Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Saturday, November 18, 2017

Trust, or, Can We Be Honest for a Moment?

A note to you, dear readers: this started as something I was writing in my notebook when I was frustrated. It turned into... something else. I hope that you find it compelling. There are a lot fewer bells and whistles and pictures and hyperlinks than my usual blog posts.

So here's my dysfunction: I expect that, when people tell me something, especially people that I trust, I expect that what they tell me is objectively true. That doesn't mean that they really want what they say to be true, but rather that it is, beyond a doubt, true. Because why should you have confidence in something that could be false?

And this person that I trust, if they have any doubts in what they're saying, I would hope that they would be upfront about those doubts. Because if I trust you, it is in part because I know that you can be honest. Being honest about something, even if you know that I won't like what you have to say, does not compromise my trust in you. In fact, since we are being honest, I know that I can trust you more.

I am of the opinion that we can talk all day about what we want to be true, or the way we think things ought to be in the world. Let's talk all day, you and me, friend, and let's solve the world's problems. But when it comes down to what we actually do, I want your honesty. And your compulsion for action. Let's yolk ourselves together, friend, because that's what friends do.

Sunday, November 5, 2017

The Journey Continues, or, Extra! Extra!

Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Except that this is my life, not some iconic scene from Newsies...

No, seriously, this post has updates from this past week, so it is kinda hot off the presses. Well, I guess it's not hot, I let the news cool for a few days so that I can write about it objectively; as objectively as I can for something so personal.

Monday, December 29, 2014

Interacting with My Students Drives Deeper Meditation

I've been getting back into my writing lately. It's felt really good to renew this as a spiritual discipline, and I'm making space for it again in my life. At this exact moment, that's pretty easy, since I'm in the Winter Break from teaching.

But at any rate, I wrote a poem just recently that's all about the way that I interact with my students... see, teaching is another spiritual discipline for me. There are days where I really, really resent some of my students. Which is, of course, offset by the days where I feel exuberant about the whole school thing. But the point is that the whole thing is a challenge, and recognizing it in terms of my spirituality allows me to navigate the school environment in a more virtuous way, I think.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Psalm 7: Lions and chase scenes and child/parent relations, oh my!

The initial reason why I like psalm 7 is because of the punchy language. There are lions, heists and a chase scene within the first 5 verses.

“deliver me from all who pursue me
Lest, like a lion, they tear me to pieces

If I have repaid my friend with evil
or plundered him who without cause is my enemy
Then let my enemy pursue me and overtake me.”

In these first lines, I hear someone singing about their faith in God and going so far as to say that if they have done anything, anything at all that may be anathema, then may the devil take me where I stand (which is, of course, complicated from an Old Testament perspective because they didn’t believe in a personified “devil” persay… anyway…)!

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Psalm 42: A drowning deer

"As the deer pants for the water,
So my soul longs after you
You alone are my heart's desire
And I long to worship you."

These are the first four line of a hymn that I used to sing when I was in children's choir. I hated singing this song. It sounded so sappy. I envisioned a deer coming up on a stream, passing through a dense forest and I wondered how in the world this image could have any bearing on worship. It just sounded so hokey. And it still does, if you just look at those lyrics. I mean, I'm now cringing at the way that I'm sure the parishioners loved hearing their little ones sing about their all-encompassing devotion to God through the words of this song. It must have been cutesy in a very pious sort of way.

Monday, July 22, 2013

The Seven program write-up

At the end of June I finished with my discernment program. I was trying to figure out whether or not I have a call to the diaconate and be ordained in that servant ministry. For the end of my program, I was supposed to write a letter... you will see how that went.



To Those Who Have Told Me That They Know What Kind of Spiritual Work I Should Be Involved In:
I should first preface this by saying that the format and the content is unconventional. I should also preface it by saying that I usually think of Church in terms of family and food, so that may fill in some gaps.
Regarding my experiences over the past year with The Seven, I have found myself in many uncomfortable positions and conversations in an effort to discern what God is calling me to do. I have also heard from trusted friends and elders that what I already do is very obviously the work of a deacon.
This poem does not use actual names or specific events; it is parabolic in an effort to describe a ministry and a call instead of giving details to specifically chronicle events in my life.
So, there are many people at church and in the world. Each of us has something to do. Some cook the food, some put out invitations, some make decorations for the house. It usually seems that we designate a leader to cut the roast (because that is full of ceremony and ritual).
I am not the one to cut the roast.
I am not the one to cut the ham or the turkey, either.
I am the one who sets the table and counts to make sure we have room.
I am the one who finds chairs to put at each setting.
I am the one who stands at the door, to say hello to everyone as they come in.
There’s Uncle George, hello.
There’s Aunt Kimberly, hello.
Auntie Mary and Uncle Mark.
Cousin Sam, his wife and little one
Cousin Chelsea and soon-to-be husband
There’s Sarah and with little one in tow (she’s getting so big!).
But where is Uncle Stewart?
Where’s Grandmother Dotty?
Where are Cousin Michelle and Cousin Jimmy and Theo and Maria?
They’re still out there.
I am the one who girds his scarf round his neck
I am the one who zips up his jacket.
I am the one who pulls on his boots and his cap down low
I am the one who goes out into the dark and the snow to find them.
Grandmother Dotty was stuck in a snowbank
Her truck in up over its wheels
Cousin Michelle couldn’t find the house
Though she could have sworn she would know it if she saw it
But when I go looking for Theo, I find my other cousins under the bridge on 5th.
I find my uncles and aunties waiting in line at the food shelf.
I find my cousins at night school, looking to pass and get a diploma to work hourly for the man in the mall
I heard from one cousin tonight that his brother won’t come tonight; he’s a homie in a real gang now
I know another cousin who’s alone tonight because her boyfriend kicked her out after he discovered she was four months pregnant.
I am not the one who wears a tie and cardigan, making toasts at the head of the table, while a chorus of ‘here, here’s are shouted.
I am the one up to my knees in dirty snow, tracking down my cousin before she and her baby freeze in the cold.
I am not the one that others come to in the hall with the vaulted ceiling so that they can tell me of the latest group initiative.
I am the one, pulled aside at school so that they can whisper in my ear where to find our cousin tonight, before he gets capped
Perhaps I ought to be the one crying out in the wilderness, “Prepare ye the way of the Lord!”
But right now there’s a storm between me and the wilderness
And the Good Lord may just need to wait for my proclamation until I’m finished pushing out cars
I am not the one to cut the roast
I am the one to show my family where to find it.

Sincerely,
Tom



P.S. For my many, many plethorae of blog readers, would you please post comments on any of the entries or send me your reactions? I'm interested to get those so that I don't write completely in a vacuum.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Of Cattails and Mires


I stand here
Surrounded by hard wood
It is probably here to make us focus
For the idea presented here is lofty

I read off a sheet
Given to me as I entered
I give into the monotony
This monotony bred of ages
Worshiping in cold, stony cathedrals
I still lose focus

My mind is wandering in mine own celestial planes
I romp around and go whither I will
I come to a stream and decide to drink
But I stop while stooping
For there is a figure standing among the lilies
A figure garbed with white raiment
This person smiles, head shaking at me
And sends me on my way,
Back the way I’d come

My mind returns
To find my body seated in the car
I’m driving across the bridge downtown
Black water is lit by a tugboat light
I don’t know where I’m going
But I find him just the same

A man, a bum living in a cardboard box
Behind the fish stall on the pier
I get out, walk to him
Drawn by some otherworldly force

Hey old man
Hello, he says
I think we’re supposed to talk
Though I’m not sure why
Yes, he says, I suppose we are
Do you need anything from me old man
No but you do, his words trickle out, you need help
See boy, you are thirsty
And the river is the only drink
Wayward enough to quench that thirst
But how to drink a river old man
With this, a shell of a trinket he hands me
Now move, he points upstream
And I begin to drive

I drive along the darkened streets
Until they are dark no more
I drive until the morning hum blinds my eyes
The car pulls to the side of the road
Free of my control
I move out and find a marsh
My feet move to the edge and in
I flail at the cattails
And my ankles are cradled by mud
I come out at the river
In a burst of light and perplextion

Water past my knees
The figure is there again
Smiling my grandfather’s smile
Eyes twinkling like my first love
Hands calloused and caring like dad’s
He pulls me in and takes the shell
Fingers brushing my palm
Water pours from the shell
It covers my head and face
Running down my neck and throat
It covers me inside and out

As I choke and gasp
A thumb presses at my forehead
Makes a sign and withdraws
I smell something
That pulls memories out.
Old and long forgotten
It penetrates my being
I open my eyes and see the white robes
And through them a whole world
Filled with good and bad
People lost and people found
Past, Present, Future
They mingle and murder
Love and laugh

Through my crystal mire
I can see I must be with them
Love them and guide them
Hold them and console them
I’ll to them now
For the river is long and wide
And it beckons me on




"Of Cattails and Mires" is a piece that I'm particularly proud of. I distinctly remember writing it, too. Quite frankly, I was pissed off one night when I had to be at a church service with my Confirmation class and I started writing things that came into my head on the back of the bulletin. It was a small demonstration of resistance but I kept adding onto it when I got home. 

This one took me a while to finish. I remember that because I started writing it when I was in Confirmation in Minnesota and I didn't finish it until later that summer (2004) when my family was settled in South Dakota. I also remember showing it to my mother late at night when I was done with it. She was so moved by it and, while I felt proud of being able to have that effect, I really didn't know what I should have been feeling about being able to do that.

At any rate, reading it now, I realize how long it has been since I've started trying to articulate what I believe about Baptism and salvation and Christianity. I think my methods have changed some, but I think I'm still going along in a similar trajectory, don't you?

My report card


My best guess on this piece is that I wrote it sometime in early 2005. I can't remember what was happening when I wrote it, but I remember writing it. I'm not holding it up as a paragon of poetic work, but I am offering it as a gesture of vulnerability. Anyone can obviously see the emotion in it and I'm hoping that most people can sympathize, seeing something in their past that connects to what this piece is trying to articulate.



I work so hard
to be called “holy”
but put to sermons’ standards,
I don’t really add up

I feel bad
I feel insufficient
I wish I could see
God’s report card for me

do I get an ‘A’
in Piety?

and am I earning enough
extra credit in Stewardship?

I wonder if I am creative enough
in Bible Study views

oh, how I wish I could see God’s comments
in that box at the bottom of the page
so that I can truly see
what percentile I match

my trouble lies
in where to find this card
where do I look
in God’s wide creation?

do I look to the stars
or down at my hands?
do I look high and low
or wait for the mail?

perhaps the best I can do
is buy me a copy of the Good Book
open it up
and find where I fit

cause doesn’t it say
God loves me so?

doesn’t it say
that I just need believe?


after all this
God’s message, I think
is not directed toward my doubting
but more to my faithing

the Lord leads me blindly
but of course the Creator knows
which heading to follow
to keep from sticking to the muck

by that celestial sea
the Lord is my shepherd
and if God leads me by still waters
then I’d best go swimming

Helliphino


When I rediscovered this piece, I saw that the date stamp was 16 June 2007, which would put its composition just after I graduated. I'm not entirely sure if that's accurate, but it would make sense. I was kinda going through a phase, and I was nearly nocturnal; I had multiple part-time jobs that were all in the evening and most of my writing happened after I clocked out at work. Any rate, I chuckled when I read it again (at least in part because of what I entitled it) and I wonder whether you'll chuckle, too.



I sucked the milk
I leapt over the moon
Felt myself become weightless
Floated for a moment

But what goes up
Must come down
So I dove like a swan
Straight down

The way out is down
Burrow back into the womb
Strata of past ‘avant garde’
Only way out is down

What goes up
Must come down
So I tuck in
And dive down

Afraid? Yes
But to burrow
Takes momentum
And the descent is a rush


My Canvas

I think the story of how this one came to be is pretty awesome. It was in my 9th grade Civics class, which would put it spring of 2004. We had a free day or something like that, but what I remember is that it was bugging me that the white board was so blank. So I spent the classtime writing this, line by line, on the board. I think this is the original one, too. I don’t remember making any edits on it. It was before the time that I enjoyed editing.


My canvas is blank
Blank as the snow of the field
Blank as the expanse of the sea’s surface
Blank as the look on the students’ faces

Each is empty, as is mine,
void as any of these

But each is not blank
As you look, each starts to live

The mice, moles, flowers, deer of the field
The whales, fishes, plankton of the sea
The nerves, cells of students’ faces

So this thing starts to awake
It starts to breathe
It starts to move
It starts to live

This thing starts to have its own
Action, activity come to it
It starts to teem, it starts to walk

It starts to walk away from the arm
I helped it up and gave support with
Now it starts to run

It is teeming, it is breathing
It is moving, it is living

Now it is full
Full as the field in nature
Full as the sea in the summer
Full as the students’ face in wonder

It is running, it is moving
It is playing, it is dancing

It moves on its own now,
It needs me not

Where I began it,
It finishes itself

It finds more of its own kind and,
as I watch,
I smile and think of the time that we mingled
As two friends but as one in the same

It is mine, I am its
I am it, it is me
And then I smile

Because my canvas is full

Monday, March 11, 2013

Liturgy

[This is one that I wrote up in March of last year. I've been looking for a place to share it, so why not in the blogosphere?]


When we use the word liturgy we are using a word that come from the Greek laos, meaning people and the word ergon, meaning energy. It is used in a very similar context to the word latreia, which means worship. So when we partake in this thing called “liturgy,” what we are doing is acting out a ritual that is the spontaneous outpouring of worship toward God. It is a ritual, yes. We have done this before and we will do it again, yes. But every time we do it, God is with us and it is the first and eternal time that we do it.

Very early in the Christian tradition, we developed a pattern of worship that felt right. Some of us were practicing Jews, some were called sinners, some were Greek intellectuals, others just felt the works of Jesus Christ resonate deeply in ourselves. But together we developed a pattern of worship that felt right, that actually felt like it was indeed pleasing to God. And in partaking of this over and over and over, it became a ritual and we began to refer to it by different names. Then along comes a special circumstance; the anniversary of the death day of a martyr, perhaps, or a major feast or fast that helps us mark the passing of another year.

In order that we don’t forget the event, we would, of course, make it a part of our liturgy. But in doing that, what we do is mesh a familiar ritual with an unfamiliar set of circumstances that only come by occasionally. Five bucks says that we have hardly ever got it right on the first shot. But once we do get it right, what we do is we write it down so that we don’t forget what we did when this time comes around again next year. When we write them down, they become rubrics and rubrics become customaries and missals and prayer books of any number of flavors and revisions.

But the ritual that we celebrate has two parts, no matter whether it is a Lord’s Day feast on Sunday or whether it is another feast on another day of the week: the first half focuses on the Word of the Lord, the scriptures and what God is saying to the people (this is also the single focus of offices of prayer). The second part focuses on the Eucharist, Christ make known in the bread and the wine.

Now, I know that you’ve watched this thing many times, so let me show it to you a little differently:

People gather first. There is an appointed time and place that has been set aside for a very special thing. So the people come in and they nod and whisper their hellos to each other. Each finds a place and begins to prepare for this very special thing that is about to take place.

Suddenly there is an announcement of the arrival of something. Hymns begin to play and the people stand to see what is coming.

First comes a cloud of sweet incense to mark the way of the procession.
Next comes a sign held high and lights to show the way of the Lord.
The choir follows, singing hymns of praise and thanksgiving, joining their voices with the choirs of angels, forever and unceasingly singing praises of God.
Then there is the chief servant of the house, who has been entrusted to bear the book of the Word of the Lord.
Finally is the presider, the chief celebrant who speaks for the whole assembly.

This whole party makes their procession up to the table, where the book itself is placed as the centerpiece.

Everyone, the assembly, the servers, the choir and the clergy, all then settle down to listen.

First we hear the echo of the prophets from long ago, speaking to the chosen people. Or perhaps we hear a story that the chosen ones themselves told, to remind them why it was that God had shown favor on them.
Then there is a portion of one of the letters, written to a person or a congregation so that the writer could show their concern, to pastor to their flock.
These things are interspersed with canticles and psalms to show that the people are wrestling with that which God tells them. And with each, they affirm that thanks are due because the Lord has given this message.

But then there is the Gospel. It comes down from its place on the table and comes out into the midst of the people. The incense marks the way and the lights come so that they may illuminate and the choir announces that the good news in coming.

Then, as one crying out in the wilderness, the chief servant is the one who reads the story of the work of Jesus Christ. After it is read, the people affirm that yes, this is indeed the Gospel of the Lord and praises are due to the one who was it was about.

Everyone sits and listens as the presider begins to teach in the same way that Jesus did.

When we claim amen, we claim that it is so and the people stand and make their proclamation of faith in all that they have heard. We pray for those who serve God and we pray for those who do not yet serve God. We pray for those who have left us to be closer to God. We then confess that we have not done all that God wants us to do but we are comforted by the forgiveness that is freely given. We stand, newly cleansed and spread our peace among the congregation.

This is the end of the first part of our worship. The ancient tradition was that here the learners, those not yet baptized and marked as Christ’s own forever, would leave and continue their study of the scriptures, while the communicants began to prepare themselves for the new gift.

As the assembly of people did earlier, there is another gathering that takes place. The people offer up the fruit of their labor: the farmer and the baker have brought a loaf of bread, those who work in the vineyard have brought some of their best wine. Some have brought money so that the church may continue its work and others remember the lightbulb they replace last week, the wall that they painted or the bathroom that they cleaned. All these are brought up to the table and gathered before the throne of grace.

The meal place is set but rather than the bread and wine, we find that Christ himself is there. He is making the ultimate sacrifice for us, offering himself to death as a ransom for us, sinners.

The presider tells us that Christ himself took these elements at a meal and told us that he would be there when we eat them. And as we do we are once again told that this is the body of Christ but also the bread of heaven. We are told that this is Christ’s blood, but also the cup of salvation. We are told again, as we have been told and as we will be told again, that we are Christ’s body: we are Christ’s hands and feet and lungs and knees and nose.

The presider says again what has just taken place and the assembly proclaims that Christ’s body is unified because of the one bread and cup.

The ones who announced the arrival of something then lead the way back out of the appointed place.
There is the incense that marks the way of the receding party. There is Christ’s sign held high and the lights that show the way of the Lord.
The choir leads the assembly so that they all may raise their voices in praise of the Lord.
The presider follows, having ministered to Christ’s body.
But the chief servant is the one who stays behind and proclaims loudly that the worship has ended so that the work may begin.
And our proclamation in response is “Praise be to God!”