Monday, November 10, 2014

Around town

Ten On Ten
Autumn in Williamsburg, Virginia today. . .



Still around the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate . . .
~J.R.R. Tolkien

Monday, November 3, 2014

Not mine


Church people.
That's the thing that bothers me. She says. How they act.
The sunlight splayed across her strawberry blond hair.  Illuminating her smile.
Quietly sharing her experience and processing perplexing thoughts.
But somewhere deep the anxiety from a new relationship disappointing.
With people she thought would act differently.  And not disappoint.
But they did.  Some church people.

And my soul grieves.  For the perception.  For the perspective.
So often true.  Of the ones we expect so much from.  Disappointing.
Not measuring up.  Forgetting the world is watching.  And simply.  Well.
Reinforcing a stereotype.  Again.

It happens to me.  Church and people disappointing.  Too often. 

And I am one.  I disappoint too.

Because God. 

Showed up on earth as man.  Knowing.

How much we disappoint Him.  Ourselves.  Others.

And He is the only hope.

Not the church people.  Not myself. 
Not my successes when they come.
Or my failures.  Much too often.

It is He. 
Who gave the law. 

And we cannot keep it.
Preposterous to think ourselves capable.  And that is the point.
Yes.  Good works occur.  Great things happen. 
But it is unsustainable in this one life we have and wish to live well.   

Jesus had harsh words for such things.  Against those of his day. 
Praying on the street corners.  Their good deeds for all to see. 
Proud of church status.  Parading it.  Like the emperor with no clothes.

So forgive us.  The church people. 

We are not what you seek.  We will fail you. 

Because only Jesus can be for us what we cannot be for ourselves.

And the thing that gets me out of bed each day. 


His unfathomable goodness.  Not mine. 

Friday, October 31, 2014

Maleficent seducing

I read today.
Men crawl through their lives cursing the darkness.

And we do.  So often.

Under our breath.
In a fit of rage.
With body language loud.

And sometimes.
We don't even recognize it.

This cursing. 
This crawling through life.
This darkness.

And sometimes we do.
Recognize it. 

And celebrate it even.
Writing books.  Making movies. 
Darkness romanticized.
Sinister titillating.

The mysteries so deep. 
Of spiritual worlds.

A bogus sense of beauty.
Evil disguised as good.
Alluring. Tempting.

Requiring less of us.
We think.
So enjoying the ride.
Believing the lie.

This celebration of maleficent.
Lives misaligned.
Appearing beautiful.  Enticing.
Seducing our weary souls.

But then.

A day arrives. 

Personal darkness.
Like never before experienced.
Disappointment deep.
Drowning.  A black vortex.

And we do.
Find ourselves crawling.
If we were to admit it.

The evil, the tragedies.
Our own lack.
Unfairness and ugly of life.
Getting our attention.

Because the enemy; darkness.
Dressed up so well.  Disguised.
Tempting.  Seducing.
And beautiful.  For a while.
And we.  Thinking it loves us.

It doesn't.

And we.  No longer celebrating.


But the story continues.
In what happened on that tree
when the nails hammered
and the Man hung.

And the sun disappeared.

A violent upheaval of the heavens.
A battle for good against evil.
Played out.  In real time.

Rescuing our own virtuoso attempts.
To decipher life.
To mitigate darkness.


When the Man hung.

The curse came undone.