It does not matter,
not now or in the end,
whether God means us well or ill,

For what wrath could God rain
that we have not already
poured on one another?

And what good could God wrest
from the clutches of the few
to bless the many?

Let the Savior spare Himself from the trouble
of coaxing and convincing — we are
already so long gone in the handbasket.

Let Wisdom save Her breath for that day
when the sun’s fires must be blown into a roar
to consume all that remains.

Why should we cling to hopes of a harvest
when the earth is yielding poison and
the springs overflow with toxins?

Is this your heart bleeding or is it mine,
and if we bleed out today or tomorrow —
why should God mind?

Take love for the bandaid that it is,
pretend that it makes things better,
and wait for God’s punishment.

on Zephaniah 1:12

in an Advent mood

there will be hope
and so this day
i will spin its fairy tale
without snark or cynicism
with only imagination
and trust
in what God can do

there will be peace
and so this day
i will welcome a stranger
i will let my heart break
to read the news
i will believe
that God is mending

there will be joy
and so this day
i will laugh out loud
and share the abundance
of wonder and fellowship
those places
where God smiles

there will be love
and so this day
i will wink in its direction
in appreciation
of mystery’s beauty
and all the secrets
God has in store


I want to say something
about change
in life, in seasons
that keeps us
chasing God as the
maples peak and the sun sets
a bit of poetry
on lights and tunnels,
tears and oceans
on the mystery of God revealed
while life heaps it on;
but really
to chase God is to
play a purposeless game
a theological competition that pursues
One who isn’t running
a still Eye
of the storm
of the seasons
of life;
no — no more chasing God
whenever there are
changes or
but instead
let there be stillness
and holding on:

Free from GraphicStock

when a day smiles in yellow
God is good;
when tomorrow we weep yet again
God will still be good;
when 40
comes to me next year
God will continue to be faithful;
let autumn
come and go
so long as God remains.


BeachI am thirsty, overdue
to drink in the illusion of time
that tastes deceptively like
joy in a clear tall glass
ice cold, not meant
to last
in life’s heat
but surprisingly, mercilessly
able to linger enough
to multiply thirst
to increase
and I would
drink forever
except the illusion
melts in bitter sensibility
as fragile as ice
spilled on the
burning blacktop
as a sandcastle at high tide
and I pack up my
not even worth
the time it takes to
tan nicely on the beach.