Wisdom from The Muppets

The other day my roommate James let me listen to his "The Muppet Show Album." (I recommend you buy it.) The last song on the album, from the movie Muppets in Space, is called I'm Going to go Back There Someday and contains one of the most profound statements I've ever heard:

"There's not a word yet, for old friends who've just met..." -- Gonzo

So incredibly true I think. In fact, it led me to the conclusion that The Muppets, much like life... are all about friendship. Seminary in many ways has been nothing more and nothing less than connecting me to friendships, and teaching me how to trust in those friendships.

Recently, I made a new friend who I feel like I've known all my life, and somehow, I don't have word to describe the friendship. This is a very annoying thing to a poet.

Interior Castles - Where I am today...

"I am not saying that God calls to us directly, as he will do later. For now, his voice reaches to us through words spoken by good people, though listening to spiritual talks, and reading sacred literature. God calls to us in countless little ways all the time. Through illnesses and suffering through sorrow he calls to us. No matter how halfhearted such insights may be. God rejoices whenever we learn what he is trying to teach us.

Don't underestimate this first favor, friends, or be overly saddened if you cannot respond instantaneously to the call of the Beloved. His Majesty has no trouble waiting for many days, even years, especially when he sees that we are persevering and that our desires are good. Perseverence brings great gains.

But the spirit of evil assaults the soul in a thousand ways now and her suffering is deeper than it was before. In the first dwelling she could hear almost nothing, and she resisted less. The soul was a warrior who had lost hope of victory. The intellect has sharpened now and the faculties have grown more skillfull. The clash of arms and explosion of mortar are so intense that the soul cannot help but perceive them. Now the little demons present these serpents -- which are worldly attachments and earthly pleasures -- as if they were abiding realities."

-- "Interior Castles"
Saint Teresa of Avila
(Translated: Mirabei Starr)

Easter Sunday (We've Made It!"

The one sentiment I take with me from Easter Sunday. It was a full day of celebration and immersion into the Scripture, we feasted and sang and spent time together, we read we toiled and we shared the Eucharist together. However, it was Father Peter’s words in the sermon that put the exclamation point on the “Fullest Lent Ever”. The Lections for the day was the Road to Emmaus, and Peter said again and again, “We have journeyed forty days, and we’ve made it. The Risen Christ has brought us here.”

He has indeed.

Holy Saturday (Invocation of the Ancient)

On Holy Saturday I attended the Easter Vigil at Pax Christi Catholic Church in Lexington. Our church is currently too small to sustain a vigil so we got together and went to Pax Christi. Oddly enough for a Protestant, the most meaningful moment came when we began a part of the baptismal liturgy called the “Invocation of the Saints”. This is a moment when the Church asks for the Saints to intercede on behalf of the church and those about to be baptized. As the names of various Saints were read, I knew their stories. I love to study the lives of the Saints because I believe that we can all be encouraged by those who have led lives of holiness, sanctified to God. As the names were intoned I knew the stories of many of them, and the prayers they had prayed, and the memories of their lives paraded through my memory and I suddenly felt connected. These are my brother and sisters, these are my people and kindred, I remember them and we belong to one another. Suddenly I realized even more how ancient the church is and that I was a part of something extending through and across time.

Holy Saturday (Invocation of the Ancient)

On Holy Saturday I attended the Easter Vigil at Pax Christi Catholic Church in Lexington. Our church is currently too small to sustain a vigil so we got together and went to Pax Christi. Oddly enough for a Protestant, the most meaningful moment came when we began a part of the baptismal liturgy called the “Invocation of the Saints”. This is a moment when the Church asks for the Saints to intercede on behalf of the church and those about to be baptized. As the names of various Saints were read, I knew their stories. I love to study the lives of the Saints because I believe that we can all be encouraged by those who have led lives of holiness, sanctified to God. As the names were intoned I knew the stories of many of them, and the prayers they had prayed, and the memories of their lives paraded through my memory and I suddenly felt connected. These are my brother and sisters, these are my people and kindred, I remember them and we belong to one another. Suddenly I realized even more how ancient the church is and that I was a part of something extending through and across time.

Good Friday (Wounded Creativity)

During our Good Friday Services last week our Priest, Father Peter, went forward and began to play his guitar. With him were two master violinists and together they played an exquisite rendition of “How Deep the Father’s Love for Us”. As I watched them play their instruments I thought about how all of their instruments were made with beautifully polished wood. Then as I scanned the room I saw the altar table, also made of beautifully polished wood. Finally, I saw the large wooden cross. As I listened to the music and took in what I was seeing, I caught a new glimpse of the fall on humanity. Had we never have fallen, we would have used the resources of our world to make instruments, tables to gather at, and homes for people to live in. As things are however, we use our ingenuity to create torture devices, and walls between one another. Have you ever considered how creative we are in doing evil? We not only hurt one another, we do so artfully. How interesting then that the church has become a sanctuary for music and art! How interesting that played out before us as we reflected on our own sin was redemption in a rosewood violin, and tall wooden altar. The cross was not only a reclamation of our souls but of our lost creativity.

Mandy Thursday (Ugly Feet)

So, let me just be honest. At our Maundy Thursday Service, we shared in the ancient practice of foot washing. I stayed in my seat. It would have taken wild dogs to pull me to have my feet washed. It terrifies me. Through four years of seminary, I have never conquered this fear. It is just too intimate, too personal, and too close. There is no one… and I mean it…no one at all that I would trust enough to perform this action. Oddly enough, I would happily wash the feet of others. Oddly enough this is the struggle of my Christian life… I am more than willing to love others… I find it much harder to be loved… I am more than willing to serve others… less willing to be served but, I know this has to change… after all, does not our Lord tell us “If I do not wash your feet you have no part of me”?

Urgh… the Liturgy has ripped me open.

A Palm Sunday Reflection

Have you considered that in this moment in the Gospel, the triumphal entry, Jesus wept over Jerusalem? This is one of the three instances in the Gospels that Jesus is recorded as having wept. He wept at the tomb of Lazarus, he wept over Jerusalem, and he wept in the Garden.

Luke 19:42-44 says - As (Jesus) approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it 42and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace–but now it is hidden from your eyes. The days will come upon you when your enemies will build an embankment against you and encircle you and hem you in on every side. They will dash you to the ground, you and the children within your walls. They will not leave one stone on another, because you did not recognize the time of God's coming to you.”

We discussed in church today how, Jesus wept as he imagined the ruin of Jerusalem as a result of their unbelief. The simply could not imagine what God was doing in their midst through Jesus. He simply did not fit their preconcieved notions. In my own life, time being as full as it is, I too am having a hard time believing all the wonderful things God is doing in my life. Yet that is the challenge of the day, not to believe in what I think God would or should do, but to believe in what he actually has done. I must believe even though believing is dangerous, vulnerable, and costly.

His Love...

HIS LOVE IS NOT CONDITIONAL...
HIS LOVE IS NOT CONDITIONAL...
HIS LOVE IS NOT CONDITIONAL...
HIS LOVE IS NOT CONDITIONAL...
HIS LOVE IS NOT CONDITIONAL...
HIS LOVE IS NOT CONDITIONAL...
HIS LOVE IS NOT CONDITIONAL...
HIS LOVE IS NOT CONDITIONAL...
HIS LOVE IS NOT CONDITIONAL...
HIS LOVE IS NOT CONDITIONAL...
HIS LOVE IS...

Dimensions of the Cross

I have just caught another dimension of the cross that I have never encountered before. I have through the years grappled with the reality of the cross, the suffering of the cross, the guilt of the cross, the overarching dominion of the cross, but I have never realized how hard it is, to grapple with the love of the cross. Somehow I always took it for granted.

But now, despite everything, as God seems to shower more and more love down on me. As one miraculous thing after another happens in my midst. I am astounded to see how fully God loves me. Lately I have not been especially "holy" I have not been stepping up my Spiritual Discipline beyond any other Lent, I have not been especially charitable, or loving beyond that which is normal for me. Yet he continues to pour down blessings without any sign of letting up.

God loves me beyond what I could imagine. The cross of Jesus is the greatest intersection of love Human existence has ever known. I am astounded by the flooding waters of God's love.

The Days are Full

I am going to buy a purple t-shirt and some of those iron-on t-shirt things... The slogan on the t-shirt will say. "Year of Grace 2005: Fullest Lent Ever!" All around me chains are falling off, people are being set free, tears are falling. My own life feels like I am being sculpted... God is just banging and banging away at me, one sore place after another. Oddly enough though, I feel myself starting to take shape... and I am not afraid. I trust this sculptor, I know his work.

In fact, today I saw his work in my friend Peg, who spoke on forgiveness in chapel. I saw it in a community that surrounded one another in love and I see it more and more in God's Word in depths and dimensions I never have before. I see the work of the sculptor in my roommates and in the life of my friends, and in the life of my church. I am getting ready to graduate and all I can think of is how the community at ATS has changed me. How God has reached through my years here and through these people to show me who he wanted me to be, and then, without my ever raising a finger, seeing to it that his desires for me are fulfilled.

I simply cannot believe what happened in chapel today... the more I replay and replay it in my mind the more surreal it seems. Right now as I remember it in my imagination I feel like the room was filled with light, I see in my heart demons fleeing in the face of Jesus, his face filled with anger at their ministrations against his children... I see the Holy Spirit hovering over those at the altar surrounding them with his wings, protecting them in his love. I see saints singing in the choir loft and angels dancing upon the altar. I see holy love in touching and holding, God's children loving one another... I see heaven dancing, I see many waters flowing from heaven... I see orchards and butterflies, and horses, and lions and freedom as tangible as fresh fruit. As I rethink and rethink what happened the story gets fuller and fuller in my mind. I wish I could paint what happened today but somehow any earthly painting would fail. Michelangelo himself would fail to do it justice. It is too much, it exhausts and excites me too much to think of what God has done in our lives as a community, in history, IN CHRIST. Yet I cannot shake the images from my mind of how salvation history played out in our midst today.

Oh Happy God that is such love that even in the wretchedness of our sin you would choose to reach into the murky waters of our existence and bring forth joy. O Happy God who is Father to many children. Oh Happy God who showers down on us light and love and hope even when we seek to find shelters in darkness and hate and luxury. O Happy God who chose us not only to be servants but Brothers (Sisters), Friends, and Children as well. O Happy God we love you, we love you, we love you!

God gave me a special gift today that I will treasure for a lifetime.

(Title Withheld)

(I have withheld the title of this poem because I want to elicit some responses to it without the final piece of the puzzle that details meaning.)

There among the fields unended
Corn and sky, path unintended
Walking on the song rescinded
Stands alone a heart unmended

More alone than ever, kildeer
Sound of wounded, dying in fear
Must move on or else I die here
Shadows grow for sunset looms near

Darkness brings it's own vibration
Sounds of silent alienation
Yet I stand there in frustration
The shadows growing more impatient

Uneasly silent, the fields grow colder
Every moment, getting older
Yet the kildeer cry out bolder
"Lonely" cries the wounded soldier

Stand Maya Angelou: A Tribute

I once heard a poet.
Speak with languid tones,
Jazz verses of African Pride.

She was a woman,
"A black ocean" and...
Her words were powerful,
Set against the backdrop
Of a smooth and quiet voice.

She murmered such intensity that
I resented that I was not near her.
Wishing to sit at her feet as she spoke,
Words as tall as the African Sky...
But far more beautiful.

A friend of mine mentioned Maya Angelou the other day which lead me to post this poem. A tribute to the voice of African Poetry. I would love to hear what everyone thinks.

Theandria

The pain of Christmastide
God Confined
Echos forever in Bethlehem skies

Creation touches mystery,
God became Man
Hope of human history
In fragile baby's hand

Man who walks with footprints
God who bleeds and cries
Man who speaks as Carpenter
God who suffers -- dies

One God commands eternity
Was bound in time and space
Now God of cross and gravestone
Now God with human face

(I was issued a challenge to write a poem on the concept of the theandric union, the concept that Jesus was both very God and very Man. I hope you like it.)

Suffocation

The world is sometimes too much for me... I know that there are those who say that "it's all small stuff." However, I find it hard to look on creation and believe that. Lately, I've had this odd feeling like I am walking through mud up to my knees. Everything is so much harder than it should be. Everything remains just out of reach except for a constant lonely/empty kind of feeling. Every breath seems like too much trouble.

I more afraid of the dark than usual...

About Writing

Sometimes the best writing is just that... written. You start out with no purpose but you desire to write something... it may have been weeks since you have written last but you cannot live under the writers block any longer. So you write... chipping away at the blank page until finally you begin to see your writing take shape... eventually you come to a conclusion... or a nice phrase that sets you off on a whole nother (good word) direction. You write a story... you capture a moment, and then from that flawlessly depicted moment you know that your writers block is over, and you have reached a new summit... As for my promised study of Matthew, expect to see it on Monday along with a nice exposition on diets.

Better Poetry

You should be expecting within the next few days the beginning work on my study of Matthew. However, in the meantime, I would like to talk about poetry... specifically, better poetry.

Brother Killian McDonnell OSB, is a monk who wrote a wonderful book of poetry entitled "Swift, Lord, You are Not." In it he has a poem that tells how there are too many poets in the world. I often return to this poem because it speaks to my own fear that my voice is not original enough.

Funny thing about poets though... they are all fearful of vulnerability. The fact that you write your world down means that someone might read it... and if they read it... they might see you. That is a fearful thing but not as terrifying as the fact that after reading, they might consider your writing not worth the time it took to read.

Perhaps there needs to be some distance between the writing and the writer. Perhaps space between poem and poet... but I don't know. All I do know is... I desire a better poetic voice. I desire and pray for better poetry.

Gracious God, give me a staff to carry, and a harp all my own. AMEN

Long Lunches...

My favorite thing in the whole wide world is a long lunch with friends... A long, long, comfortable, quiet lunch with friends. My appetite for long lunches came on quietly. My taste for them developed after high school when I used to go to lunch with my friend Jean. After she returned from Japan and I started college we spent four hours in a restaurant together talking and sharing what had been happening in our lives. Add into that mixture Susan who when I was child taught music at Bible School. I thought her name was Joy because she had that uncanny walk with God. The kind that make you believe in Entire Sanctification. Stir all this together and you have the recipe for a long lunch.

Today I had a long lunch with Jean, Susan, their mothers, and Jean's husband Bob. The best way to describe this group... good people. When we get together I get to hear all about the happenings in my native Indiana. I get to learn about their own heritage and family. Paradoxically, the love they all share leads me to love my own family more. Lunch with Jean and Susan always does this to me... they both embrace life so fully, with such reality, that I cannot help but be changed by the experience. Long lunches... GOOD!

Snowstorms and Saintly Vigils

Late during the night on December 22-23, we experienced a Thundersnow storm in Indiana. Personally, I have never experienced anything like it before. In fact, I didn't now that thunder and lightning were even possible in a snow storm. However, upon seeing the flash of bright blue hit the ground in my back yard, hearing the thunder over head amidst the snowfall, I soon learned there is such a thing as thundersnow.

The television immediately interrupted programing to declare that the radar had recorded several flashes of lightening north of Indianapolis. They told us that this was a natural phenomenon when the snow was coming down as heavily as it was the other night. Oddly enough though, hearing her declare it "natural" reiterated to me how miraculous it all was. I am amazed at how God created and formed a universe in such a way, as to bring such a brilliant blue in flashes of energy. The fact that such phenomena are natural does not take from me the realization of the miracle of it all.

And now it's the Vigil of Christmas. The night when we remember how the creator God, demonstrated loving care over all he created by joining with and becoming part of it. Unwilling to see his good work buried under death he came to live as part of it, become part of it. The shepherds, the magi, even the Virgin Mary and Blessed Joseph only saw a baby that night so many years ago. The fact that a baby is a natural thing, that there were many other babies born that very night did not diminish the miracle of that one life.

Though it is true blue flashes of power can be explained through scientific theorums, ions and atoms, it does not diminish the wonderful realization that the God who created the universe created everything with it's own inherent order and goodness. This awesome truth cannot be measure or weighed but it is none the less true.

In the same way, the fact that Jesus looked just like any other baby does not change the awesome reality of who he was even in the manger. Though no one may have known just by looking at him, something still lead them to adoration. The recognition of God's supernatural action even within confines of the ordinary naturalness of life.

On this night of Saintly Vigil, I praise my God who chose to reach down into the fragile confines of humanity and save the world. Humanity and Divinity I love you my Jesus for the creative and redemptive action of the Incarnation. I thank you for your desire to see creation redeemed by giving us the fullness of yourself in the vulnerable body of a little baby. King of the Universe, Son of the Eternal Father, Prince of Poverty, Son of a Carpenter, I love you my Jesus, born this night in Bethlehem. AMEN

Poetry Bleeding...Potter Buying

Poetry has been a struggle lately. As much as I am chagrin to say it, my recent venture into trying to get my poetry published has left me... well limping. My lines are halting, I keep trying to write but come up upon empty page after empty page. My ego has been bruised, my poetry is bleeding, and therefore I doubt very seriously we will see any of it here. I am trying to not be childish and take the rejection with a grain of salt... afterall people say you have to pay your dues. However, I'm havin difficulty getting over this sense of initial rejection.

In other news, I just ordered the next literary acheivement by JK Rowling. Yes, that's right. The date of release has been announced and I have preordered my copy of "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince" on Amazon. Rock the KASBAH!