is perfect).” The solution is in becoming the prodigal and recognizing that we are welcome home…not only welcome but celebrated when we arrive. It is the heart of the parable, that had the prodigal left seven times, the welcome would be the same. The weight upon us is not in our failures but rather in our desire to return to him.

We must remember that NOTHING can separate us from the love of God that is Christ Jesus. Nothing. This includes ourselves. So often we believe this except when it comes to ourselves. Our actions (or lack) tell the world that we believe this statement only as far as it does not include our own actions. The truth is however that if you believe there is something you can do/think/say that can remove you from God and his love then you are guilty of terrible pride for you believe that your own actions are more powerful then the cross of Christ and his atoning death and cleansing blood. You, in your pride, believe you are stronger than that. The brilliance of his sacrifice is that it is even strong enough to overcome human pride. He saved you in spite of who you are. He save me because of who I am. We must not claim our brokeness is such that we are worthless because it is because of our brokeness that he has saved us…after all…if we were not drowning there would be no need to be saved…but we are drowning and so we must not struggle in the water and not grasp the life preserver thrown to us shouting to the one standing upon the ship’s deck – “leave me to die it is my own fault for standing on the deck in the storm that I am here…I do not deserve to be saved” for it is not up to us to decide whether we deserve salvation or not, it is up to the one doing the saving.

So now we are left with this – we are called as image bearers of the creator God to seek and do his will. Why? That we might be tranformed. Why? Because he is still creating. He is recreating. If we chose the selfish life that fails to attempt his will it is we who lose out in the end and miss the opportunity to be transformed. If we limit his will to a series of formulaic beliefs and acts then we limit his will and miss the opportunity to be tranformed. If we take advantage of his will and rationalize all our evil actions as the actions of those who are forgiven “so that grace may abound even more” we limit his will and miss the opportunity to be trnasformed. If we however grasp that we are simultaneously broken and whole, sick and healed, imperfect and perfect than we can begin the process of transformation into what we were meant to be and will be.

Once we recognize that when we are in Christ and he is in us, his perfection overwhelms our imperfection and it fails to exist. That in his infinite nature our finite nature is lost and we, who are in him, become him in the presence of God. That our sin when compared to his perfect sacrifice is empty and lost in the same way an inch becomes zero in the face of an infinite universe.

When these things become our reality then we will stop losing hope because of our own brokeness and finally understand the joy that Peter, Paul and the apostles understood. We will mourn our failures, get up and move forward again in Christ not as hypocrites but as the forgiven. We will stop saying to others as the elder son in the parable of the prodigal does that our past forever holds us bound and hopeless and we can never return to father. We will recognize such words as the lies they are and instead will join the father with his words “welcome home, let us celebrate your return” and we will gladly make these words ours for the sake of our brethren and say the same thing to the same person seventy times seventy if necessary.

When we find this place we will move mountains.

listen to the strings cry above the river
as George seeks service in honour of George
while notes like larks dive mischief to the depths
they plumb the chambers of the hardened heart
sounding echoes off once silent stirring soul
the soul that weeps at the beauty of it all
the soul that flies to consume-capture it all

but it was never about water in the end
just the current moving strength of creation
that humbles even the crown that rides the crests
a reminder that royal brow does not annoint itself
but is annointed from without
that they might be humble from within

once
the beautiful people were gold to our eyes
sunset shone from bronze soft candy skin
while opals stared heart-wrenching desire
they breathed passion like fire to consume
it was invulnerability wrapped in youth

but
the beauty was a shattered shell hiding life
while love became grey and weathered
permanent in wisdom like Word worn rock
this real treasure worth the breath of God
came forth with the stretching days
for old age is but cocoon for eternity

love and soul ride in corruptability
till the day when the priceless inside
is pearl pulled from oyster’s greedy grasp
and all that is in is out where it’s meant

is alabaster moon spinning cold in vacuum distance
or white-hot and yearning for the waters of earth
would that she could pull the oceans to her face
perhaps to cool the furnace of her deepening desire
perchance to hide her telling tears in tidal flood
silver is pain like shards that tell her she’s still alive
watching her lover run away away away to hide
a dark hind in a forever night forest
shadowy on the edge of vision in the umbra of Helios’ glare

still –

better to chase dreams of Narcissus
loving her own face in the pools of Neptune

 

Enter the KING

WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!

KING. What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call’d the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian.’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.’
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

It is night and I cannot sleep. I want to write but have no idea what to say. There are a million ideas flying through my head but they careen off one-another and shatter in the process. I am thinking about hypocrisy, my own to be specific. It hangs about my neck like Coleridge’s albatross hung round that famous mariner. Somehow it is immobilizing.

Hypocrisy for some is not a problem. Many can continue to move ahead gleefully unaware of the hundred conflicting ideas being held in their heads all at once. Somehow it just wants to slam the brakes on my life. I want to teach. I miss teaching and try to find an outlet here in the e-ther but it feels like going into a great and empty lecture hall and simply droning on and on. It feels pointless.

Don’t get me wrong. I am aware of all that I have abdicated as a result of my own choices and frankly there is much that is freeing about light being shone on dark things. Still I feel like a prisoner in my own head incapable of unwinding the bonds I have created. Oh, many would respond with a sacharine comment about how one simply needs to “let go and let God” but frankly that does not really mean a lot these days, even to the ones who would echo that sentiment.

Something inside me tells me that all the weight on my soul is existential and therefore unreal and of no actual power but that which I allow. Nevertheless I allow it. I wonder sometimes if I have lost my calling. If I have lost my voice. It still feels as if it is there. There is not a moment that does not go by that I do not feel the deep and ever-present urge to reveal and speak and teach and cry out. But who would listen? Why would anyone listen? A person who would tell others how to live without being capable of living myself. Worse still I have become self-pitying and that sickens me to depths you cannot really comprehend.

Why is it so hard to do what others find so easy to advise? It is like trying to run in a dream…frustratingly slow. Too slow to escape the hidden doom that lays behind it all.

People have been good to me. Better than I deserve I daresay. Still I have lost some. It is hard to know what to say to someone like me now. I think I make people uncomfortable and I understand this because I make me uncomfortable. I have learned that when people don’t know what to say they tend to say nothing. Then after awhile they look down or away when you catch their glance…and eventually you are invisible in plain sight. It is a strange and otherworldly kind of existance. Honestly though if people were to ask what I needed I would not be able to answer them.

My heart aches deeply right now (and by ‘now’ I mean in this moment as I write this). It isn’t always so. I feel as though I am picking at a scab. Pulling a wound that wants to heal but for my own efforts to tear it open again and again. I am not even sure why I am telling you this except that it helps me to write, like leeching poison from the body.

I spoke of hyposcrisy at the beginning of this. I seek to enter in to the community of faith again. To partake of the body of Christ, but to do so is to make oneself utterly vulnerable. In these days I have sought to make myself invulnerable and this is my hypocrisy…that I seek Christ in the distance, standing on the edge of the crowd and feeling angry that he doesn’t see me when all the while he invites me to walk straight up to him.

I think what I struggle with the most is that I don’t feel any different now than before (some, no doubt would suggest this is a lack of repentance but they would be wrong). What I mean is that the only real difference in who I am is that my brokeness erupted to the surface for all to see. The door to my white-washed tomb was opened and the stench of my own death moved amongst the people. It will happen again…of this I have no doubt. This is not present rationalizing of a future failure, it is simply the truth. I guarantee you I will fail again and again and again. I suppose what I need to do is stop living in it, the failure that is. To stop defining myself according to it, because this is the deep whispered lie that was first told at creation. “You can never go back now” it says. “You have lost the right and will never again hear his footsteps in the garden in the cool of the day…” To this one can only say “but he came anyway. He clothed me when he could have obliterated me. He healed me when he could have left me to die and return to the dust.”

Where there is pain there is still hope.

Listen to me. I am rambling now. There is no real purpose to this post except katharsis or kenosis maybe. I do feel empty but not in a bad way. You are good listeners when it comes right down to it.