The Other Guys

i love the story of Peter falling into the water.

Oh, wait, that is right–the story of Peter walking on water?

Of all the accounts of Jesus’ miracles, this one most resembles a Mark Wahlberg action movie.

And then Jesus walks out in the middle of a night storm on the sea and they think he is a ghost?

Are you kidding me?!

And then Peter decides that the best way to test the identity of the physics-defying apparition is to get out of the boat and walk to him?

It all feels pretty sci-fi.  Until Peter looks down and sees “reality,” panics, and plunges into the pitch-dark stormy water.

There were moments in this story that were both freakishly exhilarating and unnecessarily terrifying.

Jesus does not engineer this event in the lives of Peter and the others simply to give everyone a good fish tale.

He does what he does because he can.

He does what he does because they need to see him the way he really is.

He does what he does because life is scary and dangerous and we all need to know that there is just this one Person who can fish us out of the storm and break the rules of physics to save us.

Think about the time Peter spent in the drink–cold, surrounded by heavy waves, dark, gasping for both life and breath.

Where were the other guys?

Shocked and useless in the boat.

People are wonderful, sometimes gracious creatures, but when it comes to drowning in the darkest storms of life, it is best to keep your eyes pinned on Jesus.

He can do the impossible.  And the impossible is what we all need–hope in the storm, life after death…

Walking on water.

strong drink

when the King arises

He runs to us

These words, weapons, shields

Tokens of splendor 

Silver refined in the crucible

(For what is crucible but a fancy word for Cross?)

Gold fired seven

Times this burning

Brighter than the sun

Distill this ghost of a man

Standing close to a lone Word

Strong enough

To call him from the grave

Back to life

Ordinary Sadness

I am grateful for the rain

On this dry patch of earth

I know the difference between 

Accidents and miracles

And wish to thank

The God of ordinary sadness

Who sits next to me

on the sinking-in-the-middle

Patched-with-a-heart

-on-the-back

$35 couch

Willing to abide in the center

Of my vertiginous grief

He says

Take courage 

It is I

Do not be afraid 

Swaddling Clothes

I have a friend who fights.  She has brightly colored hand wraps that she uses to protect her hands beneath her boxing gloves.

She bandages each hand so that the knuckle is protected, the wrist and all the space in between.

When I have watched her wrap and unwrap her hands it has reminded me of Jesus.

I think of him as a baby. In the primitive conditions of his arrival, the Bible records his swaddling–wrapped in swaddling clothes, laid in a manger.  

Descriptions of ancient infant swaddling talk about cleaning the newborn with oil and salt, then wrapping the child in strips of torn cloth.

Lazarus was swaddled when he emerged from his tomb.

The ancients swaddled their newborns and their dead, wrapping both in the same strips of cloth, washing each for the journey ahead.

The story of Jesus’ anointing at Bethany bears striking resemblance to his washing as a newborn and is a stated preparation for the soon-to-be swaddling of his dead body.

Three days is a long time to wait for a resurrection, four days is even longer.  But for many of us 20, 30, or 40 years is how long we have waited for our dead to rise to life.

And if eternity is the span of human existence, then it is also the length of time we must measure each human soul, inside or outside our dark and solitary tombs.

To believe in the resurrection of the dead is to believe in the extreme triumph of Life over death, heaven over hell, good over bad.

To stand at the mouth of the tomb and know that someday each of us will be called to walk out of our tombs into Light.

We are fire

I see him addressing

An undiluted crowd–

You are the light of the world

We are? 

Sheep, maybe

Or chicken (I know my coward heart)

But surely not light

Too strong, too bright, too burning

We must burn on

This Mount of Olives

This Garden of Gethesmane 

This history and geography of light poured out in the crushing weight

Upon olives rendering

Oil and salt rubbed on the skin of the newborn child

Anointing a king

The King

Of light

Who holds

Each burning 

Coil of a star,

The core of fire within each churning planet

Our ordinary souls

In the palms of his stretched-wide 

Hands

Unfaithful

Dante, in his fictional portrayal of hell, put traitors at its dark, tortured core.

To betray love and abandon those close to you was a big deal for Dante.

As a writer, that is…as a man he was no hero.

Few of us are.  We are all unfaithful to someone or something–our high school crush, our diet…something.

To be human is to cheat a little, I guess. But we must acknowledge this–we, each of us alone are responsible for the lines we draw around what we hold dear. 

Draw the lines wrong and the “dear” slips away.

We tell ourselves–I will not go past this point of demarcation–a line drawn just past a “something” we should already not covet or consume.

We say to ourselves either–

I will not do this

Or…

I deserve…

It is the “I deserve” part we should pause to examine.  Sinners (a quaint old word for all of us) tend to justify their infidelities with deserve and must have.  Then cloak the indulgence in the illusion of secrecy–no one will know.

But Someone always knows.

He knows because He is God, and by definition omniscient.

He knows all our secret stories of unfaithfulness, squalor, and sin because they were poured out on Him 

In the rictus of the Cross

In the jeers of the crowd

In the agony of physical abuse

In the final unbearable…

In the final unbearable He bore to make us 

Faithful.

“Completely Legal”

when discussing

Atrocity

I find that it is best to begin

With scenes (at least a single scene)

Of domestic tranquility–

A sister reads a children’s story to her little brothers who have memorized the words.  They punctuate the story with lines of dialogue and laughter…

Because

If you do not see them–real

Alive

Vivid

Indelible

Then you won’t understand the tragedy when they go missing

Completely legally, of course

The voices in support of holocaust of one sort or another are always quick to point out

Everything they did to destroy the wee ones was completely legal

–The stripping of their rights

–The dehumanizing monikers

–The methodical pillaging of their history, family, identity

–The medical framing of their naked deaths

–The sanitized commodity of their skin, blood, stems, and cells

–The clinics where they do their tinkering

Piecemeal

Tiny pieces

–All government sanctioned

–Legal to trade in and cultivate small

Parts

Tell me again

How

Piles of skin and hair and blood

Can be so..

Bought and sold.

Where was the conference room? In what hotel?

They served a light

Lunch/over the topic

How to separate the spine of a…

living soul

The way a man would gut a fish

Jay.

Thank you for talking to The Intercept. You have a right to tell your story.

I wish I could say this to you directly–to say you are believed and that you did the right thing testifying and that I am sorry that your life has been put on display.

I feel bad for you and all the other students who knew Hae. You all were changed by Hae Min Lee’s murder.

And whatever else happened, you deserve to be believed.

The Korean American Women Left Out In the Cold By Serial

Sarah Koenig has done many things well in Serial. But she has a big tell which betrays a serious and inexcusable bias.

She constantly refers to this story of the murder of a vibrant young Korean American honors student as “Adnan’s case.”

This has never really been Adnan’s case.

This is Hae Min Lee’s case.

By focusing on Adnan, not Hae, Serial has willfully ignored some big unanswered questions.

1. Hae’s car

If Ronald Lee Moore was a burglar (rapist and murderer) wouldn’t he have stolen the car?!

(…and how did Jay know where the car was?)

The accident in December is more important than Sarah makes out. It gives Adnan a template for what happens on January 13th.

2. Hae’s culture

This is the area of reportage most visibly and cavernously neglected by Serial.

In order to understand how Hae was murdered and by whom you have to examine who she trusted and who she would not have trusted and why.

She would not under any circumstances have given a ride to a stranger. Which meant that her body would have had signs of Moore’s typical blunt-force assault, rape, and trauma if he had been involved. He would have had to subdue her against her will in public, in daylight.

Hae, and Hyang Suk were both from a culture and a community with a strong inculcated sense of xenophobia. Neither would have allowed a strange man in their car or house willingly.

Which means that in the timeline of the last known day of Hae Min Lee’s life you have to ask who would have had the ability to convince Hae to let him (or her or them) in? Who would she have allowed in her car on the way to picking up her young cousin?

Ronald? No way.

Jay? Maybe…but highly unlikely.

Adnan? Almost certainly.

There is a heartbreaking news clip from the time of the murder trial. Hae’s mother speaks in Korean as Hae’s brother translates.

She refers to the alleged murderer as Hae’s “friend.”

Not boyfriend.

Not lover.

The fact and force of her daughter’s murder devastated Hae’s mother. Yet even in that devastation she resorts to the word “friend” when describing her daughter’s alleged killer.

The fact of her daughter’s sexual contact with Adnan would have been terribly painful to acknowledge…because honor matters to Koreans. It is intimately layered into their language and culture.

It stays layered into their culture long after they have emigrated, long after the line one might draw between “Korean” and “Korean American.”

Hae Min Lee was a Korean American. Hae Min Lee was an American woman.

But she has yet to receive justice or anything like it from other American women who doggedly refuse to see her as a person, a sister, daughter, or friend who deserved both protecting from the law and a voice.

Serial may have done many things well, but in its haste to defend Adnan, it has left non-white, non-privileged women to fend for themselves once again.

I keep thinking about the phrase–a jury of your peers.

Did Adnan receive justice from a jury of his peers? Maybe, maybe not.

Did Hae, or Hyang Suk?

Absolutely not.

…they never had a chance.