Till the end of the age (holech)

Isaiah 35:7-8 KJV
[7] And the parched ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of water: in the habitation of dragons, where each lay, shall be grass with reeds and rushes. [8] And an highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be called The way of holiness; the unclean shall not pass over it; but it shall be for those: the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein.

Like many Christians all over the world, I long to see Jesus face to face.

He is my best friend, Rescuer, and Pearl of great price. And, let’s face it—this world can feel like a sinking ship. Sometimes it can be hard to wait.

The Bible encourages people who love Jesus to long for and look for his return, so I think I am supposed to be searching the sky and praying and hoping He will come back today, as-soon-as-possible!

And yet, I need to be trying to tell people about Him. He has been such a good friend to me, I want everyone to know him. I cannot imagine the loneliness and horror of my life without him.

This morning I had a dream with a field in it. The field was full of grass or wildflowers referred to in the dream as “holech.” I don’t speak Hebrew, so I looked the word up phonetically. Holech in Hebrew means

If you are walking in Jesus, keep walking and bring your friends with you. We are all called to lead people to Him.

And if you don’t know Him yet? He is our Rescuer, the Ransom for our shame, and “the friend who sticks closer than a brother.“

Don’t take my word for it, just ask Him. Tell him your doubts. Ask Him to answer all your hardest questions. He has. He will. He always does. Listen for His voice. He speaks the language of each person’s heart better than we do ourselves. (See idiolect https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/idiolect)

Matthew 13:37-43 KJV
[37] He answered and said unto them, He that soweth the good seed is the Son of man; [38] The field is the world; the good seed are the children of the kingdom; but the tares are the children of the wicked one ; [39] The enemy that sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the world; and the reapers are the angels. [40] As therefore the tares are gathered and burned in the fire; so shall it be in the end of this world. [41] The Son of man shall send forth his angels, and they shall gather out of his kingdom all things that offend, and them which do iniquity; [42] And shall cast them into a furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth. [43] Then shall the righteous shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Who hath ears to hear, let him hear.

Luke 21:25-28 KJV
[25] And there shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon the earth distress of nations, with perplexity; the sea and the waves roaring; [26] Men’s hearts failing them for fear, and for looking after those things which are coming on the earth: for the powers of heaven shall be shaken. [27] And then shall they see the Son of man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. [28] And when these things begin to come to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh.

Romans 10:9,11-13 KJV
[9] That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. [11] For the scripture saith, Whosoever believeth on him shall not be ashamed. [12] For there is no difference between the Jew and the Greek: for the same Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon him. [13] For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.

Lord, teach us to pray

Luke 11:1-2 KJV
[1] And it came to pass, that, as he was praying in a certain place, when he ceased, one of his disciples said unto him, Lord, teach us to pray, as John also taught his disciples. [2] And he said unto them, When ye pray, say, Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, as in heaven, so in earth.

As he was praying in a certain place—why not tell us what place? Does the author not want us to know where he was praying? Was it too personal? Was he aware of the human tendency to enshrine geographical locations?

Jesus was an expert on prayer. The word prayer for most of us is tied to the supplication to someone in authority over us. Jesus is the King of kings—no greater authority exists, so his prayers are far more about homesickness and heart. He misses his Father and his home, so he calls home frequently.

As John taught his disciples—this is interesting. The Bible does not tell us what John told his disciples about prayer, but we could examine his lifestyle and biography for clues.

John was a relative of Jesus, but his parents were at least 2 generations older than Mary, meaning it is highly likely they are not present in his public ministry years. He was some kind of orphaned prophet. Many of us experience real or emotional orphanhood, and we need to know that God longs to be our mother, our father, and our home.

He ate locusts and honey—food he can forage for and that does not depend on human donations. Eating locusts feels confrontational—eating pestilence. Eating honey feels celebratory and hope-driven. Milk and honey are the signifiers of abundance and heaven. I like to believe he dipped the locust in the honey to make this extreme diet slightly more palatable.

Our Father—while humans might have been invited to use this term for the God of the universe, it is a borrowed and honorary title until Jesus has given his own life for ours. The crucifixion is our Adoption Day, yet Jesus gives the gift of this intimacy in this prayer. God is our Father—what a powerful blessing.

Who art in Heaven. Heaven is his home and as his children it becomes ours as well. I like to think of this as the address line on a letter, as well a the revelation of key components of God’s personality. What is Heaven? Home, God’s home. He defines Heaven by his attributes and we know a little more about him because we have some concept of the conditions of Heaven—safe, saturated with goodness and light, but also almost certainly beyond our full comprehension. Daniel, Ezekiel, and Isaiah all give us glimpses of Heaven and later so will John.

Halllowed/holy is your name. None of us can venerate the name of God enough. We can only approach what it means to be holy and hallowed—pure, light-filled, powerful, undiluted, intense. When you really sit in the presence of the idea of holiness for even a few minutes it can make you uncomfortable. We would all be consumed by holy fire if it were not for Jesus’ sacrifice for us on the Cross. We can come close to holiness only by way of his saving and protecting blood sacrifice for us.

Thy kingdom come.

We see God’s kingdom come any time humans comfort each other, sacrifice for each other, confront injustice for each other, fight darkness with light and expose lies with truth.

We have been commissioned to bring the kingdom, not just wait for it to come like a train rumbling into a station.

Thy will be done. See above—we are supposed to listen to God and do what he tells us.

As in Heaven, so on earth. We practice our citizenship rights whenever we do anything in the same way it would be done in “real” Heaven. I say real because we live in such chaos, sometimes seeming so far for Heaven. By giving us this sentence—thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven, Jesus tells us that we can live heavenly lives now, but what does that mean?

Put the most simply—it means spend time with Jesus. He is our best friend. Talk to him, sing to him, ask him for help, ask him for more. Pour out your grief and anger.

If he is new to you, ask him if he is real and what to do next. Read the Bible, especially the Gospels, and if you already know how much he loves you, ask for more, for yourself and for a broken world.

The Music Box

It is morning, the day before my mother’s funeral. My oldest son and I are standing by the French doors in the great room of my mother’s house. He is cleaning the windows and I am admiring the view of the pond when we both hear music coming from the mantle above the fireplace, six to eight feet from where we are standing.

I go over, thinking it must be one of her clocks. It is not. It is a music box, playing its song.

It played for a couple minutes, then the morning quiet resumed.

That was all.

Sometimes we drive in the dark

Every once upon a time I take the girls

Driving in the dark

We look for places to call home–ramshackle garage, vape shop, dry cleaner with its window smashed

In the apocalypse there is still no

Room left in the inns of the world they ask

Why did she have to stick the needle in her arm? Why did she stick the needle in her arm? What was it about the needle that

Caused us to lose her?

The little one has poured her anger out over her minders all afternoon

Unwilling to face what it costs them

So I try to de Bergerac her through the necessary obsequities

I tell her I will whisper the words and she will shout–

I’m sorry

I’m sorry!

I’m sorry I was mean before

I’m sorry I was mean before

I was working out my grief

I was working out my grief

And sometimes there is anger in grief

And sometimes there is anger in grief

She has such a comical little girl voice

But when she says these things I know what God means

When He whispers in my ear

Beat Yins to the House!

When we met Mary and Charles they had some vocabulary specific to the western Pennsylvania region. They used the word yins for the second person plural, the way a Texan would say y’all or a Parisian would say vous.

I’m-gonna-beat-yins-to-the-house! She would yell joyfully, running up the small hill to the porch.

Eventually she lost the yins

But I am praying that she did

Beat us to the House

Lazarus

He walks into every room looking for someone who might comprehend

what it is

he has seen and heard

He weighs their solemn waiting-room-faces

Do they have

Better memories now? Do they still need to write things down or

Know every word by heart?

Are all the lambs among them and

can we see their scars?

Who can end this waiting

By calling us out

Out into life

Silverfish

What happened to me, that in a moment of gargantuan hubris, I smudged it out? So what if it lived in the books or the play things? So what if it preferred the damp and closeted nocturne?

The moment before it was a glinty, wriggling alive

Then it was just an undoable regret

A life I should not have taken

We all have them–

Our ghosts, the ones we wish we could

Bring back whole

A parade of The Returned–

Uriah, John the Baptist, Stephen, Joan of Arc

Leaping and unfettered procession

Amidst the boundless sea of

The Redeemed

these trees of life

Splendor through the fence

I could be a quark or an hurtling star,

A duck or a chicken

Living on one side of a beat-up plank fence

With knots in it, and scooped out holes

Signifying they all used to be trees

and the fence and the yard and the girl are just

Another kind of spaceship

Prone to sunset

Nothing can stop the Splendor from breaking through

Every hole in the fence.

Eternal Sea

When I wrote the slim, hasty, typo-ridden memoir Just, I used pseudonyms.

I chose to link my adopted children’s pseudonyms to their first initials C became Sea,

Sea like the color of his eyes

Sea like the cold ocean we stood in together

Sea like the depths, the hidden things both beautiful and terrible, the bigness of it all

Sea, placeholder for the God who makes seas then makes them evanesce

C is lost to me for now. He has disowned both me and the God who made me

But I can still remember

The time you hit your mouth on the hard metal of the seesaw and we had to rush you to the dentist

The way we would wait until you were sleeping to exclaim over your cuteness because

Most times when you were awake there was both sturm und drang

The time we went to the shore and I carried you on my back and you pummeled my head all the way back to the car

If I had a dollar for every time you hurt me or someone else I love dearly

It would not begin to be as much as you are worth

Of your eternal value

Of the Light you can become forever

If you just

Turn and face the Sea.

All hat, no cattle

I once did a series of poems called the calvarium poems. I called them that. They remain in a kind of womblike obscurity, you could say the poems were like children

If only an ordinary person like me could

Cast a spell with words

Hocus pocus–live!

Abracadabra–live!

I alternate between believing

That the dry bones are the children tossed away from their mothers, their doctors, their strangers holding signs and vigil across the street from the alien clinics, iron bars on windows, misleading titles, security guards and not enough imminently visible heartbreak over this or

The people, the-all-of-us, too craven to save their little, perfect, amazing

Calvariums.