Sunday 28 December 2014

Sunday 21 December 2014

Keep the Christ in Christmas



*THIS POEM CONTAINS ADULT LANGUAGE*  
(because that's what the scene would sound like)

Tom Leonard has this poem where the thief on the cross talks about missing the game. 
Rob Bell talks about hearing the breath of God even in the voices of people who don't believe. 
Christians say "keep the Christ in Christmas." I don't like it.
So I imagine you might hear these things at a homeless shelter.  Maybe a manger is a 1st Century homeless shelter.  Maybe the church is a homeless shelter.


Keep the Christ in Christmas

"Jesus, it's cold."
"Christ, you gonna bring me some cookies or you just gonna sit there preaching all night?"
"God, where do these hypocrites get off?"
"Son, I appreciate you trying but you have no idea what I've been through to get here."

"Jesus, what the fuck, Joe, you're wasted."
"Christ, did you see the look on their faces!"
"OH MY GOD, did you see the new dress Mary was wearing on the Ave?"
"Son-of-a-bitch took my cookies!"

"Jesus fuckin Christ, I ain't waiting around here with these fools I'm going to get me a loosey."
"Christ, you see those legs?  I like that.  Baby, you can take me to church anyday woo!"
"God told me I got I got I got a bright future, this is my fourth time, this time I'm really gonna quit."
"My SON, I just want to call MY SON  for five minutes!"

"Jesus, it's cold."
"Christ, you think they would've been able to find some fuckin space for  a chick who's pregnant."
"God, it hurts."
"Son-of-a-bitch!  Baby's comin."

Sunday 14 December 2014

Advent


There were no four hundred years of silence.
I don't think the birds were singing their songs any differently,
And 82-year-old prophetesses don't become prophetesses
Without receiving a word.
I'm afraid I'm out of Magnificats,
I'm not surprised when you speak.
I already prayed that you wouldn't--
You came anyway,
And I'm so glad you did.

Laying out evidences alongside
Some caramel chocolate pies.
Beauty, conviction, and Pascal's dice.
You're asking me if I really believe through a "what if"
What you're really asking is, what if I could
Do whatever I wanted.
And you're saying you don't see a thing.

Wise men seeing stars
Black holes and revelations
Two sides of the same spiral galaxy
Evolutions and big bangs non sequitor into
Absolute statements on existence or non-existence
YHWH breathing sounds/"there is no God"
Light and dark playing in your deep eyes
And a wince.

We are either conjurers and quacks
Or enlightened hacks
Or paranoid kings slaughtering babies
And possibilities.

You decided to speak through an infant's cry?
And Thomas got to poke a finger in your side
You've been showing up all my life.
A God that doesn't hide.

So what's with the night?
What's the word? 
How long must I wait? 

I don't need another miracle today
But I think my friends might. 

Sunday 7 December 2014

Written on my Heart



While others write in ink and stone
Or carve into a weathered trunk
You've been gnawing at my bones
And have written on my heart.

A word and worship song inside
A language I don't know.
A litany of unknowns.
An aimless ache for home.

I wish I had let myself love you
A little while.

It's going to take a lot of writing out
Reductionism begs for a ribbon-cutting
And oh, the easy road
I'm no chaser, but I want to be
A pursuer, I want to at least say
I tried.
Hope-deferred dry
I wish I could make any sense of
Of the things I feel in my mind.

While others write upon their arms
Or tattoo 'beloved' on their wrist
I wanted to save the excess ink
And let you know from the start.

While others speak in chocolate and flowers
I hope a T-shirt will do.
I wish I could say I was an author
But I'm terrified the poem
Might not exactly meet expectations.

We've both been running from the start
You've been tugging at my elbows
You have written on my heart.