Saturday, June 03, 2017

The Wind

The Wind is a song I wrote a couple years ago, but it's Pentecost and also the US is pulling out of the Paris Climate Accords.  Recording on my soundcloud page. (The recording has the verses in a different order, but whatever; I actually think I like the order here better)

Dmin - - -
Gm Dm
Gm Dm Gm
Gm Am Dm

there's a certain kind of morning
when the sun comes blaring down
and the people in the city
hate the people in the town
you could walk around forever
and never touch the ground-
but I've been hearing something from the wind

cause the wind blows like crazy and we don't know where she goes
and she troubles all the billionaires and scatters us like crows
and the people who don't give a damn will sit out in the breeze
but the fuckers better watch out for the wind

there's a certain kind of anger
that settles in your bones
and it can wear you through
it can turn your bread to stone
but the people who won't hear it
have been holding court too long-
and those fuckers better watch out for the wind

cause the wind blows like crazy
and we don't know where she goes
ain't it something how she rattles
ain't it something what she knows
and the ones who want us silent
will be waking in a gale-
all those fuckers better watch out for the wind

there's a certain kind of hopefulness
that cannot stand to rest
and it rhymes a song for freedom
and it throbs within your chest
and if the ones who've built so proudly
have just built the gates of hell
then those fuckers better watch out for the wind

Cause the wind blows like crazy and we don't know where she goes
ain't it lovely what she scatters, ain't it stunning how she grows
and the ones who want us empty will be shattered by the storm
all the fuckers better watch out for the wind

Friday, November 04, 2016

Villanelle for these days, November 2016

When the story turns to tragic
tearing truth and rending bone,
the horde of hearts resorts to magic.

The morning news makes me sarcastic
my neighborhood is made of stone
and the story turns to tragic.

I cannot even stay socratic
I cannot raise my voice alone
the horde of hearts resorts to magic

All our dreams fall back to static
Shining flares are left alone
when the story turns to tragic

The beggar smiles enigmatic
The crows bow west and head for home-
the horde of hearts resorts to magic

The circuit breaker trips fantastic
the weary singer picks a tone
when the story turns to tragic
the horde of hearts resorts to magic.

Monday, January 25, 2016

Lover of our Hearts: An AWAB Valentine's Litany

Valentine's Day is on a Sunday this year.  So I wrote a little something to share with our AWAB (The Association of Welcoming & Affirming Baptists) churches. It's designed as a responsive reading, but feel free to use it however you like.  

God of every lover.  God of first kisses and last kisses, God of every caught eye, every shortened breath, every longing sigh. 

God, you know our love and you know our lovers. 

Teach us to love like you love. Profligate and unrepentant.

Teach us to love with discernment and grace, with justice and truth.

Teach us to love with unstoppable hearts and a love for our own limits.

Teach us to love better the people we love okay, and teach us to love a tiny bit the people we don’t love at all.

Entice us, entrance us.

Invite us, romance us.

Catch our eye across the crowded bar, swipe right on the tinder profiles of our broken, beautiful lives.  Leave us some secret-admiring notes by that song coming up again in our heads, by that cat crossing our path again, by that wild troublemaker making noise at us again. 

Cause our hearts get tired sometimes.

Our hearts get tired when our friends can’t love each other openly.

Our hearts get tired when people can’t live in the bodies to which you have called them.

Our hearts get tired when hearts break under the weight of illness or hate or greed.

Our hearts get tired sometimes just from living in the world.

Call our name again, Divine Lover, you who know just what turns our heads.

God of every lover, give us fresh and loving hearts again.

(*Feel free to adapt that part about Tinder if that’ll confuse folks in your ministry setting.)

Sunday, November 22, 2015

King of Who?

Christ the King Sunday

It's Christ the King Sunday, which I've had an aversion to ever since my earliest political awakenings.  Monarchy is an archaic idea for a lot of us, but hierarchy is not- power structures where the strong rule over the weak, the rich rule over the poor, and the folks in charge seem like they're going to keep being in charge for a long, long, time.  My understanding of who Jesus is seems to have little to do with these structures, unless it's in a relationship of profound tension and opposition to the "powers that be."

And.  It's still Christ the King Sunday, and we still have scriptural traditions confessing the Risen Jesus as Lord, and King and Ruler.  In recent years, I've taken some consolation in the question, "king of what?", reflecting on what confessing Christ's kingship means in our lives and the like.  But this year seems like more of a "king of who" kind of year.

I haven't had much to add to the recent conversations about refugees- I've been busy moving across the country, and I'm trying to get settled here. But moving from one community where I have a safe place to stay, enough to eat, and people who love me TO a community where I have a safe place to stay, enough to eat, and people who love me has been so disruptive, so challenging, such a stretch for my body and family and soul, that it makes me wonder about whether a refugee experience would utterly crush me.  And so I am grateful for the King of Refugees.

Because Christ is King of Refugees, not in the way that Henry the VIII was King of England, but in the way that Michael Jackson is the King of Pop.  King of refugees because he is the foremost among them, the refugee of refugees.  Born amidst the slaughter of innocents, fleeing to Egypt and taking safety there, among strangers, among foreigners, among neighbors who must have welcomed them, must have helped the holy family to find food and work and a warm place to stay.  The King of Refugees who spent his ministry wandering, often without a certain place to rest, or a sense of where his next meal was coming.  Genderqueer and occupied and outcast, the divine seeking some breath of sanctuary among us hateful and sometimes graceful mortals.

Christ is the King of Refugees, Christ is the King of Queers.  Christ is the King of the Homeless Wanderers, Christ is the King of the Broken.  He hates violence and has commanded us to put aside the sword, but his army is a scattered crazy-quilt of lovers and seekers and trouble-makers.  He has no treasury but our tattered hope and he has no castle but our broken hearts.

But he's not just King of Refugees, he's also Lover of us all.  Lover of the refugee-haters, lover of the racist politicians, lover of my all-too-often-hateful heart.  Lover of disaffected terrorists, lover of martyrs and thieves and rapists and all the rest of us sorry beautiful lot.  He is King to the exclusion of all other masters, and lover to the fulfillment of every other lover.

So, it's Christ the King Sunday.  And I'm still in.

Sunday, November 01, 2015

A Villanelle for Haymarket

(I left this in the kudos box before I left town.)

Bread and sweat and heart and stone
Flaking paint cannot conceal
Love that warms me to the bone.

All the tender hearts will groan:
what will this old house reveal?
Bread and sweat and heart and stone.

Sing out in crowd or all alone,
heat the oven, prepare the meal:
love that warms me to the bone.

Pots to wash and knives to hone;
there's nothing here that you could steal-
bread and sweat and heart and stone.

Sure as the flock of crows has flown
I carry it like coals that heal:
bread and sweat and heart and stone,
love that warms me to the bone.

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Farewell Tour

This isn't what I usually use this blog for, but something about event pages on facebook and invitation websites annoy me, so I'm posting here some events I want to invite y'all to:

Ok, I'm winding down my time in Chicago, which is to say winding down my time in this part of the country. If you want to celebrate my time here and my new call out west, there's some upcoming opportunities! Chicago, Oberlin, and Chautauqua County folks: read below!
Chicago folks:
Friday, October 2nd, I'm having a Farewell on Farwell! (See what I did there?) This is a Farewell Party for me, but also a fundraiser for The Association of Welcoming and Affirming Baptists. (You can come even if you don't like either me or AWAB.) 7 pm, message me to RSVP and for details! Campfire, delicious First Slice food, elaborate toasts, and a punching bag!
Also on Friday, October 2nd, in fulfillment of a fundraising promise I made last year, I'm going to be doing some STREET PREACHING! 4:30 pm, State and Van Buren. Bring your best heckling voice.
Oberlin folks:
I'm going to be in town the weekend of October 9-11. October 9th, I'm speaking at the Friday evening Peace Potluck at Peace Community Church. Potluck is 5:30, Program is 6:45-7:45. I'll be talking and then leading a conversation called "Sustainability in Activism: On Not Burning Out." Come share your wisdom!
I'm also preaching on October 11th at Peace Community Church, at their Sunday morning service. (I want to say 10am?) I'm preaching in celebration of the 10th Anniversary of PCC joining AWAB: The Association of Welcoming and Affirming Baptists! (See a theme here?)
Chautauqua County folks:
I'm going to be stopping by the evening of Sunday, October 11th, through the morning of Tuesday, October 13th. (Not much time, I know!) Message me if you'd like to see me and I'll see what we can arrange! I'm also having a little 'sending prayer' shindig at Hurlbut Church on Monday, October 12th at 7 pm- you can come even if you're not the praying type, if you just want to hang out and eat some cookies. The 'service' part will be pretty short!
Yay seeing folks I love!

Thursday, December 25, 2014

A Villanelle for Christmas

A Villanelle for Christmas

Angels call and wait, proclaiming
Crooked wings and holy fire
Can this word be still sustaining?

All our foolish wisdom claiming
A silver star on copper wire
Angels call and wait, proclaiming.

Broken hearts forget their training
broken bones and hands conspire
can this word be still sustaining?

Every neck is upward craning
hoping still to hear the crier-
angels call, and wait, proclaiming.

Will the tired coals turn flaming?
Will the child again inspire?
Can this Word be still sustaining?

Holy, wailing, child inspire
Grace unswaddled, still reclaiming.
Angels call and wait, proclaiming-
can this word be still sustaining?