30,000 Feet (Lent 31)

From 30,000 feet in the air, you do not look like an image of God. You barely look like the landscape, and the landscape is just a background to the video game of drone warfare. 

From 30,000 feet in the air, your tears are only a poster image to convict my prayers. Tomorrow it will be another’s suffering that reminds me to ask God what can be done before I spend the day doing nothing.

From 30,000 feet in the air, your laughter cannot teach me God’s joy and your hands cannot reach out to me with God’s peace. I have stained glass rituals, long walks in the park, and book groups for that.

From 30,000 feet in the air, your song cannot be heard for its praise or its protest. I can only interpret a war cry across the distortions of power and bias and segregated experience, but I don’t have time to invest in my own translation.

From 30,000 feet in the air, you do not look like an image of God, and my faith is self-righteously safe from the questions you might ask of it.

on Matthew 17:12

Advent: Peace

For yokes to break
and whips to fray,

for armor to crumble
and guns to disintegrate,

for enemies to repent
and the powerful to atone,

for the rich to repay
and war plans to burn,

for bombs to retreat
and arrogance to perish,

for hatred to lament and
self-righteousness to be embarrassed,

O merciful God, we pray these things
for the sake of your name and your justice.

on Isaiah 9:4-5

 

Advent: Peace

What we have not imagined, O Christ,
you have called into being:
the radical repair of relationships,
the unusual alliance of predator & prey,
the unexpected repentance of the aggressor.

What we have not embodied, O Christ,
you have required of our being:
harmonizing instead of grandstanding,
generosity at the expense of selfishness,
faithfulness to neighbor rather than disloyalty.

What we have not committed to, O Christ,
now create in the world and in us:
humility & love, justice & reparation.
And if we will not contribute to these fruits,
then O Christ be the ax at our roots and grow something new.

cross-posted at RevGalBlogPals

Unguarded

I have been unguarded —
O God, I confess it!
Day by tedious day, night by long night
I strain and struggle as though
your peace is illusory, as though it is
the stuff of dreams and platitudes
and fairytales at bedtime.
But goblins and trolls are cordial
compared to the fear and violence of humanity
warring against itself, and I have not
guarded my own wounds
let alone
reached out to share
blankets of solace, shelters of peace
with sisters and brothers weary
from this storm, drenched
by generations of
vindictiveness and degradation
against personhood, against the beauty of life.
If there is peace to be known,
O my God, I have not understood it.
If there is peace to be found, I confess O God
that I have preferred to sit myself down
and keep company with
lament
who is a more faithful companion
than peace, that elusive heartbreaker.
But lament has no desire
to guard the heart
or to grant a harbor to love
so I find myself fractured and hallucinating
that peace is foolhardy, that the storm is strength
and I guard myself
with the storm
which is
I think
not exactly
what you recommend.
You are welcome, O God, to surpass my understanding.

on Philippians 4:7

cemetery-angel