Category Archives: faith

Renewal

The whole world comes alive
when the sun rises.

One by one, two by two
they emerge
from east, from west, 
from every way and every other way,
whole flocks together
as if a heavenly call
has gone out and 
they're heeding its message.

Is it the rays, the light, the glimmer
that bids them come? 
the oranges, reds, the magenta
that dazzles and displays?
or something else I can't see, 
can't hear, can't comprehend?
Is there a knowing I don't know?
A joke I'm not in on?

Ashore, I stand
mired...heavy...earthen.
the only unflighted one of morning.
Astonished at their 
soaring, gliding, joyful shouting, 
"Here I am!" 
"Coming!" 
"Wait for me!"
Guzzling the good, good news of morning.

What a glorious day has come
and is coming
when we, 
weighted and terribly terrestrial 
loosen our ties and 
shed the lashing pinning our wings.  
 
And, with the rest, come
alive in the new day.

Holy Crap!

“You don’t actually believe all that crap, do you?”

There is a good bit of historical record from the time of Jesus. 
Archaeological.
Temples. Cities. Edifices.

But unlike the way those today would
proclaim their King-dem,
the life Jesus led
would not be signaled in artifact or chiseled into stone. 

The life Jesus lived is etched
in all of time and for all time. 
It lasts as we last to tell it.
It's reborn in us each Christmas.
Rediscovered with each birth of new life -- in us --
And renewed with each loving act.

Holy crap! What was that?
I didn't know I had it in me.
 

What makes art, art?

What makes art, art?
What makes worship, worship?
What makes beauty, beautiful?

what wants to be expressed?
longs to come out,
to be displayed, 
to be offered,
as gift of delight, inspiration or awe.

what wants to take shape?
to be recognized, 
to be known,
to be understood,
as the beauty, the spark, that responds.

The. Oh! Ahh... Yesss!
of art, worship, beauty,
the trinity of emotion,
drawing out
the hidden, invisible, still.

unlike the cough, which the tickle propels,
unlike the sneeze, which the dust mite ignites,
unlike even the rage, which erupts from the hurting

No. This.
This calls 
from outside,
from elsewhere,
to neither erupt, propel or ignite

It calls out,
calls up,
evokes and elicits;
It compels, 
yes, without my permission,
yet absent inhibition.

I gasp. I startle. I laugh.
Where did you come from?
Flowing from me 
but surely not of me;
Yet, not a surprise to me.

this joy
this awe
this wonder

This worship
This oneness
This humanity

The hidden, invisible and still,
has been waiting
inside me

For
what art sees
what beauty says
what God does

to bring me to life.
 
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