The Wedding Sermon

First of all, let me reiterate that I do not expect you two to go the distance–not that prophetic considering where you are today and the inauspicious nature of this ceremony of disaster.

Most weddings are full of shi…..ps, little paper boats people fold along seams, scribble on, and push out onto whatever river they believe in. They write platitudes for the pain, use costly words all wrong.

Then the little boats float off

Leaving you there at the altar, no more substantial than cake topper avatars

Not ready for this:

Loves fierce resolve

To begin and end/end and begin

Together.

Pieces of a Story

The woman should be dressed in black, the color of mourning, sure, but also the color of the charcoal outline of her once too solid flesh turning quickly into whatever charcoal is made of, burnt things, carbon, dust to dust…the man the groom the former love turns to choices made willingly in digital time, ushering in darkness through every door, every window

Their home now

They are….home now.

The elision of ordinary evil

Years ago a friend described his parent’s divorce–“it was like a bomb going off in the livingroom.”

His description was vivid and devastating and it came back to rest on my shoulder when my adopted children wreaked violence on my family.

The dust, the debris, the shrapnel of crime and violence rocked my own family.

I think about the steroid-bloated image of Uncle Sam, I think of the empty rhetoric and cries for both caution and justice. To me so few of the words are useful. They will not restore.

They will not restore limbs to the wounded.

They will not restore peace to the shattered.

They will not replace trust or safety like vases fallen and broken after a blast.

Do you want to help the victims?

Then shut up and listen.
Listen very carefully and stop congratulating people for being heroes.

We are none of us heroes.

We are fragile, easily broken and we take great care to heal.

And if we want any kind of justice or restoration we must first mourn our dead and then we must think, really think, in silence and humility–

if I had lost my safety, my loved ones, my dignity, my limbs, how would I want people to respond–to my pain and grief and loss?

Think hard.

Then do something.