Monthly Archives: June 2011

Jump


“Jump,” he said.

His khakis neatly pressed,
the white man held the copper coin
just above the outstretched fingers
of the small black child
whose ragged jeans flapped in the breeze
as he vainly sought
to reach the treasure.
“Jump.”
“Jump,” they say.
Suffocating in affluence,
they hold up meager morsels –
paltry offerings, contingent upon their whims –
to sisters and brothers in need,
forcing them into games they do not understand
to obtain the pittance
which may allow them to survive.
“Jump.”
“Jump,” we say.
The rich, the powerful, the strong:
unwilling to challenge the status quo
seeking not justice
which recognizes relatedness
and brings enlivening co-equality
but offering only the charity
which demeans, denies, degrades.
“Jump”

8 September – 10 September, 2001

 Pinetown, South Africa and Louisville


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Questions

When simple kindness
and common decency
become worthy of praise,
it is good to ask:
How deeply
do wounds cut?
How sharply
are lines drawn?
How tightly
are doors closed?
How scarred
are human souls
How broken
are human hearts?
How violated
are human spirits?
How strong
are hatred and fear?

7 September – 10 September, 2001

 Pinetown/Durban, South Africa; Louisville


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Somewhere west of Albuquerque

Somewhere west of Albuquerque,
one star hangs defiantly
above the far horizon;
the sky turns
forty shades of blue.
A coyote mournfully howls
as I surrender to night’s embrace
and gentle dreams of you.

Summer 2001
West of Albuquerque

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When you can be found – Ascension Sunday

I preached today at St. James Presbyterian Church in Harlem.

It was my second time.

In March, I remembered with joy and humility that St. James Presbyterian is where the Rev. Dr. Lenton Gunn served faithfully and well for many years. I had the privilege of working with Lenton on the Presbyterian Hunger Program’s Advisory Committee. It was an honor to be in the pulpit where he had stood.

Today I returned.

Again I preached – and I led the service welcoming a member into the congregation by reaffirmation of faith. It was a moment of joy. I had forgotten how great a blessing that aspect of ministry is.

Very early in the service, came the prayer of adoration (I did not write the prayer although I truly wish I had). The prayer included the sentence: We gaze at the sky looking for you, when you can be found in the laughing play of children; we wonder where you have gone, while you are all around us in our sisters and brothers.

I prayed those words with the congregation and realized immediately that they summed up what much of what I wanted to say about the Ascension.

Almost at the same moment, I remembered a song by John McCutcheon – Picture of Jesus – that reminds us we see Jesus in everyone we meet (a theme echoed by many others through the years including Leo Tolstoy in the short story Where Love Is, God Is.)

I scrapped the first two pages I had written and rewrote on the fly. I started with the lines from the prayer. Then I retold a version of Picture of Jesus.

I noted that the Ascension tells us what not to do: we are not to look for Jesus in some indefinite future; not to look for him in heaven; not to focus our attention away from this world and the places we live (I mentioned the corner of W. 141st and St. Nicholas in Harlem and I also mentioned Argentina, France, and Italy – the places where some of those visiting St. James this morning live).

I also noted what the Ascension is. It is an invitation to see Jesus we encounter every day in all the places we find ourselves. It is a call to discipleship – to follow Jesus – to live as Jesus lived – to love as Jesus loves – to be his witnesses to the end of the world. It is a promise that we will receive the Holy Spirit who will gift us and accompany us in our living. It is the proclamation of God’s amazing grace and unshakeable love for each of us – for me. And that amazing grace and unshakeable love allow us to accept the gift of the Holy Spirit and live into the adventure of discipleship with all its challenges and perils as well as its wonders and blessings. Thanks be to God!

***
For the record, it seems like there is something going on with St. James Presbyterian Church, hills, and me. In March, the gospel lesson was the Transfiguration. Today the lesson from Acts was the Ascension. Both of those events take place on hills (mountains).

Also, when walking up Amsterdam from La Salle (where the Shire on the Hudson is located) to W. 141st (where St. James is located) there is something of a hill to climb. This seems a tad odd, since La Salle is located in Morningside Heights. But there you have it.

Of course as one of the members of St. James pointed out, the way back home goes downhill. And as another member told me, the walk on St. Nicholas is pretty level. And as a third member said, “If you came back more often, you would get used to the walk!”

See you along the Trail!

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That words do not come too late

Spent the day writing a sermon. Tomorrow I preach at St. James Presbyterian Church. I am looking forward to that.

The day also brought a cleaning surge here at the Shire on the Hudson. Things had been getting pretty grungy. Now they are just kind of grungy. One step at a time. The laundry did get done. That’s always a good thing.

A number of movies have been viewed over the past few days. Some oldies that I have seen before – Batman: The Dark Knight (Heath Ledger is amazing – and then there are Christian Bale and Morgan Freeman and Michael Caine and Gary Oldman and the list goes on); The Bourne Identity, and Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

The most interesting new one was Get Low with Robert Duvall. He turns in a strong performance and the cast supports him well.

The story, supposedly based on truth, is fascinating. Duvall’s character, Felix Bush lives as a hermit. And he decides he wants to hold his funeral – before he dies – while he is able to attend.

I found myself recalling one of my favorite scenes from Waking Ned Devine. Jackie O’Shea is speaking at the funeral for Ned Devine – and when the lottery man arrives, Jackie quickly changes the focus because the town has told him that Ned is still alive. Michael O’Sullivan is masquerading as Ned so they can cash in Ned’s winning lottery ticket.

Jackie pauses for a moment and then says, “Michael O’Sullivan was my great friend. But I don’t ever remember telling him that. The words that are spoken at a funeral are spoken too late for the man who is dead. What a wonderful thing it would be to visit your own funeral.”

In Get Low, Felix Bush decides he wants to do just that (as he did in real life, apparently). Of course there are some twists and turns to get there. But get there they do. And the truth is told – painful, heartbreaking, hard truth – truth from the past – truth that has shaped, distorted, truncated Felix’s life and the lives of many others. And it seems that forgiveness and some measure of reconciliation occurs.

Felix’s tale in Get Low took my thinking in two directions. 

Direction One.
I don’t want to attend my own memorial service. At least that’s what I think at the moment. I also don’t want that memorial service to happen any time soon. And I realize that memorial services are for the living not for the one who has died. But I do have an idea what I would like to see happen at that service – years and years from now.

That idea comes from Waking Ned Devine. The memorial service should be a time of celebration and giving thanks. And after the service, all of my family and all of my friends should gather for a party – a mighty party – a party with music and food and drink – a party with stories told and memories shared – a party filled with tears and laughter – a party that lasts through the night. Then, in the morning, the still quiet darkness of the morning, all who are able should fill their glass and make their way to the highest point that is nearby and their they should toast me as the sun rises.

Direction Two.
I need to be sure that my family and friends know what they mean to me. I need to make sure that my words do not come too late. May it be so.

See you along the Trail.

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Children of the colonized

No water runs,
no electricity flows
to the shacks
made of
cardboard, wood,
tarpaper, tin,
and whatever other material
lies at hand,
within which,
midst hunger and pain,
violence and want
on what was once
their ancestors’ land,
the children of the colonized
continue
and
suffer
and
die
and
love.

9 September 2001

Isla de Sal, Cape Verde Islands


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US 191

Garlanded with piñon and juniper
ancient dragons silently sleep
along the road from Monument Valley to Moab
ignoring all who pass,
remembering days long gone,
smiling,
resting,
waiting
for the awakening.
1995
Moab, Utah

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Stained


Stained with minerals

leeching through the ages,
red rock still stands.
Stained with tears
flowing through my years,
my soul goes on.

26 July 2001
Colorado National Monument
Fruita, CO

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