A.D.

you must believe in

The invisible world–

Atoms, neutrons, quarks 

And other molecular angels

These bits of light and matter

Swirl around us

Halos of an inevitable world 

You bend to kiss his brow

No longer visible with naked eye.

But what of the others?

There to receive him

Just beyond the scrim 

Clouds of witnesses

The insubstantial irreplaceable 

Eternal us

Funny how often Lincoln shows up in our 

Iterations of heaven

And how young grandma always looks

As though you and I could 

Stand the light 

Ten million stars are just

This single flickering candle in 

A fleck of night

He dusts off his shoulder,

Strong right arm

Gathers our once-mortal hearts

Into immortal, imperishable we

We who will stand

Candidates for this eternal

Song sung loud

By our six year old selves

Forever

Funeral

Weddings are such artificial confections, but all funerals have a unifying element of truth–we are all prone to die.

The manner and time vary, the seeming finality does not.

Unless…

Unless Jesus is right.  Unless He is the resurrection and the life.  In that case the things we take for granted about the finality of the grave may not be all there is.

I went to a funeral recently.  An untimely one.  The priest gave the family a final story from Acts 3–the silver and gold I have none story.

Only he did not tell it right.  Instead of the healing of the beggar and his resultant joy–physical, exuberant, unmissable dancing and jumping! The priest says that Peter says he will be there and pray.

Don’t get me wrong–Christians being there and praying is getting to be miraculous and rare, it just isn’t what Peter said or did.  At least not all he did.

The thing that Peter did for the beggar was public, miraculous, transforming, and unmistakable.

And powerfully reminiscent of his Master.  When Peter heals the beggar he signals that we are in AD now.  He lets us know that any narrative that portrays Jesus just another victim of Roman torture is incomplete. 

He lets us know that the flood of the miraculous has gushed into the ordinary.

A flood that should wash through every wedding and every funeral with the insistent song of redemption and resurrection and eternity.

Nothing quiet here.

Stillness

stay in the box

All cardboard and glue 

The bars you have hewn with your fingernails

Purely arbitrary 

But wait still 

Look for the way the open spaces

Casts shadows 

Train your ears for approaching 

Footsteps that

Do not come

You will be alone with the voice in your head

Telling you be still 

And know that I am God.

U.S.S. Indianapolis 

used to be an ordinary name

A ship, an honor, champagne broken across the bow?

The rules change in war

Sharks in the water

Pick men off one by one

Hope mixed with hunger thirst despair

A hell of a lot of

Time, minutes, seconds, days 

Become this feeding frenzy

No one is coming.



*What is so compelling and unthinkable about the sinking of the Indianapolis is that there were men who knew it was missing and men who received the distress signals.

For a variety of typically human reasons not a single one acted.

Resulting in the deaths of hundreds.


Good Will Tenting

when I was wee-small I corrected the store name Goodwill to Oldwill.  Also I once inadvertently hurt the feelings of a much-beloved pre-school teacher when I applied an age-equals-wisdom rubric to her chronological age.

She seemed exceedingly wise and kind and calm.  So I told her she was 85.  At the time this was the Nobel Peace prize of ages to me.  I did not see wrinkles or old as a factor with humans.

Resale stores, absolutely, but people–not so much. My teacher was probably in her late twenties to mid-thirties?

I am going somewhere with this: assessment.

When I scan my junk mail for the misplaced real mail, I find message after message from hardworking Davises and Millers trying to give me some relief from student loans and a variety of entities using female given names and announcing their desire to date me or worse.

Oh, the anomalous anonymity of the Internet! These hardworking phishers and scammers just don’t get me.

We all want to be truly known and loved for who we really are, yet this is mostly a mirage.  At least in my culture.

We are often not capable of deep commitment or unswerving faithfulness, and we are quite damaged by the sturm and drang of this flawed and broken world. We like empty images and cliches, not the challenges of maturity, restoration, and love.

Which leads me to Big Agnes tents…

After one disastrous night in a tent at the beach during a storm, I do not consider myself a camping girl, but when I saw the (again, junk email!) ad for Big Agnes tents it was love at first sight.  Big? When seeking shelter, big is good. And Agnes?  Agnes rocks.  The name means pure but sounds a lot like the Latin word for lamb–agnus.  Big Pure?  Big Lamb? Lamb of God?

Lamb of God 

Who takes away the sins of the world 

Have mercy on us...

…damaged goods

Damaged goods in a storm 

In need of shelter

I will run to the Lamb, find shelter in Him.

Forever

“I will never leave you nor forsake you”

Over the course of my life I have been booted out of a variety of clubs..oh…I mean communities of faith.   Always for taking a stand on some issue, always with the subsequent silence and loss.

Financial accountability. Child safety.  Confronting greed, lust or both–there are all kinds of ways to trudge down the “narrow road” in christianity.

Which is sometimes confusing and disorienting but never totally forsaken.

Jesus is there, saying what he says to all of us–I will never leave you nor forsake you.”

We will never get that kind of promise from anyone else.  We humans are nothing if not forsakers. We bolt at a pin drop.

Not him.  Jesus stays with us.

And always he says the same thing. “You are in good company, darling…always.”