A Blessing for a Foggy Saturday

     

    God bless us on the streets and in the fog;
    God bless us on the road and in the rain. 
    Feet dry, spirits high
    until we come home safe again. 

Holiday Glow

 

Dangerous Territory

     Dig in. It’s dangerous territory here:

    You’ve seen them – on the highway, in the airport. You’ve seen them at the capitol. Their feet are swift to bloodshed and never a step on the road to peace. No willingness. No admission. No confession. Don’t speak. Fifty days until… Ten days more… The sound of angels and trumpet warnings as nuclear submarines are deployed and the people in control stop listening. Foolish, inflammatory people will watch us die.

    A voice declares: all flesh is grass. Capitalistic parasites are the shadow of things to come. See it: systemic torture, sabotage and destabilization. Everything is overwhelmed and hopeless. Broken windows and graffitied walls. The body ends. The flower fades. It was always chaos; they were never in control.

    I am fatigued flesh – bleeding.
    I am dust and empty space – waiting.

The Candles of Advent

The First Candle of Advent

To say these lines, to speak this part,
we begin in darkness. In silence.

Lost, forgotten
in Grand Canyons
of cynicism deep.

What did I want when I was a boy?
What do I want now?

Have I become too cynical
with too much subtlety
and too little delight?

Lost, in mist and darkness
a dreamer of dreams
looking for signs and wonders.

A spark,
a chance

and something changes.

From nothing
from nowhere

and it is good
or could be.

We light the candle and hope
that when the long night is over
the light will remain.

The Second Candle of Advent

These candles are too small
the light of our fragile, flickering choice
against cold and angry voices,
lonely, broken tears,
and death -

What is a candle or two,
what is my raspy voice
even joined with yours

against a bleak midwinter that
never seems to thaw?
Against the longest night
and a day that never seems to dawn?

But we’ve lit the flame of hope
and now we burn for peace. 

The Third Candle of Advent

Do they know that I’m a fraud?
I don’t feel these things I say
and when I sing
the hymns collapse.

Rejoice
rejoice

The colors change
the candles burn

Rejoice
rejoice

The melody rises
and catches at the back of my throat

Rejoice
rejoice

I am not
but I will

rejoice

The Fourth Candle of Advent

A singer once asked me,
“Do I feel love where I used to feel hate?”

The days are shorter,
the sun is lower.
I am cold and tired.
My feet hurt.

Do I feel love?

Light another candle.
A little more light,
a little more love.

Do I feel love?

Is that why it hurts to remember?
What you did,
Why you left...

I can’t explain.

Forgive?

A little more love,
a little more light.

The Christ Candle of Christmas

At last, after the fever and the frenzy
after longing and loss
after all the things that have slipped away


The ancient and deep merge with the here and now.
A light in the darkness
A song in the silence

The mind, the heart
intellect and intuition
conscious and subconscious
together
whole

The blessed hope
the appearing
the hope of glory

I do not know about tomorrow
Outside, the gunfire continues
warbling emergency sirens fill the air
mothers weeping for their slaughtered innocents

But here
in the light of this flame
you are here.

As small and fragile as they are
we light these candles as a light in the darkness
and that will not be overcome.

Hypothetical Nonsense - The Reviews Are In

     The reviews are in. Come see what the critics are calling “hypothetical nonsense.”

    “Cheaply manufactured Christmas cheer from a liberal cynic. The smell of smoke comes in in the first half of the second act, but the smell of despair is there from the opening musical number.”

    “You can clearly see the donkey…”

    “Open rebellion to God from bastards and not sons. Someone should beat the fire out of him.”

    “A fragment of work, directly contradicting everything else he’s ever written.”

    “Grossly anachronistic, displaying a glaring ignorance of history.”

    “It’s just weird.”

    “Coming at the end of a long stretch of exhaustion – too tired to appreciate it when it finally comes to an end. Burned out. Burned down.”

    “I haven’t checked the source, or confirmed it with the news, but as far as I know, this is legit. It seems real. It seems true, so I believe it. I haven’t followed up, but I heard it’s good.”

    “A true Christmas blessing – but one best left frozen. Do not thaw.”

    I wrote this backstage tonight - during a performance of a Christmas show by our local, community theater group. It has nothing (or very little) to do with the actual performance of the show. I just think it's sorta' funny. 

Warning and Evening – the Last Day: An End Times Devotional

    We have seen the future – Christ’s coming Kingdom will be distinguished from the here and now of social justice warriors. Disloyal Marxists troublemakers. They see nothing but the blank-faced politicians who are fully owned by local developers obeying the demands of skeevy realtors. The foul odor of their crime fills the New York city streets. But there is something more. The latter appearance is power.

    America will be powerful. America will be great. Again. Think it not strange. What the law cannot do, God’s righteous leader will. Weaker vessels must submit to strong leaders.

    Even in an apostate church this must be true. Middle of the night rescue crews, moving in and out, in and out, will be unable to offer any meaningful assistance. There are concerned citizens, too tired moms and/or dads, involved in Social Security trust fraud, taking your investment money and giving it to drug dealers. Fornication with the kings of the earth. They will not be caught up and taken away.

    In the days of adversity, consider: these men will stop at nothing to kill you. But suffering should make us faithful. And thankful. Prime targets for America’s enemies. An embodiment of all that America used to love. Our attention is drawn to one point. The enemy grows stronger and stronger. But our work is almost done. And with the blessing of heaven and the valor of our beloved leader, we shall soon drive these plunderers from our country.

    The falling away is here. Apostasia, from the verb, aphistemi, to go away mad. The day of the Lord cannot come until the departure. Five days of terror, the turn-signal attack and a shaft of depth. Illuminated arrow sign down the center. An illuminated honky-tonk gunfight. The agenda that leaves our martyrs bleeding to death on college campuses. Obscure for decades beneath the transparent skylight. Are you going to wait for another tragedy before you do something?

    As a reminder, you can still purchase the book – Warning and Evening – the Last Day: An End Times Devotional – along with shot-glasses, key-chains, and t-shirts, and other licensed merchandise – in the Turning Point gift shop.

The Second Candle of Advent

These candles are too small
the light of our fragile, flickering choice
against cold and angry voices,
lonely, broken tears,
and death -

Against a bleak midwinter that
never seems to thaw.

But we’ve lit the flame of hope
and now we burn for peace.

A Third Imaginary Conversation with a Real Troll: Supermarket Wrestling

     My troll caught up with me on my day off. He had to, obviously. Rule of three, right. That’s how these things work. In folklore, in comedy, in advertising. One. Two. Three. He came first to assault my character. He came again to challenge my doctrine. Now he was back a third time to question my faith as I was buying groceries. Standing there in the produce department, as I picked out onions and peppers, I saw him coming to me.

    “You are common, but you have nothing of the common love in your heart – being of one accord, one mind. You are divided in yourself. There is no eternity in your heart.”

    “Hey, Gunner. What do you think of these tomatoes? They’re not red. They’re pink and pale. Probably mealy too. Winter produce is so…”

    “What will little Satans like you do if loosed upon the world? Adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lewdness, idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations…”

    “Emulations?” I scoffed. “What are you…?” But he rolled on with his list of condemnations. I had my shopping list; he had his.

    “Wrath, strife, sedition, and heresies. That’s your thing. Heresies.”

    “Here? You want to do this here? Now? In the supermarket?”

    “Sure. Why not now? Are you afraid? Now is the judgment of this world and the prince of this world shall be cast down. You should be afraid.”

    “Okay. Okay. But come with me and keep your voice down.” I put the tomato back and moved on towards the baked goods. “I need bread,” I told him.

    “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God. That’s your real problem. You don’t live by the word of God.”

    “Oh, come on, dude,” I said as I picked up a loaf of sourdough. “I read the Bible every day. Or nearly so.”

    “Yeah. Yeah,” he said as he followed me towards the meat department. “You read it. But you wrest it. Unstable and unlearned. You twist it, distort it out of true. You read it but you don’t believe it. You won’t accept the verbal plenary inspiration that makes it true. Inerrant. Infallible. Authoritative. God breathed, without mistake or contradiction.”

    I chuckled and pointed to the lamb shank behind the glass of the refrigerated shelves. “Behold the Passover lamb. How were the Israelites to prepare it?”

    “What?” He recoiled. 

    “Were they to roast it or boil it? Exodus or Deuteronomy? They don’t agree.”

    “No. Not like that. You’re not going to get me with those proof texts, with those alleged contradictions. You pick and chose the parts you like because you think it’s easier that way. But the whole word is inspired. God breathed. It cannot fail.”

    “God breathed, you say?” I turned my cart down the canned good aisle. I would finish my shopping. “What about Adam? He was inspired. Literally God breathed. But he failed. Yeah? I don’t think inspiration means what you think it means.”

    Just then Gunner reached out and stopped my hand as I was selecting cans of kidney beans. “Who inspires these perversions in you? You’re going to have to learn the lesson. Leave the Bible alone. Get better and get saved.” The flickering fluorescent lights cast on again off again shadows across his face

    “I don’t wrest the scripture, Gunner.” I said as I placed the beans into my cart. “But I do wrestle with it. Like Jacob wrestling through the night. And like Jacob, it’s broken me. Left me limping.”

    “You limp because you’re broken. Because you’re so lame.”

    “Lame as I am, I leap for joy in God,” I said. “And that is the miracle.”

    Gunner stood there, unmoved and blocking my path through the aisle.

    “We can continue if you want,” I said. “But I still have several things on my list. Do you mind?”

    He pursed his lips tight and shoved my cart – not hard, but away. He said nothing more. Just walked down the aisle and out of the store. I returned to my list – getting cheese and milk, and a few other things.

Another Imaginary Conversation with a Real Roll: I Will not Fight the Argument

    Today was as cold as yesterday – though there was a bit more sun. And tomorrow will be colder still with more wind. I was relaxed after work. Tired but at ease. Resting on the couch, massaging my feet when he came back.

    “I do not permit, I will not allow, a woman to teach or otherwise assume authority over a man,” he said without preamble. Jump to. Ready. A surprise attack. “She can have no authority over any man. She must be quiet. Adam was formed first, then Eve. Adam first and he was not deceived. It was the woman that was deceived.”

    So this was the game? Round two? General ad hominem attack on my character and motive hadn’t brought him the satisfaction he expected, so he was back with another hoary old chestnut: weaponized scriptural attack.

    “What of Isaiah’s wife?” I asked in response to his opening gambit.

    “Who?”

    “Isaiah’s wife, the prophetess.”

    “No. No. She doesn’t count. She was only a prophet by nature of her relationship with the prophet Isaiah, and the fact that she bore his children.”

    “Is that what you think Paul meant when he said that women will be saved through childbirth rather than sola fide?”

    “You’re twisting…” He said as he shrank back, but only briefly. He smiled and turned again, smoothly pivoted, ready to flank me.

    “How about Miriam?” I asked before he could launch his next attack. “She was a prophet too.”

    “Yes. Yes, but only to other women.”

    “And Huldah?”

    “Who?”

    “She was a prophet in Jerusalem. The High Priest came to commune with her. To speak with her. He asked her questions and she advised him.”

    “I’m sure that can’t be…”

    “She’s the one who authenticated the Book of the Law discovered by King Josiah.” I pressed on before he could regroup. “And we can’t forget Noadiah. Though she may not be the best example, as she was condemned as a false prophetess. Still, there are prophets and false prophets and there are prophetesses and false. Remember her anyway. God does.”

    “Are you done yet?”

    “No. No. Never. We haven’t even mentioned Philip’s daughters yet – prophets each one, and none of them married. They held the role without a man.”

    He crossed his arms over his chest. “Is there more?”

    “No. I’ve said enough, I think.”

    “Are you sure?”

    I said nothing, merely rubbed my weary feet.

    “For all your so-called examples from scriptures, you have nothing of the divine nature in you. You misread the scripture to your own destruction. But neither do you have a human nature. You are a void. Empty. Debase. And freely joined with Satan. You are the paradox of freedom. You do what you want. Say whatever comes into your little brain. And anything you say destroys the harmony of the universe.”

    I sighed. “So… I’m evil. You hate me and I’m evil.”

    "Yes and no. But in reverse. I love you. That’s why I confront your evil.”

    “You haven’t listened. And that’s not love.”

    “So argue, then. Stand up and fight. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

    “That’s not me. I will not fight the argument.”

    “But we do. We fight the darkness. We fight the darkness that is within you. Am I offending you? Do I make you cry? Step up. Step out. When the shock wears off You’ll feel better, but you’ll be screaming in the end.”

    Having made his attack and ignored my response, he disappeared again, departed from me – for a season. I’m sure I’ve not heard the last from him. Him or another one like him. Still, my feet felt better, somewhat, and I was ready to relax before work again tomorrow.