Red Christ

Clutter

Remnants of yesterday's hurry, and the day before,
called clutter fill our kitchen table where steaming coffee cups could be
and quiet conversation and meals with second helpings of memories
if we were only less successful.

Now and Then (in progress)

Now, watching light play along the edges of so many blank white restroom tiles before my eyes, I look through to see the leaves I saw dance back then, to see them sauntering to their death. Undressing trees made me pause to look and grieve and wonder at beauty that drew me in to stillness. Now I ponder where I put those words, that phrase that let the world capture me, that let me dance there and then. Then I felt its charms, the poetry of autumn, the sweetness of goodbye. Red-lit, golden treasures of the trees holding on and letting go, chanted "watch us now, now we fly, now we dance, now we burn, now we find our place in the long dream of winter." Then one of them fell on my lap.

Now I remember the offerings made in surrounding yards, the smoke I smelled encircling me, hanging in the air and creeping away slowly through tall fences, caressing bare limbs, sanctifying squirrels and crows and rakes and chatty neighbors, calling in the durge of dusk. Then there were snowflakes in the sanctuary. Now I try to recapture the line and verse, the surprise of white morning, the bright blanket of hope that touched my eyes made wide again. Now in silence waiting, I sit as I did there beside the window losing track, happily unable to count the sauntering manna seraphim, the treasures of the heavens sent down to sooth, to whisper "watch us now, now we fly, now we dance, now we melt away the pain, now we seep into the earth to cleanse the stain, now we find our place until the resurrected spring."
Then one called me out into the street, one teased and twirled refusing to fall. Then one uncounted, unnamed, unnoticed gave itself over to bring me life, the pure wet kiss of God to my lips.

Now I rest remembering. Then I spoke aware, as now, that speaking could not slow the breeze, could not restore the trees out of season, could not call back the incense, could not retrace the frozen angels whereabouts. I spoke with these same lips that do shrink dry again, and I worshiped then as now, in the rich dim glow of my study, drawing in slow deep breaths, now open as eyes traveling over heavens page, then in every place that I can be with Eternity looking through to find me -- flying, now dancing, now savoring my then, my now and all the treasures of my days, watching light play along the edges of my life.

A Good Morning

I woke after nearly 11 hours of sleep believing that all things are possible with God.

The sleep was put to good use, I thought. The coffee might have been a little extra strong that morning or see what a good breakfast can do... but what I tasted I could not account for, a hunger and a tasting at once. All things are possible. The world was radiating color and my marrow buzzed and tickled and I knew that I and all could be felt, I and all could be painted, all could be celebrated, all could be held or shared or consumed. I could eat my fill and later float with a belly full of pleasures knowing that what filled me and what held me were one and could never be exhausted. Did I hear take and eat? And would I...? as I sensed that everyone can do this, that no one ever does.

"It's madness or its joy, again or at last." I gave words to it within myself. Oil and mud slurred and seeping from a crack in the asphalt beneath me was beautiful, it echoed back the laughter I was sharing with my wife, the gasp of recognition and remembrance, the laughter of limitless possibility. There was Hope in the morning hours where art and living interpenetrate, where I was poured out in primaries, where beauty whispered my name, where God gave the world a showing and I could be revealed naked and unashamed. I was there with her in the parking lot, entering the store, entering the hope of morning where great books are written and poems unfurl and where we are attired such as to leave no doubt as to what it is we desire to express. That is where epic stories find us at the center and where acclaimed films are formed from our simple days and everyone sees them and feels the touch of God in them as we did when we first lived them. All scale, all cast, all colors of light, every hue, every texture and tingling dimension of life lives there with you and lives without limit in the hope of morning. That is where you see that You are the living breathing hope of the world because all things are possible with God.

And God is with you in that joy and madness; knowing their inseparability from the view below, knowing why and where and how to reach and resurrect you, knowing how to bring you morning's hope like your dearest brought you coffee. This is the reason that you sing throughout the day and later hear it as the song of God's enjoyment.

I woke desiring to write it in the sand of my soul. I woke discovered by the good morning, alive with health enough to dream, with God and all possible things.

Prayer after Ordination

You are still writing the book of my life, oh God, and I am still trying to be a faithful scribe. Many people are reading this book and celebrating what you are doing through it. Yesterday I felt the strange sense of knowing that "this is my life" and I joined them in looking at it, celebrating it and experiencing you magnified in the midst of it. It felt uncomfortable and wonderful.

You know the prayer, the song that sings within me. I am a mortal and cannot put words to it. Spirit of God, pray for me, sing the prayer of my life to the Father and let the Son teach me to hear it and share it. Let your creation continue in me, sing your new creation through my dreams and days... and as for those who gathered in ordaining celebration and for all they represented -- Let me lay down my life for these children, these towers and teachers, these priests and poets, these nourishing trees of life, these angels in robes and uniforms and jeans and gym shoes. Let me adore you by loving them. Let me, as fearless and as selfless as you, as fragile and discerning as you Lord Jesus... let me thank them by living a grateful, worshiping life with you.

Jesus -- you are my Lord and my King! Amen

Rumble, tumble

Rumble, tumble,shimmer in the mumble.
Role, reach, feel, preach
glory in the grumble.
Metaforest's rivers reeling,
truth of trees our terms concealing,
sense all healing life revealing
glimmerings bold, glistening humble