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Sunday, October 21, 2018

Hymnical Limericks: All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name



I thought the limericks were done, but apparently I was wrong.
I'm so sorry.



All hail the pow’r of his name in song;
take note of heaven’s angelic throng -
they respond to the call
and angels’ prostates fall.
No, wait. I’m sure I’ve gotten that wrong...

with apologies to Edward Perronet 

Sekwi, The Rooster that Sees



Blessed art Thou, o Lord, our God, King of the World, who gives the cock intelligence to distinguish between day and night. – Jewish Proverb

A thunderous reverberation breaks the sky. Vainglorious and ignorant philosophers – tedious men with tedious advice – scatter. They abandon their discourse; they desert their still incomplete theodicy (for all theodicies are incomplete), leaving only a man with his grief and his questions. Rain falls from the cracked ceiling of heaven. Lightning scurries across the sky, “Here I am. Here I go. I am gone.”

Then Sekwi, the Rooster that Sees, lifts his eye, his comb, his beak and speaks, while far away, in the remote place, the sacred Ibis, Thoth, announces the flooding of the Nile. There is wisdom here, I suppose. Wisdom and understanding. But not for me.

(Job 38:36)

Thursday, October 18, 2018

I Am a Medieval Monkey




What shall I do with the heavenly forces at my command? What shall I do? Shall I call up the 33,000* angels – who wait only for my voice – to unleash their power upon my political opponents? Shall I shut them out of the Senate, cut them from the House? Shall I change their laws? Shall I change their times and sacred seasons?

I am a medieval monkey, a mid-level primate driving a bus without supervision. I am the Prince of Assassinations. I am Torture and Dismemberment. Extraordinary rendition is not enough.

Shall I create a hurricane for them – serrated wind and slashing rain? Shall I bring down weather revenge upon them? I am the parasitic wasp, the zombie cockroach. There is a red line direct from me to the missing tooth. I am the ransom note left in the copy machine. How are we not destroyed? 



*Approximate number only. The census cannot be trusted. 

Thursday, October 11, 2018

There Is Always more Flame.


“These are the prayers of the saints,” Pastor Lincoln says as he stands in front of the congregation lighting a candle for each of the shared joys and concerns.

-For Andrea who fell and broke her hip.
-For Pat who is retiring later this month.
-For Becki whose daughter is about to give birth to twins.

“These are the prayers of the saints, each one marked with a candle and a flame. Are there others?”

-For people living in the path of the storm.
-For Linda who is walking better.
-For Micah and his father.

So many prayers - prayers of thanksgiving, prayers of supplication - so many prayers that Pastor Lincoln runs out of candles. “These are the prayers of the saints,” he chuckles. “We may have run out of candles,” he says, “but there is always more flame.”

Wednesday, October 10, 2018

The Light that Remains



J. finally went to the optometrist after many, many days of intense, burning pain in his left eye, a neurological nuclear explosion, sharp-nailed fingers digging into his brain - an angry steel needle jabbed into soft optic tissue.

“You didn’t come in with this right away, did you?” clucked the doctor as he pushed away the magnifying scope. “You thought it would just dissipate on its own, right?”

“Yes,” said J.  “How could you tell?”

The optometrist sat down upon a three-legged stool in front of J.  “What you’re feeling - that fire in your eye - is a discrete piece of sunlight caught in your retina. And we haven’t had sunlight for… well several months now.” He clucked again. “It’s really quite extraordinary. You should have come in sooner.”

Light is, of course, like everything in a quantum universe, both energy and particle, wave and mass moving, burning through the cold expanse of space.

“You have a single photon in there. Very small, but in this great darkness it is brilliant. “

“Is there anything we can do?” J. asked. “Can it be removed?”

“Good God in lux perpetua boy!  Why in hell would you want to do that? As dark as the days are now, all gloam and gloom?  And you ask if it can be removed. Do you want to extinguish the little light that remains?”

“But it hurts; it burns.”

“Of course it burns, you dim-witted fool. But it brightens as it burns, and enlivens as it lightens. The light of the body is the light of the world. Do you want to blind the whole world? The darkness that is descending on us is the deep outer darkness.”

“But, doctor…”

“No buts, boy. Let the light shine. Let it burn.”

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Muted Hosannas Muted Hosannas
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