In the Lion's Den

Standing in the Fire

2010-08-15T13:30:00.001-07:00

How does working for peace cause conflict?

-or-

How does Jesus who was born to bring ‘Peace on Earth’ cause the divisiveness in today’s gospel?

I’ll give you a clue it does not come from God. The divisiveness comes from us.

In Jesus’ day he went and cared for the sick, healed the lame, gave sight to the blind, even raised the dead. All without asking for or requiring payment - it was charity work.

Let’s look at this in our times today.

Health care. We recently had in this country a bill passed that meant more Americans would have health care.

But this comes at a cost.

Democrats would have you believe that this bill is necessary for those who can’t afford health care.

Republicans would have you believe that this is the end of working for your fair share.

Liberals would have you believe that this is necessary for the common good of all.

Conservatives would have you believe that it is just going to wind up costing us all more in the end by posing the question: when is the last time government did anything efficiently?

Now you all may land at various parts of that political spectrum and share one or more of those views. But the simple premise of health care being a basic human need and that we should not deny people help when they are sick is one that not a single American does not believe – and yet the division exists along who can pay for it, how to pay for it, and who should be responsible.

Jesus was the voice of peace in his day, just as he is that voice today. But while capitalism, socialism, communism, facism or any of the other isms that define our world views today did not exist in Jesus’ time. He came with a simple message help others, love one another, do unto others what you would have had done to you. Jesus railed against the corruption in our natures, the greed of the money changers, the hypocrisy of the religious elite, so much so that those very power structures led to his arrest and crucifixion.

Jesus message was as divisive not because it incited riots, caused wars, or incited people to strap bombs to themselves, it is because his very message strikes at us individually we feel threatened when we see his path, we feel as though we “want all the goodies of everlasting salvation for themselves, but when it comes to the goodies of the day for the needy and exploited, that's political talk they would like the preacher to avoid.”

Or to put it in these terms: “When I give bread to the poor, they call me a saint. But when I ask why the poor have no bread, they call me a communist." (Helder Camara)

We get wrapped up into labels, into the how, into the why, into the what’s in it for me, didn’t I work hard?

Don’t we start to feel like the prodigal son’s brother? The one who didn’t mess up his life – and why should I look out for someone else who did?

The divisiveness in the gospel today comes from our own faults of greed, of self-centeredness.

So what about the fire?

The fire Jesus’ is talking about is the passion for the word. The passion to proclaim the good news, the passion to follow in Christ’s ministry. Not in part, not just on Sunday, but every day, every moment. To step outside of our own self interest.

Has everyone heard of the JetBlue flight attendant this week?

I don’t know what exactly possessed him, but he connected to a passion that enabled him to walk away from something he felt was not working. This is the passion that Jesus is talking about in the gospel today.

We need to step away from what is not working in our lives and follow the life of Jesus. To stand within the flame of his word, the become passionate for the works of God.

Yesterday, I saw a homeless man standing on the side of an exit ramp, holding a sign that said “Tough times, any help appreciated.” I looked at him and then quickly looked away afraid that he might see me. The narrative in my head went this way, “He looks poor, but he could be faking it, maybe he is making a living at freeloading - If I give him money how will I know he will do good with it?” I stopped that narrative and decided then and there that that question did not matter, and started reaching for my wallet. Unfortunately, the light turned green and I had to drive on – I didn’t wind up helping them an at all.

Had I been standing inside the fire of Jesus, I would have been able to help that man- that narrative would not have been were I started.

So I made a commitment at that point. That the contents of my wallet, no matter how much or how little would be given to the next person who asked for help. What can you do today, to take a step inside the fire of Jesus?

Money is Power (a.k.a. Helping people is for chumps)

2010-08-01T12:46:00.001-07:00

The Text: Luke 12

13 Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” 14 But he said to him, “Man, who made me a judge or arbitrator over you?” 15 And he said to them, “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.” 16 And he told them a parable, saying, “The land of a rich man produced plentifully, 17 and he thought to himself, ‘What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?’ 18 And he said, ‘I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. 19 And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ 20 But God said to him, ‘Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ 21 So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.”

The word

In reflecting on today’s Gospel I couldn’t help but think of a story I heard this week being told during a segment of Midmorning on MPR about summer jobs. One of the guests, named Annabelle Gurwitch referred to one of her best summer jobs as being the door person for a swanky nightclub and how she had the power to admit and turn people away. How she decided if someone was worthy enough was to look at their shoes – if they looked good she let them in – if not she turned them away. Thank goodness there isn’t a similar door person with the same criteria at the entrance to heaven!

It turns out that shoes were a good predictor of how much money a person could spend at the nightclub. Here the value of money, or the good fortune to buy the right shoes, gave the bearer the power to enter the nightclub. There is that word, power. A lot of people look at money as the means to store value, but ultimately money is about power, money gives you the ability to do things, to get things, to store your things, to change minds, and in the time of Christ to buy servants, and in today’s world the ability to hire someone to do work for you.

A few months ago on a Sunday morning the spring in our garage door broke. It is one of those things you ignore because it is just there – it does the job of balancing your garage door so it is easy for you to lift it and where you lift it, it stays put, and once it breaks it is very hard to open. So what did I do – I went to the Internet and looked up garage door spring repair. There were many sites that told you all the ins and outs of doing this repair yourself, and there were many sites that cautioned you about the dangers of doing this yourself what with winding up that giant spring and if you did something wrong all of that energy could be released at once on your hand, arm, or noggin.

Having told my wife that, and her thinking that we should get an expert, and to avoid a told you so for the potential of having to be taken to the emergency room, I hired a garage door person to come out – the guy even came out that morning, brought the right size spring, spent about 20 minutes taking the old one off and winding up the new one, and as he was doing this I stood there an talked to him about the job, how to do this, and what procedure he uses to wind the spring. We also got into a discussion about his life and that he spends his weekends on call fixing garage doors – apparently they break all the time, and in fact he got a call when he was working on my garage to go fix another one. He seemed a nice guy, he did this work to make ends meet, and I couldn’t help feeling indulgent, standing there while this guy worked on the garage door spring. Maybe I was being wasteful, imposing this work on this man on a Sunday morning, even though he said this was a great job with almost guaranteed pay.

In that transaction I acquired the power of this man’s skill and expertise with the power of money. This is the power that Jesus was cautioning against in today’s gospel. The power of money is only good here, it buys you nothing in God’s kingdom. While the power of money is good to get food, clothes, get into a night club, or fix a garage door, it does nothing to store up treasure in heaven. But it is all too easy for us to equate this power with doing great good here on earth, and it is too easy for us to become anxious when we can’t acquire that power.

Who here has ever wanted a really nice car? Do you ever see a BMW, a Mercedes, or a Lexus and think, man I’d really like one of those? Why do we feel this way?

Do you really think that leather seats, wood trim, adds ten, twenty, fifty thousand to the purchase price of a vehicle? Sure there are still handmade cars in the world that take months if not years of labor and some would say love to build. One can see why with such care and craft you would pay more for car. But beamers and Mercedes are mass-produced, just like every other car. Why then would they be so much more expensive? Does a sixty thousand dollar car get you to the work better than a 20 thousand dollar car?

What then is it? Cars like these are showcases of power. It tells other people that the driver has power. It tells the world that he or she has torn down their barns and made bigger and better ones. And we all, in some way, have felt and will continue to feel this way.

Someone who epitomizes this gospel today is Bill Gates.

Bill Gates founded Microsoft, and unless you have been living au natural in the remotest parts of the Earth you have used one of his company's products. Recent estimates put his net worth at $53 billion dollars. If you look at his house in Medina, Washington it is truly an epic building: 66,000 square feet, valued even in today’s market at $147 million. He pays more in real estate taxes than 99% of Americans make in a year. He has truly lived a life of ‘building larger barns.’

It would be easy for us to look at his life and say he has it made. He has everything he needs. He is set. He has spent most of his life looking after his business and looking inward at the riches he could accumulate. $53 billion dollars is not an accident, like winning the lottery is.

In our Gospel today, Jesus is cautioning us against the pursuit of the things of this earth, in that when we do so, we are only looking out for ourselves. Let us look hard at the text, Jesus was asked a question about how do I get my fair share of inheritance, or in other words my fair share of the goods of the earth. Jesus completely dismisses this question does not even consider it worthy of an answer, and instead gives the statement that “one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.” Jesus is saying that life does not exist in the inward focusing of one’s own desires and pleasures, but in the outward focus and focusing on the riches of God’s kingdom.

Bill Gates set up a foundation funded with several billions of his money, to take on tough problems in the world, fighting poverty and diseases in developing countries and taking on things such as the failures of the education systems here in America. These are examples of the outward focus that Jesus is talking about in the Gospel.

Now I doubt that today’s Gospel inspires Bill Gates philanthropy (being an agnostic) but even he has recognized the truth of this gospel. One can’t buy happiness, one can’t buy eternal life, and one’s personal success only means so much. Getting worked up about our jobs, our possessions, or our bank accounts only leaves us with anxiety. But focusing on helping one another, alleviating the suffering of your sister or brother, and helping someone else to achieve their full potential are all what life should be all about.

I want to leave you this week with a verse just a few passages beyond our gospel today: “And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?”

Shaking Sensibilities

2010-07-18T10:03:00.000-07:00

The Text: Luke 10

38 Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. 39 And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to his teaching. 40 But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.” 41 But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, 42 but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.”

The Word

Today I hope to offend your sensibilities, shake the dust of this world off of your eyes. Take you outside your normal thoughts, your normal ways of thinking and give you the opportunity to see this Gospel and your life from a different perspective – after all that is what Jesus was doing in Martha’s house.

Notice first I said Martha’s house. In Luke he is attributing Martha as the owner of the household, there is no man involved, she is host. It was not impossible for a woman to own a house in the first century, just unusual. Contrast this with the text just before these verses where Jesus was in the home of a biblical scholar, who in those days could only be a man. In that text, Luke makes no mention of the care that the lawyer took for Jesus only that he was testing Him. And Jesus responds to this testing with the parable of the Good Samaritan.

You all remember what that parable was about – it was about how it was important to love one another, and not love in the sense of feeling, but love in the sense of doing, emphasizing love as an action not a thought.

Now, here is where Jesus is shaking things up.

First, He was alone with two women. A single man, alone with two women would have caused quite a scandal. Lest you think this type of thinking doesn’t happen today let’s take a brief tour of some Middle Eastern countries today:

In Kuwait, women were only granted the right to vote in 2005.

In Iraq, women who don’t fit the traditional roles are often ostracized and several have been killed.

In Afghanistan, a male school headmaster was beheaded by terrorists because he was committing the sin of teaching girls.

In Saudi Arabia, women are not permitted to drive, let alone vote. Several years ago, 15 young women died in a school fire because they were not permitted to leave the burning building because they were not properly dressed. Jesus – alone with two women, in Martha’s household would cause a scandal or maybe even a stoning or two in parts of the world today.

So the societies of 2000 years ago are still, in part, with us today.

And now the shaking gets stronger. Mary was at the feet of Jesus. Listening, being taught. 2000 years ago, being at the feet of a teacher, listening, was to be that teacher’s disciple. And Jesus is encouraging it! Even over the work that Martha was doing.

Let’s pause for a moment and look at the work Martha was doing. The Greek word for Martha’s tasks was diakonein. This eventually became a technical word in Christian churches – deacon. In our church, deacon’s perform several duties to prepare the church for the ‘guests.’ On Sunday mornings, we also have people who are assigned to be greeters, we have people who hand out bulletins and assist people to find a seat. Martha most likely greeted Jesus at the door and brought mats for him to sit on. In church today, we have people who play music, people who prepare the communion, people who light the candles. Martha may have hired a musician, or perhaps she sang for our Lord herself; she was certainly busy preparing the food and perhaps she was fretting about enough oil in the lamps for when it got dark. Today in our church, there are people who wash the communion cups and chalices, people who vacuum and sweep, and dust, people who make sure the pews are in order, people who turn on and setup the sound system, and probably many more things that I just can’t think of right now. All this is performing diakonein, all of this is what Martha was about.

But there is a catch, in this church and many others, some of these tasks are only to be performed by a specific gender. Can you think of a few in your own church? What would Jesus have said to this? What was Jesus saying by permitting a women to learn? Step outside your frame of reference, get a little uncomfortable, look at what we have adopted as the norm. Jesus’ disciples were all men –right? That is not what Luke’s Gospel tells us today. Mary was being treated as a disciple. Right here in this text, Mary was a disciple.

Let's just shake our mental model just a little bit harder.

Jesus just got done telling us that love was a verb not a state of being, and here He is saying that the action is not the good part. A contradiction? You bet. Jesus doesn't want us to be comfortable with just loving one another. He wants us to seek out a relationship with God.

If we left this text as just a statement about our gender norms, we would be missing a deeper message. By introducing these contradictions, He is challenging our societal views, Jesus is trying to get us to step outside of ourselves and look at how we treat others, how we treat ourselves. He challenges us to look to what we do, are we filled with anxiety to do right? To play the good host? Do we miss the good part, our relationship with God? Are we caught up in worrying about what is proper for a woman or a man to do, or are we all equally at the feet of our Lord, seeking the word, seeking to know Him more?

Think about it.

Amen.

The truth

2010-05-05T22:22:00.000-07:00

The truth is hard to tell

Not because it is hard to speak

But because it is hard to hear.

Grief

2008-08-07T22:27:00.000-07:00

It is always just below the surface
In calm it is invisible
But it is always there.
When the wind stirs the surface
It becomes visible
But that same wind
Wears it away
Turning it to sand
That is carried to the deeps
Joining in the chorus of
Many who have past
Before.

A random thought

2008-01-22T00:35:00.000-08:00

The currents of the street flow around her. Most don't even see her. Some look at her chest or her legs. Few look at her face. No one meets her eyes. She walks at a steady pace, her stride like a pendulum. The people passing seem to take little pieces of her away, like a stream of hot water sloughing off the soap and dirt, as if she would disappear eventually, lost to the streets.

Note to myself

2007-09-19T11:43:00.000-07:00

Completed my schoolwork and will graduate in December.

This will now free up on average 16 hours per week from my previous schedule.

So what to do with all of this new time?

Spend 8 hours more with my children and wife.

Spend 4 hours per week on church leadership activities.

Spend 4 hours per week doing the four below (Need to pick 1, complete it, and move on to the next):
1. Study calculus - take a CLEP test on it
2. Take cello lessons
3. Take acting/voice lessons from the Guthrie
4. Write a book

The crumbling

2007-07-31T22:40:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it strikes quick
A report heard across town
Sometimes it is slow
Leeching lead paint to the wetland
Sometimes it is bright
A burning ember all too soon

This bag of cells will fade
An exit
An entrance
The dance continues
The crumbling persists
No rising star can stay
Nothing but dust today

Our memories taken
And laid low
Our places gone
And cast to the past
Progress crumbles the existential man.

An ode to the Metropolitan Stadium

Part 4

2007-04-11T21:14:00.001-07:00

Frankie rose. The recovery site was nestled between three hills of grayish dirt that held simple scrub. The direction the old man was heading was in the direction of what appeared to be a savannah with tall grass.

“What is the rush?” Frankie said as he caught up to the old man.

“Jakers.” The old man stopped and cocked his head. “Hear that it is them. Let’s move.”

Frankie did hear a distant motor and what sounded like banging of metal. The old man doubled his pace out into the grass which was over his head, not quite running but definitely not walking.

“Jakers?”

“Less talk more speed.”

The motor was getting closer behind Frankie and then it just stopped. Looking back he saw an old style ground car disgorging three big men carrying clubs and what looked to be crude axes. They all seemed interested in the stone table on which he had awaken. With that Frankie ducked his head down lower than the grass and hurried after the old man.

After a few minutes of silent movement, Frankie asked “What were they looking for?”

“You, among other things. Either to conscript you or kill you. Whatever they felt like. Jakers are an exclusive bunch.”

“Jakers?” Frankie asked again.

“Yeah. Jakers named for Jacob Creswell, an outcast 20 years ago, who formed his own fan club, a religion I dare say, that tolerates very little about the other noders out here.”

“Noders?”

“Didn’t they tell you anything? Geese, yeah, noders are you and so am I. Yeah that chip you got buried in your skull acts as a network relay – a node that can track you wherever there are enough outcasts in range of a relay. Nothing like having you movements logged.”

Frankie slowed for a minute. “You mentioned there were other things that the Jakers were looking for?”

Impressions

2007-04-11T20:42:00.000-07:00

Some are deeper than others.
Some you just can't shake off.
Some leave your hand cold.

Like the coolness of hair
out of the shower.
Or heading to the grave.

Some you get over
and some get over you.

You pull a thread on your coat
You leave a picture behind
You close a rose in a box.

Sometimes it rains.

Have an image up at qarrtsiluni

2007-04-09T18:28:00.000-07:00

Submitted an image for a creative process at qarrtsiluni.

It was accepted and a wonderful poem was created out of it.

This is a really cool process and I am looking forward to more creative outlets like that.

Part 3

2007-02-19T23:19:00.000-08:00

Consciousness returned in fits and starts. Pieces of the atmosphere were what caught Frankie’s eye first. His second sensation was cold and hard. He sat up realizing as he did so that he was lying on a cold stone slab sitting in a middle of a broken wasteland. His fine clothes were gone, replaced with a utility coverall.

“Ahh, it was about time you woke up. Am not sure how long I was going to have to wait.”

Frankie’s mind snapped around and his head did too to a grizzled old face. His eyes met the old man’s as he croaked, “Where am I?”

“Always the first question. But usually not the right first question, no, this would be better phrased as ‘Am I safe?’ No one ever gets that right.”

“Am I?” Frankie looked around.

“Err, yes, for now. But we better get you out of here. Once twilight hits we don’t want to be hanging around the recovery site.”

Frankie looked around. The slab he was on was in the middle of a canyon, barren of vegetation and fading into twilight as the sun set below its rim.

“The recovery site?”

“Yes. The place where all outcasts recover from their implants.”

“Implants?”

The old man had been getting to his feet. He paused in mid stretch and looked Frankie up and down.

“Yeah, the ones they told you about at your sentencing. Pay attention newbie or you won’t live long out here.”

“But I wasn’t sentenced.”

The old man who had turned around now turned back.

“Hmmm. Interesting. Innocent too I suppose? No matter you have been tagged with the latest surveillance chip. All your actions will be recorded and transmitted the second you set foot into any city. And if you are foolish enough to set foot in any city they will come and promptly arrest you and put you right back here – usually after they have their fun with you. Come on, get up I don’t have all night.”

Part 2

2007-02-02T20:03:00.000-08:00

Staccato patterns of light flashed by, revealing glimpses of air traffic and sky through ports in the transport tube. Frankie was numb. He had never heard of this before. Well at least not happening to upstanding citizens. Castouts happened in legal ceremonies all the time, and usually people who were not able to pay their debts. Poor souls who leveraged themselves so severely that the only recourse was to remove them from society and divide up their assets amongst their creditors.

It went dark now. The tube that carried the pod downward started to slope steeper, and Frankie was in freefall. He started to think about his family. His wife Annette had been wanting a Seperation Year to rediscover herself.

“I guess she was going to get that”, Frankie said out loud.

His kids were another matter. She had wanted to leave them behind in the Seperation, didn’t want to disrupt their social lives.

The shock of losing everything setting in, Frankie wept.

It was completely dark now, and the tube had slowed in decent. A slight hissing filled the pod with an odor similar to green olives. Schoewanetin. Frankie was a hobby biologist and he knew the smell well as he used it to put specimens to sleep, a fast acting nerve agent. He fought its effects but to no avail. Frankie felt no more for sometime.

Ok this isn't completely cheating

2007-01-30T22:21:00.000-08:00

But here is a post I put out on What If? It was the start of a short story. I will be picking up that story here and running with it. So without further ado here is the first installment:

Part 1.

The first time Frankie heard Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head by BJ Thomas, he was down at Riverside Park and he had just fallen off the swing. His dad picked him up and was singing that song to him. Mumbling through the verses and picking up the chorus strong and clear. Maybe that is why Frankie only ever knew the chorus.

He smiled. The muzak in the elevator was playing that tune. Frankie was riding to the top floor to meet with Mr. Schneider the President and CEO of Wanaco Products, Inc. His smile did not last long as this ride was not for pleasure, or even good business. This was most likely his last day at the company. His division was lagging behind in an already depressed business cycle. In every day terms the company was falling. Hard. Other divisions had been closed. Other directors had been sacked. He did not expect anything to go any different for him.

The doors parted and Jennifer looked up from behind her desk.

"You can go right in. You are expected." Her demeanor was neutral. Her look was one watching a dead man walking.

Frankie opened the door to Mr. Schneider's office. It was a typical executive office. Plush carpet. Wood paneled interior walls. Mahogany desk. Big leather chair facing the window. Two smaller chairs facing the desk. The chairs had small backs to make you sit up straight and not want to stay long. What was not normal was the view. The unobstructed view. The CEO of Wanaco had built into his office a retractable glass dome opening his office to the city below him. The wind wafted the corner of a paper on the desk, rustling like dry leaves at the end of fall.

"Quite a view isn't it?" Mr. Schneider turned in his chair to face Frankie.

Frankie came face to face with the man who held his fate on his desk. He was sure one of those papers was his termination notice.

"Yes, it is," Frankie attempted cool, but he felt like he was stammering. Frankie had no idea what to say so he said whatever came to mind, "Especially like how you can see the whole hover train line as it leaves the city from here."

"The sun usually sets in that direction as well. Makes for a glorious sight," Schneider seemed to size Frankie up as he continued,"at least when the climate engineers aren't mucking about with the rotation of the planet. They do that from time to time and it just ruins my day. Like now, look they are shunting the rain makers into the city. It was not supposed to rain today."

Frankie did see that the sky was turning gray, a sure sign that mist was being pumped in the upper atmosphere. He would have to go home in the rain, more insult to injury.

"Frankie. In Roman times when a unit had failed in the most egregious manner, the commander would line his men up and select every tenth man and kill him. This is where we get the word decimate. Deci meaning ten. Our company is falling apart and we have units that are failing in a most egregious manner. Like yours for instance." Mr. Schneider paused at this point to let his words sink in.

He continued. "You have been selected for decimation."

Mr. Schneider stood up. He was a tall man. Six-one or six-two. Frankie had only ever seen him sitting at meetings. He had always arrived to meetings early and had left after he had long vacated the meeting. As he came out from behind the desk he noticed that Mr. Schneider's legs had been replaced by upgraded cybernetics. In fact, Frankie had never seen these models before.

"They are the latest. I had lost my own legs in the war." Mr. Schneider had noticed Frankie staring.

"Sit down." Mr. Schneider motioned Frankie to the chair on his left.

Frankie not sure what to make of this sat down. He had just been fired. But he sat down anyway.

Mr Schneider perched on the edge of his desk. His cybernetics feet digging into the carpet like talons wrapped around a branch.

He leaned in Frankie's direction, "At Wanaco we don't just fire our directors. We send them away." At that he pushed a button on his desk which morphed the arms of the chair Frankie was sitting into straps enclosing his wrists. Even though panic was rising in Frankie he was impressed. These chairs probably cost more than his whole house.

"Don't worry the straps are for your own protection. Don't want you losing a limb or anything."

The misting machines had done their jobs and now it was starting to rain. Frankie felt a drop hit his lips. It made him realize how dry his mouth had become.

Mr. Schneider pushed another button and a transparisteel pod enclosed the Frankie and the chair.

"You have been relocated, your assets sold and given to your wife and children. You won't work in this city again. Goodbye, Frankie."

Another button. Frankie plummeted into the depths of the city.

Dates

2006-09-06T21:43:00.000-07:00

For some time now and with some morbid curiosity I have been examining dates. As I surf the web, I look for the date that my father died. Or see a date when he was still alive. Dates float around the day he died. It makes me wonder if he knew the thing that happened the day before he died. Or two days before he died. Or wonder what he would have said about the things that happened after he died. It has been a month since he died.

It is like a cloak
but wraps in a binding
straight jacket.
Not white or black, but a grey
a pall of smoke that
tears the eyes.
It frays in
small moments
remembrances of
what once.
As you pass on the
street the stones
remind you of
what loss.

Unraveled

2006-08-29T21:30:00.000-07:00

I have never thought of it before. And I an ashamed to have to admit that. But I wonder how many people out there walk around with a hole in their heart. No, not the physical heart, the metaphysical one. And the hole is caused by death and only filled by time, if ever.

I wonder how many have the veneer of being "OK" when asked how they are doing, but are really not forthcoming with how they really feel.

I wonder how many have anger or tears or overwhelming sadness bottled up behind the face they show the world.

I wonder how many people go from day to day, living in the small moments, a memory of something that once was, that will never be again.

I wonder how many carry on, oars against the wind, with the burdens of living amongst the ghosts of the past.

A simple itch
crawls along the forearm
A dangling string
from a burgundy sweater
I pull the thread
and cinch it tight
Ready for the quick
and painless snap
A single tear today
falls with the thread
Coloring the white chalk
pavement with a drop of blood.

Something of note

2006-08-03T18:31:00.000-07:00

Had something accepted at an experimental literary site:

qarrtsiluni

The piece is called Rustle.
Check it and the other posts out. They are short shorts.

Being a Dad

2006-06-10T16:30:00.000-07:00

In preparation for Father's day this year I thought I would expound on what it means for me to be a dad.

First off.

My wife had asked me to write a caption about what I was feeling or thinking as I leaned over a sleeping newly born Samuel.

Here goes:

Well at first, just pure raw emotion. When Samuel was born it washed over me undefined and raw, an emotion that brought tears to the eye and warmth to the heart and some fear to the gut. It took a while to pin down where the fear came from. But time since he was born has pinned that fear down to the unconditional love for another human being. With that love comes fear of any harm befalling that which has so wrapped itself around your heart. Time will, I trust, also teach me that that type of love comes at the price of giving up that fear, letting him make his own mistakes, learn his own lessons, live his own life. The component that brought tears was not fear, but joy. It is an unmistakable feeling and it was complete. Life is a remarkable thing and when you are in the presence of new life it is in a word, holy. At least as holy as you can get here on Earth. No amount of prayer compares to the miracle of a new human being.

Second off:

That was Samuel. Benjamin was our second and his arrival was very familar but yet so different. When he was born all the same raw intertwined emotion was there - but there was a new note, you see he may be our last child. We have not decided fully yet, but the odds are that he is. There was some sadness. Sadness that this event may be my last. Time again will tell if that emotion rings true.

Third off:

Benjamin will be 1 year old tomorrow. Samuel is sneaking up on three in August. My examination of fatherhood at this point is that it is less scary than I had thought: I have adapted, I can love these two new human beings, I can raise them to be good people. And yet there is still a fear, still the desire to protect them from that which would harm them in this world, even if it cost me my life. I look at our world today and pray and hope that my sons will not come to harm in it. But instead will live bountiful and fruitful lives. This is my prayer.

Tufts

2006-04-18T21:31:00.000-07:00

It is sprung
Tufts appear
Heralding a new day
Bringing light
And a cacophony
Of new voices.

Wind stirs the newly green
First to face the storm
Proving the mettle
To end the season

The genius of and

2006-04-12T20:57:00.000-07:00

Or on the surface seems to give you more options
It gives you a choice and choice is good
Especially when choosing between things like
Life or Death

Or you can opt out
Take one side
Align your beliefs with
The party

But and, well, and is pure genius
If you can get it to work.
And gives you it all
You don't have to choose
You can have your cake and eat it too
And is a better conjunction overall than or
If you added up all the things that and can get you
It beats or everyday.

Well at least until someone
Proves it wrong
Or not.

The same

2006-04-03T21:12:00.000-07:00

If there were no heaven
If there were no hell
If there was nothing
left to live
I'd live for you.

If there was only hate
If there was only war
If there were only
poor orphans
I'd take you in.

If there were horsemen
If there were signs
If there was just
one day left
I'd die for you.

do despise

2006-03-28T20:53:00.000-08:00

If I had a secret
would you tell me one
too?
A little secret
too small to notice
in the day to day
too large to miss
when I think about
you.
A secret lost
in the generations,
a stolen toy car
stuffed in a sock
drawer.
A small secret that
gets easier with
time, hidden in another
secret about who made
you.
A secret discovered
in the adjustment
of a dial, temperature
rising when it should
drop.
A secret in a lockbox
buried in a letter
addressed to another
written in spite
but delivered in
darkness.
A secret matters little
in a lifetime.

Words to slow

2006-03-28T20:47:00.000-08:00

Winter clings
Nails of snow
Dragging themselves
Across the street
Hiding in the shadows
Hoping to remain
Unseen

The Earth remains
Barren trusting
That life will
Awaken

Take nothing for granted

2006-03-06T21:17:00.000-08:00

It was a great thing
Left it all on the field
Sometimes to the roar
Sometimes to the whisper
To have lived a life
Honored by all
In the end it was
Just an end
But left us with so
Much more.

We'll miss you Kirby.

Electric blue

2006-02-18T09:42:00.000-08:00

Shiny, electric
Blue
Smoke trails in air
Suppressed by daylight
The crow floats
From tree to tree
Its tears freeze
Dropping golden diamonds
Red mating pair
Froze in their sleep
It is changing
Melting faster
But the cold remains
Light remains
Night comes
To turn to another day
Wheel turns
Crushing some
Carrying others into the future.

Pieces of meat

2006-02-17T23:28:00.000-08:00

Cold and warm
Sharp and soft
Lives do ebb
wasted by knives
Searching
More than the
Sum of our
Bloody parts
Tears form
On the tiny
Corner
Silent cries
Heard in the
Night of some
Distant house
Under the dream
What once was
What face will
Never be seen.

A candle

2006-02-11T21:13:00.000-08:00

A bright flare on the horizon
A glow extending to the zenith
From the end of it all

Dark clouds hide the source
Light jets like a burner
Pure gold fills the windshield

A cold front moves in
Enveloping the heart
Snuffing the light
Ending the day for one.

It is not nature's first gold
But her last that we remember
It is our calling,
Our ending.

ideas

2006-02-07T21:17:00.000-08:00

What ideas do flow
That make a man do show
His innate nature
To bloody his neighbor?

What makes one hate
Thoughts some do create
On paper it is said
Yet draw a sword instead?

Can we remember
Some January or September
That we are one in breath
Joined in our lives and death?

This one can only hope.

Razor

2006-02-01T22:23:00.000-08:00

There is a thin line
That cuts you when
you traverse
the now and was
Bleeding thoughts
of things that were
or might have been
Red memories of
youth that sting
with a longing
Stay is short
less life
ebbs away
Now staunches
the wound.

Trash day

2006-02-01T21:44:00.000-08:00

Worn out
dirty, dingy.
Uninvited and
despised
the darling of
yuletide
now the
urchin on the
street that you
just walk past,
hoping not to
slip and fall
amidst
the
poor
cold
snow.

The end of a generation

2006-01-21T22:17:00.000-08:00

There is something
About earth
Coursing through
Fingers
The ground is warm
And the smell of
Winter disappearing
These seeds are cast
A future predestined
A death foretold
Cancer revealed
It is odd to cry
Over a garden
Instead of a funeral.

I am from

2006-01-20T18:52:00.000-08:00

I found this writing exercise the other day and thought I would give it a try. It is a poem where each line starts with 'I am from.'

I am from falling out of a window
From a bright red blow-up chair
Covered with dirt that
Clings to the skin
Catching my father’s
Saint Christopher medal
In my hand.

I am from beams of sunlight
That cut across my red fire truck
Illuminating dust motes that
Hang in the air
Sitting on a worn rug
From someone else’s
Time and family

I am from a rock pile
Placed down to spread
Which made a
Ramp and a brake
For a bicycle spill;
Blood and tears washed
Those stones.

I am from a redwood
Platform built with
My father
That would be a start
Of water fights and hiding
A space of my own
To read every fall’s work.

I am from climbing
Pine trees with
Their lifeblood on your hands
And the green needles
Taking your blood
If you knew not where
To rest.

I am from laying beneath
A Christmas tree
Gazing at the lights
Kitchen sounds
Mingling with music
Warming my smile in a
Hazy blue reflection.

I am from dashing about
Playground beams
Laughing and tagging
Until a miscalculation
Took my knees
Away for the start
Of ninth grade.

I am from buttons and
Knobs and lenses
That guide light onto
Ferrous oxide
Recording
If only briefly
A memory.

I am from the hey-days
Of bits and pipes
That boomed in the
Nineties to fall
Subdued but not
Out, to rise again
Steadier, stronger.

I am from writing
A word and a thought
Transposed on paper
Or here in the ether
With desire to leave
A delible mark like
Snow on windshield.

Breathe

2006-01-18T21:06:00.000-08:00

Snowing
Icing
Braking
Gliding
Sliding
Curbing
Steering
Reacting
Crunching
Stopping
Looking
Panting
Opening
Walking
Smiling
Relaxing
Driving

Not to trouble you

2006-01-12T11:02:00.000-08:00

I haven't meant to slow down my postings. For December I tried to post everyday, or at least so there was one post for everyday, even if it didn't make it in to that day.

But I have noticed in the past week that I have slowed down.

I am at an ebb.

And I am not going to trouble you with my busy life, that is only getting busier. It is as if, no one wanted to do anything before the January, and just saved it all up, a wall of tasks that burst through barrier of the holidays.

But this does not mean that I am not thinking about writing. Or thinking of things to write about.

I am making an assurance, maybe even a promise, that this won't fall into a blog that is not regularly updated. So many do, and so many just sit out there for years with 2 or 3 posts on them.

Well enough of the writing woes, on to something different.

The Old Wolf

Step is slow
Breath short
Coat is fading to dust.

Den is empty
Growls gone
Playful yips are echoes.

Eye is watering
Heart labors
Neck swells with congestion.

End is near
Peace awaits
Suffer through a little more.

What to do

2006-01-10T21:57:00.000-08:00

I had a glimmer of what to write about. But that evaporated, leaving a crusty residue, like contact lense cleaner that dried on the bathroom counter.

So now I will just ramble in the hopes that something pops out.

OK - while I was thinking I remembered something I saw in the Star Tribune. So while I was thinking I went over there.

It links you to the "Belief-o-Matic" which has to be the best named online-quiz-self-revelation doohickey I have seen in a while. My results were interesting as apparently my beliefs align more with the Orthodox Quakers than the religion I grew up with. I have no idea what Orthodox Quakers believe and how this quiz has pegged me with that.

Actually the religion it most aligned me with was "Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants" which doesn't sound as nearly interesting to write about as Orthodox Quakers. Thankfully, Jehovah's Witness came in dead last. I hate to have to start going door to door as I really don't have the time.

And now for some lines of winter:

Grayness gallows the mind
Snow has recessed
Leaving a flotsom of sand and grit
The sun is a forgotten passenger
That courts the soul
From time to time
Remembering
Spring to come
While the future rests
In the glow of the branches
Warmed by a fleeting lover.

Merry Christmas

2005-12-24T16:37:00.000-08:00

As the years pass by
we pause each December
To reflect on the birth
of One,
And await
the New Year.

In the grand
Vision of our lives
We do not know
What we will
Find, but this is my
Wish to all:

May your sorrows be
far and few between
and may your days
be blessed with joy.

Merry Christmas.

A bright sun shiny day

2005-12-18T20:28:00.000-08:00

Overexposed morning
Light grating on the
optic nerve

Relief in the cold car
where breath
collects on
glass
in
spears that
grow and battle
each other for turf.

Garage door closes
Nerves are singing
through watery eyes.

Crunch of the tires
on worn
tired snow,
drive
by
traffic
rushing to
holiday bliss.

The cold seat
touches skin
electric intensity.

Look

2005-12-15T11:51:00.000-08:00

Look, Look
Up there.
A moon.

Hazy snow
Filled sky.
A child.

Wonder
And awe.
A smile.

Life's new
Open eyes.
A joy.

Ghosts

2005-12-14T14:05:00.000-08:00

Dust covers trees
Turning skeletons white
Like ghosts all past
No branch stirs
Nor bird flits
Between apparitions.

Soft whisper of
Ice falling on leather
Haunts my
Contemplation
And quiet
Reflection
Of winter
days.

The winter sun

2005-12-11T20:32:00.000-08:00

Unblinking
unyielding
hovering
in a
gauze
filled
sky.

Veins

2005-12-10T13:02:00.000-08:00

Cold arteries
break down
to dry capillaries

Now nothing pulses
in the limb
veins end in
a cloudy embrace

Skyward reaching
stillness tolls
the noontime hour

A dash of frozen dust
falls from the web
of vessels

Until spring.

Ice Soldiers

2005-12-08T20:17:00.000-08:00

Chilled warriors
Hang by their toes
Sunlight streams
Through bodies
Water drips
Down each side
Pools on the ground
Beyond their nose.

Chill air
Gives them pause
Solidifying
Each purpose
Wind rattles
Their perch
Some fall never to
Rise again.

something to say

2005-12-05T22:57:00.000-08:00

your turn signal blinked
lighting up the
deposed salt

clouds of exhaust
wafted into the
chill air
with something to say

Future Fear Factor Contestant

2005-12-04T21:17:00.000-08:00

I think I am raising a Fear Factor contestant. My son likes being scared. He loves jumping off of things. Just today he jumped off his chair and fell. Normally a two year old would cry at this. Not him, no sirree. When my wife asked him if he was OK, he said "Yeah." And then he said, "Again." Meaning he wanted to do it again. If you jump out from around a corner at him he screams with delight. And always says, "Again." Today in church he sat next to the pastor during the children's sermon. The pastor was talking about John the Baptist and how he prepared himself by living in the desert and eating bugs. He asked my son, "Do you like eating bugs?" To which my son promptly replied, "Yes," much to the amusement of the congregation. So if Fear Factor is still around by the time he is 18 he may very well be a good candidate. The little adrenaline junkie.

Thanks

2005-11-24T09:06:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving.

Give thanks for our family, our friends, our pets, good health, beer, wine, whatever your drink is, the domicile we live in, the sun, the clouds, the job we love or hate, big screen TVs (well I don't have one, but you can't have everything.)

I give thanks for my family, my wife and children.

I give thanks that I have the turkey successfully in the oven, and one of the side dishes already made. Baked the pumpkin pie last night (thanks JH for prepping the pumpkin and crust) and yes I make pumpkin pies from scratch, none of this can business if I can help it.

I am thankful for the Blue Moon beer, which is now my favorite beer, of which I am having one now, unfortunately it is the last Blue Moon I have. Oh well, T-day is not about getting drunk but enjoying the tastes.

I am thankful that my parents are still alive and can enjoy (spoil!) their grandchildren.

I am thankful for the stories I have taped of my father's experience during WWII.

I am thankful that I proof my writing as sometime I mean to type their and instead type there. I know the difference but sometimes my fingers do not.

All in all I am thankful for everyone in my life. Happy Thanksgiving, again.

A house in the world - 2

2005-11-15T21:20:00.000-08:00

Subtly printed on the front of it were the capital letters US. It was clearly a case for something, and it looked like it belonged to the United States at one time. The boy turned the case over and on the back two metal bars ran down the middle that appeared to clip the case on to a belt or some thin flat strap. Imprinted on the metal were the words “US Army.” This intrigued the boy. A US Army case. Maybe it would gain him the attention of the neighborhood boys.

The case had a hook that kept the lid shut. The boy jiggled the hook free and opened the lid. Inside were two flat metal objects. He pulled them out and hefted them in his hand- they had not much weight for being metal. They were hollow down the middle and appeared to have a spring inside. One of them had a brass cylinder held in place. The boy looked closer, the brass cylinder was a bullet. A bullet! Now the boy knew for sure that the neighborhood boys would want to talk to him.

Experimenting with some prose

2005-11-09T20:51:00.000-08:00

The dust has long settled from that tragic now long ago day. Not so long as to erase the memory, but long enough to forget it in the day to day. Time has a way of erasing wounds, but never truly healing them. I stand here this day in the bright morning sun. Leaves have begun to turn on the sparse trees that dot the manmade landscape. The air has a crispness, but also a sorrow, like the air you breathe over the grave of a departed friend. There is a paleness to my soul, as if I carry ghost from a part of me that has died and not yet passed into another realm.
I struggle with the past as it influences my future, and the future of my children. A future where there is hate. A future where we have embraced the base nature, where there may only be one alpha, one rule, one law. A future where a person can kill that which he refuses to know. I look up and witness a sea of people I do not understand. The bustle of the street brings the waves of humanity over me. I do not cringe, but ride that wave to see where it is bearing me. Is this the path to understanding?

A house in the world - 1

2005-11-06T21:12:00.000-08:00

It was a simple house. Unadorned by ornament or architecture, it was as if the builder had decided to hide this house among all the other houses on the block. The front walk led to simple wooden steps, unpainted and weathered. There was no screen door or storm door to protect the gray steel door that hung in the frame of the entryway. Behind that steel door a boy lived with his family.
The boys name is unimportant, at least unimportant to the other neighborhood children. His family had given him a name of course. But no one in the neighborhood knew his name. It was as though he were invisible.
The boy usually played in his backyard. Never venturing past the gate. He was content to play with his steel toy trucks in the sand box his father had built for him. He would deliver load after load of sand to the other side of the sandbox until he had made a ramp upon which to drive his toy trucks out of the sandbox. Then he would level it all out and start over again. Shifting sand back and forth, like the creeping of dunes in a desert.
The boy woke at his usual time that morning, said his prayers and went down to breakfast where his mom had already made him a bowl of cereal. He ate in silence, as this was their way in this family at meal times. He finished breakfast and put his mat down by the door and collected his shoes before going out into the backyard.
This morning the backyard held a something new for the boy. Something had changed overnight. Something had been added to the yard next to his sandbox. The boy approached it cautiously. It was olive in color and just a little bit smaller than his steel trucks. It had straps on both sides that would hold something a few inches around. It had a lid, and the lid was still made fast. The boy touched it and it felt course, like burlap only with a finer weave. The boy picked it up. It was lighter than he expected.

more to follow...

Just starting up

2005-10-26T23:48:00.000-07:00

I have never blogged before. But for some reason at this wee hour of the morning I have decided to start one. I have been thinking about writing a poem or prose, about how insecure we now are. About how we feel as though the next dread thing is just around the corner. Like when you were a kid and you were scared about that deep dark corner of the basement that was not finished. That well room, where in the past each house had to pump their water up, because there was no city water. Well that room was a great unknown - and it was a deep fear for me to be in the basement at night not knowing what might come out of that room. That is how I feel today about those people in this world who seek to wantonly murder mass numbers of people because they do not share the same beliefs. One day, once again, they are going to come out of that well room and scare the @#$% out of us. And likely kill a lot of us as well. Here is a draft of that poem:

How can we survive?
If children can destroy
With box cutters and bluster
We thought were toys.

Where do we go?
If children can breed
All manner of ill
Freeze us in our need.

What death we die?
If children can hate
With words and swords
Cause us to capitulate.

Do we grow up?
If adults do fail
And our souls pass away
Hitherto pale.