a source of hope

We have witnessed the breakdown of the social systems that nurture our children,  Our rootless children - not just the one-out-of-three black, one-out-of-four brown, and nearly one-out-of-three red children who live in poverty, but the one-out-of-five children in America who live in poverty.  We are talking about the state of young souls: culturally naked, with no safe moorings, these children have no cultural armor to protect them while navigating the terrors and traumas of daily life.  Young people need a community to sustain them, so that they can look death in the face and deal with disease, dread and despair...[a]s bad as things are, we have faced worse conditions.  We have always had courageous people willing to stand up and tell the truth, expose lies and bear witness to love and justice...[n]ow here we are...America finds itself looking to its blues people again to provide vision to a nation with the blues.  That is a source of hope.  Yet hope is no guarantee.  Real hope is grounded in a particularly messy struggle and it can be betrayed by naive projections of a better future that ignore the necessity of doing the real work. 

~ Cornel West...sage, prophet, and bluesman

SVS: Tension is a Vineyard value

This is an SVS video about a gathering of friends (Society of Vineyard Scholars) that has been really, really great to be involved with and explore fun and significant matters with the past few years. 

My absolute favorite line in this brief video is from Caleb: "...because y'know, tension is a Vineyard value..."


Society of Vineyard Scholars: Relevant, Constructive, Spiritual from Society of Vineyard Scholars on Vimeo.

FYI: The Annual SVS Conference will be hosted by the Mercy Vineyard in Minneapolis, Minnesota in April 2012...so save the date and I'll see you there!

Let us not mock God with metaphor

Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.
It was not as the flowers,
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His flesh: ours.
The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that–pierced–died, withered, paused, and then
regathered out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.
Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping, transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the
faded credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.
The stone is rolled back, not papier-mâché,
not a stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow
grinding of time will eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.
And if we will have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair,
opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.
Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are
embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.

~ Seven Stanzas for Easter, by John Updike

bloodshot sunrise

in the midst of a bloodshot sunrise

seen through tired, bleary eyes

the mountains still echo

with His painful cries

that mingle with the wind

so much so as to find us

deaf and numb before the dawn

who beckons us with

the whispered hope

of an ancient utterance

yet shame perches

on their tear-stained shoulders

witness to the wreckage

of those scattered

with fallen countenance

unaware of the fiends and villains circling above

even as mercy silently hovers in the distance

a primeval conflict observed from beyond eternity

as she-who-has-seen-the-Master

joins mercy moving toward their side

and her witness from the garden

too wondrous for their ears

stirs a restless hope

resulting in a footrace

to the emptied tomb

our Future has come to meet us

in this evil age

while the powers cast down to earth

are filled with bitter rage

for their time is fleeting

in this now-and-not-yet age

where His sojourners

continue to flood the world

with the knowledge of the Holy

and amid such precious wonder

become merciful martyrs

who rest but a little longer

while blood remains the currency

of our violence

and such a forthright testimonial

to a perpetual and incidental blasphemy

erupting from avaricious merchants

mourning in shallow waters

aftermath

blood falls from God’s Son

aftermath of killing fields

sound of sheer silence

thunderous is the threnody

thunderous is the threnody

mourning the death of infinity

in the midst of a revelation of divinity

still hidden was essential identity

[thus advances the scheme of the ages

o, release us from these cages,

for not our own empty wages

but what You intended in the pages]

foretaste was for you to unfold

covering eyes yet being told

conceiving the need yet again to scold

through it all, remaining bold

[thus advances the scheme of the ages

o, release us from these cages,

for not our own empty wages

but what You intended in the pages]

as evidence of the ache

creation on your shoulders did quake

yet from our collective stupor shake

triumph glimpsed over the treachery of the snake

[thus advances the scheme of the ages

o, release us from these cages,

for not our own empty wages

but what You intended in the pages]

can your intent be more renown?

even as you wear our most cruel crown

nevertheless we wager for thy gown

in our own wounds, will we yet drown?

[thus advances the scheme of the ages

o, release us from these cages,

for not our own empty wages

but what You intended in the pages]

defanged was the coiled asp

his strike at us was thus harassed

in defeat victory was grasped

until we stand with thee at last

[thus advances the scheme of the ages

o, release us from these cages,

for not our own empty wages

but what You intended in the pages]

He Must Be

Battered, bruised…brutal

[brutal work is this…my lot]

Broken He must be,

flesh flayed with piercing iron

a barbaric hate exposed

nostrils flare with the stench of raw flesh…

yet something more with this one…unfamiliar

               

powerful men gawk amazed with loathing,

taunting even at the edge of such…sacrifice

disgust and shame caught in their eyes

mocked and quiet…He must be dead, but nay

                                He stirs…breathes heavenward,
                                              Words stumble in that harsh, tragic tongue

cries of mercy or cries of death I do not discern

[lost in the brutal decay of duty]

yet the wailing of women
          finally penetrates my armour…undressing my very soul

[now naked like He am I]

swiftly earth shifts and sky speaks…a thunderous calamity

           [fear grips…awe ensues]

I hung him there…yet the son of…God He must be

the reaping

cords of the wicked
entangle

the sons of disobedience

come to reap what they have sown

yet loosed by an Unseen Marksman

the arrow of mercy

pierces the heart of many…even One

lo, the consequence of eternity

death – no longer the end

simply a new beginning

even as the blood cries out:

Father

forgive them

for they

know not

what they do

astounding grace

beautiful dignity for the unrefined

amazing grace

devourer of transgression

astonishing grace

reaping where she has not sown

strength gathers

tending to matters unseen
in the midst of such a garden
bearing whispered prayers

with hope

upon humble shoulders

strength gathers in the waiting
a diamond formed

through the pressure of patience

labour-pangs inaugurated

as blood-stained sweat

collects with an intensity
in the midst of this interval

before a crushing finish

moonlight revealing the frail tears
slowly gathering

in the sleeping shadow

of this grove now ripe

with a different kind of fruit

limbs heavy-laden

potency garnered

before the climax

of a piercing journey
while shadow looms

in advance of the pinnacle

of an exquisite pursuit

even amongst disappointment
and a cheek that must burn

with the lips of betrayal
passion overcomes

with the vision of vulnerability
and eyes turn

with renewed intent

empowered by the eternal ambition

flowing in such veins

is the frailness of malformation our experience

of suffering assuaged too quickly?

does the depth of transformation emerge

from the embrace of such anguish? 

sunset welcomes sabbath

 

sunset welcomes the sabbath

       the candle-wick lit

an eternal flame glows bright

Revival, War and Lessons of History

Today I'm guest blogging at the Not-the-Religious-Type blog with Dave Schmelzer (Dave is also senior pastor of the Greater Boston Vineyard)

Since this week is the 150th anniversary of the beginning of the American Civil War...my post today explores some of my thoughts from David Goldfield's new book America Aflame, which studied the impact of the Second Great Awakening on the situation just before and throughout the war.  My post is entitled Revival and Lessons of History 

peace

vindicator

A Warrior dressed for battle, yet

Marked by Power unseen

Our hopes and dreams to rattle, still

Rescuing the wretched between

Victory, declares Your blazing eyes

In powerful Glory You strike

No more the enemy to arise

Calling us to become Christlike

In a discarded life of unknowing cries

Turnabout is fairplay

O how You save us and

My eyes You dry as we chase after Your loving Way

Now enfold us in Your Arms of Love

In Conquering Hands take Your Bride

All the while we wrestle and in the throes of grace abide

branch of the beloved

a vision of a cruelly crafted crown

built for One bearing a battered cross to the skull mound

cup in His hand does this crushing King embrace

daring to drain it all in our place

excruciating is the potent potion worth

frail Word falls to the fertile earth

guileless He bears forth this Branch of the Beloved

Haven for the Hungry and the Unloved

is the strength of the brave born anew costly

just as He spread His arms out wide like a tree

kindness and protection now found in He

lamenting the Lord of the Living and the Dead

mourning a God crucified in our stead

not without Hope is He nailed to a cross

offering Himself, the very Logos

perfect is His plan to redeem His beloved

quiet He stands as mocked and shoved

redemption His goal to be achieved

scarred in His scheme to save those who cleave

the sound…an eternal echo of a curse rended

unbound are the bonds with precious blood shed

vindication and the sting of death defeated 

                                                                               

wake the dead with His humble cry

xenophyte was He apple of Mary’s eye

yet in His cry we hear it clear and true

Zion – it is finished, in His Glorious Virtue

only wonder grasps anything

Concepts create idols; only wonder grasps anything.

~ Gregory of Nyssa

breath taking

arrhythmic pulse

 of an arresting disorientation

 only in passing

effects of a present confusion

yet stumble i do

toward something

i cannot quite grasp

in these moments

i am seized

with a deeper déjà vu

of breath-taking beauty

where i glimpse

a future

gloriously unbound

and then clutched

in my bare hands

i feel the beating

of my heart

and my faith

sheds its skin

…once again

and i know

i am not alone

we must endure

we must endure

Lent Lectio: Psalm 130, A Song of Ascents

I have been a member of a group of companions who have been doing lectio divina and writing lectio's throughout Lent.  Thus, today I am the lectio-provocateur in the Lenten seasonal Lectio's at Sustainable Faith.  My scripture passage is Psalm 130, a song of ascents.  You can check out the previous Lectio's as follows:

• Psalm 32 with Pat Loughery
• Psalm 121 with Jared Boyd
• Psalm 95 with Dave Nixon
• Psalm 23 with Pat Loughery
• Psalm 130 with Steven Hamilton
• Psalm 118 with Jared Boyd
• Psalm 31 with Dave Nixon

peace

living becomes sacramental

love descends from my lips

to take root in the heart

that turns out to be

such a fertile womb of faith

the exchange of which

leaves me breathless

and in that breathless brush

with the kiss of death

the fullness of time surges

in but an instance of grace

the dilation of which

plunges me into the depths

of an eternal well of wisdom

momentarily cut to the quick

i put down my clanging symbol

as the timbre of my garish gong fades

a new source of strength

ascends from the spring of silent insight

and living becomes sacramental –

filled with the Reality to which it witnesses

here-to-for to subsist from faith to faith

in the deeper currents

beneath restless waves

where a hidden love

bears all things

not yet

A longing aches within me,

like the yearning of young lovers

My desire is for your embrace

…not yet held, but faintly savoured

My beloved is like the enticing fragrance of lily,

not yet caressed, but softly lingering…inviting

I stagger towards something not yet seen,

but blindingly obvious

How much further the journey

…how much longer, my love

[come so far across the frontier, yet so far to go]

and still: like the distant echo of a consuming hope

something stirs my heart

beholding an experience not yet witnessed

I go forward…into the not yet

it's about fidelity

We all have a hunger for certitude, and the problem is that the Gospel is not about certitude, it's about fidelity...fidelity is a relational category and certitude is a flat, mechanical category.  So we have to acknowledge our thirst for certitude and then recognize that if you had all the certitudes in the world it would not make the quality of your life any better because what we must have is fidelity.

~ Walter Brueggemann

pierce the illusion

pierce the illusion

of a scattered people

at war with our shattered selves

wrestling with flesh and blood

as defiant powers

smile in their twisted ways

embracing our kindred

with their saccharine slavery

O – how do we right this wrong?

all tangled in their web

deceit weighs heavy – like iron roots

planted in an ancient bitterness

and i feel like a fly

thrashing in the ointment

of our collective stupor

as a holy storm approaches

…from afar