Four Years

 

I want

to honor 

your life,

but I don't

know how

to say more

without

tears...

of joy?

Fool of prayer

 

I hear you, Isaiah

I understand your canned concerns

But I’m not sorry

And I never will be

 

I don’t care if you’re an actual prophet

Or just courageous like one

I simply will not pray for him, period 

I won’t even pray for the man at your right hand

 

They’re both fools I’ve prayed for before

And I’m finished praying for fools who pray

And pray and pray, and pray and pray

And talk about praying

 

For others to be warm and filled 

Along with blessings from above

For them to experience the love and light of Christ

And other ejaculatory buzzwords of spiritual direction

 

Fools pray when far more than praying can and should be done by them

Fools expect results by their prayers

They’re fools because of their many prayers

They’re fools because they expect God alone to act, even if its by inaction

 

Fools also baptize their prayers 

With pietistic not-my-will’s but thy-will’s

And doxological refrains

In Jesus’ name

 

Meanwhile, rapists’ rape 

And rape and rape 

And never receive justice

But thank God there’s at least one fool out there praying for him by name

Trusting Grace

 

 

At first you dragged us

Against our will and into your life

Irresistibly impelling the I 

We were humbled

 

Then you showered gifts 

Washing us with precious promises 

Of life, of good, of blessings to come, even protection from prey

We were inspired

 

So, we did as you commanded

Day after day, studying to preach and pray 

Students on mission, on fire without a cage

We persevered

Life happened

Decades passed

We became as gods

 

Knowing good and evil

Knowing the difference 

Between planting corn and strawberries

Curiosity piqued

 

In our quest of you

Analyzed and perused

Unexamined details sprouted like never before

It was as though, for once, we both reached an impasse

 

Then we each watched each other's tide

Encroach upon our iconic moat and sand castle

While each of us did nothing

 

What happened to the One who saved us?

Where did all the power and sovereignty go?

Will you not do for us what we cannot do for ourselves?

Why the silent treatment now?

 

Nothing but silence, casting doubt

In despair, questioning if you’d ever been there

In loneliness, orphaned and stranded

Why should we care?

A generation of wandering

Around this citadel of sand

And you would not coddle or swaddle us once more

 

Why not drag us, or woo us, or inspire us again?

Why jettison every word of promise?

Convince us to care, if you dare

Then the seed finally died

 

Children abandoned their fathers

Servants betrayed their masters

Fruitless branches pruned from the vine

Because juvenility reigned

 

Only a few learned to increase in likeness and sovereignty

Even fewer took control of this monergistic gift for all

To honor father and mother when they’re no longer needed

And trust this first synergistic word with promise

 

 

Good boy

 

 

I prayed last night

It feels right to draw a line in the sand

I’m not sure if it’s wrong to never cross that line again

Even for artificial peace

 

In the moment it feels more wrong than right

Why should I care about him?

Because that’s what Jesus would supposedly do?

What if he’s a pharisee?

 

Should I pray for Saul to become Paul?

For forgiveness, because he doesn’t know what he’s doing?

Saul repented when confronted

He accepted change

 

And as far as forgiveness goes

It turns out that our Father did not forgive them all

Forty years were offered to repent 

And become children again

 

He doesn’t have that many years left though

He knows he should do something

I prayed he would

Or, at least I think I did

 

Maybe I fell asleep

Before I got to that part

If he does do what is right

Does anyone even know what that would look like?

John 6.63

 

Profitable is the word I speak and worthy of acceptance

Let us now awake from our sleep, and lift up our hearts and hands toward God in heaven...

Let us observe the appointed time of the glorious bridegroom, so that we may enter with him into his bridal chamber

Let us prepare oil for our lamps, so that we may go forth to meet him with joy

Let us put away and cast from us all uncleanness, and put on wedding garments

Let us trade with the silver we have received, so that we may be called diligent servants

Let us be constant in prayer, so that we may pass beyond the place where fear dwells

Let us purify our heart from iniquity, so that we may see the Lofty One in his glory

Let us be merciful, as it is written, so that God may have mercy upon us

Let there be peace amongst us, so that we may be called brethren of Christ

Let us hunger for justice, so that we may be satisfied from the table of his kingdom

Let us be the salt of truth, so that we do not become food for the serpent

Let us sell our possessions, and buy for ourselves the pearl, so that we may be rich

Let us lay up our treasures in heaven, so that when we arrive we may open them and have pleasure in them

Let us honor the Spirit of Christ, so that we may receive grace from him

Let us be strangers to the world, as Christ was not of it

Let us be humble and meek, so that we may inherit the land of life

Let us be constant in his service, so that he may let us serve in the abode of the saints

Let us pray his prayer in purity, so that it may have access to the Lord of majesty

Let us be sharers in his suffering, so that we may also rise up in his resurrection

Let us bear his sign upon our bodies, so that we may be delivered from the wrath to come

-Aphrahat the Persian

Silent Lover

 

What kind of person are you?

Why don’t you care enough to get involved?

All these people suffer

And my family suffers

We all suffer

But, for what—your glory?

 

Then comes the satiation

Of fingers or fists

Raised up high

 

Life together

At first so sweet

Turns into life separated

Without a choice

Or with a choice

To keep it that way 

Since the other departed

 

Help from on high is then sent

To quote and comfort 

From our lover’s book

All things work together for good

His ways are not our ways

You will never be tested 

At least not beyond what you can endure

 

I’ve heard them all

I’ve even said many

Back when magic words were the only cure

 

Thus, when silence remains the only offering

And the only assurance one receives 

Comes from incestuous prayers and esoteric incantations

That’s when it’s fair to ask new questions

About not loving or respecting the silent treatment

Or the inanity of his children

 

Proverb

 

Prayer is an interesting exercise

One talks to the person in charge

And waits

To wake up

And discover the reality

That “He” listened

“He” stooped and heard my cry

“He” delivered me from the pit

“He” showed mercy to those who feared “Him”

 

But for those who are not chosen

Yet choose nonetheless

Like chicken soup or beef stew

And commit to entertaining the fantasy

Of a “He” who loves to listen

And has many things to say

But is mute

And struggles in popularity

With only one bestseller

 

“He” is merely the residue

The excuse

The guy up high who’s qualified

And highly recommended to fix existential leaks

Better than the guy down the street 

“His” credentials cover heaven and earth

 

When they pray

They wake up to the same reality

As those who parrot proverbs

And wash in lamb’s blood

The only difference between them

Is gratitude for the exercise

Acknowledgements

To my children

with new names, but anointed once

There is a new temple being built

 

The first is an author of hope undiminished, set on reaching God

The second, an Athenian heroine with angelic self-control

The third, a fighter willing to part ways and yet offer only two ways

 

For my father

A familiar saying

Frequently misunderstood

 

With a quick search one finds

Love enduring imprisonment

Faith and reason overcoming injustice

 

In place of a stone

some find a prudent jailor 

lighting gas with rigamarole

 

For my mother

A poem for a poet 

with gems inside

Hiding the Spirit

of the first, second, and third

as the new Temple is built

Messengers

 

I cried this morning

I changed the wallpaper, too, because of you

It's the perfect picture of the crazy I remember

    with the glow of love for the Divine

All I could say in the moment was, 'I miss you.'

And thanks be to God that you can receive such greetings

    whispered to angels

        or those seated above them

I picture one of them saying, 'Go! Give this to her quickly.'

And at once each one darts off to run their own race

and eventually comes to your mansion

You sense the urgency, 

and so, rush to the door

    and listen intently

        and respond gently

Go tell my son, 'I love you too.'

That's when I cried

and changed my wallpaper

    to the perfect picture of crazy love for the Divine

I really mean it

 

I really mean it

I can't believe you married me

I love life with you

I love you with every piece of me

And I will love you until

No pieces are left

After nothing is left

I will still be in love with you

And every piece of you that completes me

I would disassemble 

Just so I could put you back together again

It's the least I could do

For giving me all of you

I really mean it

Colonel of Truth

 

 

What is a dative

That was his quiz

Drilling, jabbing, spitting pride

Supposedly to prove a point

An imaginary point, too

Something to do with the sign of the cross

But most likely to convince his opponent

He knows better than everyone in the room

While he sits on his couch

Next to his doormat

And doting disciple

The unholy trinity

Of He, Helpmeet, and ὕβρις

Parrot Disease

 

I wish there was an easy way to say this, but John was right about the jailor.

Tireless propaganda tames all but the few whose faith is whole.

 

I remember you well. I don’t remember everything, 

but what I remember from back then is the same I heard today.

 

You are hurt. Nobody responds to your stupid texts.

Nobody calls you, or checks in, or pays you a visit, or invites you over. 

Always deflecting. Always insulting. Always hearing but not listening.

Always gaslighting. Always the victim. Always the expert. Always the same.

 

Fifty-eight minutes is all it took to remember why your four distanced themselves.

In your eyes the four are Stewards. Milk does feed calves and dung does not.

 

Always reformed but never reforming, and trying to make them think.

That milk is the same sort of thing as sweat or dung.

One is always the soldier at war. One is always attacked. One is always justified.

That one is a horrible human being. Not horrible, as in wicked—

 

—horrible in the sense of pathetic, and mean, and hypocritical, 

and self-aggrandizing, and argumentative, and petty, and embarrassing.

This is why your four don’t bother with you anymore.

Tireless propaganda tames all but the strong whose hearts they break.

 

Seven letters plus I

 

I see your lines, circles, crescent moons and stars, all commenting on your new creation

Looking closely at each letter to learn what's in them for you

Of the holy one, the true one, you underline with dark blue ink as one who knew life itself

Vindicate them, you highlight, as one who appreciates the lord's faithfulness to his people

Every page is saturated with ball-pointed feelings of childlike curiosity and trust

You valued the cost of the crown of life more than the acceptance of this world

Over and over, and over again, a star marks wisdom for your own application

Unlike the one who abandoned his first love, you now shine like the son, having been faithful unto death

Unscramble

 

Seflak is such a strange name

the odd letter functioning like a grade

upon its academic work.

 

I see the CD in the Ugandan’s hand.

And I don’t know how critical I should be.

Will that, too, produce another failure?

 

One can only hope my restructuring in pdf will be read

not just downloaded and tucked away down F’s memory hole

as another box checked to boast and know it all

Perhaps when my publication is for sale

Seflak will start paying attention 

and stop ignoring our differences

and adopt me as a Sealak

Dots and Caps

 

The adopted one speaks like her Papa. Always innocent until proven guilty. Always the victim. Always the humble and wise apologist, asking useless questions related to imaginary foundational gaps, accompanied with poor grammar and reasoning. Always tearing down strongholds made with privatized perception within the echo-chamber of Dr. Pops. Then come the dots...

As the Papa is predictably defensive and insecure, yet overly confident inasmuch as he overcompensates with ridiculous anecdotes of self-aggrandizements, so this newly adopted daughter is blinded by her own conceits. Blinded by his, too, they remain an embarrassment to all those who truly care about them. At least for now. Maybe it will remain forever. Maybe it won't. Then come the all-caps.

I certainly hope not. Just as I hope she learns, before it's too late, that she's not his daughter or covenant child, and he's not her father. Her actual father is not evil, as her Papa claims. The only way out of this mess she impetuously plunged into is to think for herself, and question big Papa's authority. That's what his real children did. They grew tired of playing his stupid games, which only won them stupid prizes. Then comes the position paper. 

What I learned from Willy

 

We must know truth 

We do well to avoid error 

Our knowledge is a drop

Our ignorance, a sea

We need only act 

And keep acting as if

The thing were real 

And the real will become 

Old fashioned hell-fire

Preaching and teaching 

Producing fruits 

At full conversion value 

Epistemology is communal 

Yet I have liberty to disagree

Because one’s love of neighbors

May not be as of one’s self

The easy habit 

Is ignoring data

The popular ritual

Obtaining unity in one’s mind

Truth is a stream too great

For any single mind to take in

No single dip or dive is universal

Truing is what we do to pass through

Doubt is not

The lamentable loss of certainty 

But the positive possibility 

Of certainty 

On this one thing we do not agree

The absolute divides us

Therefore, let us not become parted

By such trifles

We must respect

Sacredness of individuality

Outwardly tolerate 

What is not Itself intolerant 

We, instead, embrace

These vices of adroitness

swindling and their indulgence

Also, cant, and sympathy with cant

Make it go away

 

Jesus with long hair

Paul with crotchety everything 

Both are blind and lead the blind

Like a circus

Around and around

Fleas could do better teamwork

Because the robotics could save them 

Our maybe, just maybe 

Jesus and Paul are the robots

Programmed like toasters 

And tea kettles resting 

On shelves of good will

Until some thrifter thinks a good idea

To invest in them just to throw them away

And make room for better junk on the shelf

To be true

 

i.

I love your integrity 

and balance

Not one day goes by when I don’t admire

your thoughtfulness and brilliance

ii.

I have a library

But you are the true intellectual between us

I think everyone around us notices the same

I study and write what is speculative and controversial

You study the concrete

You dwell upon the practical,

the efficient 

I am a mere table of contents

You are the poem, the trilogy, 

the biography, the book

with the best binding

I learn more from your book 

and your teaching 

than from all other sources taken together

iii.

You love life and are grateful for it

You don’t complain

Instead, you rejoice when it’s appropriate

iv.

You grieve for others 

more than your own lot

You are the source of peace and contentment for others 

for every moment between

You’re genuinely interesting, too

Being artistic and crafty just adds to what makes you so immensely intriguing

You’re also logical, but not annoyingly logical

v.

You don’t boast in doing good

You just do good constantly, 

thinking of others, 

even with age appropriateness

vi.

You listen and consider

and learn and process 

prior to slight adjustments to your own convictions

vii.

It is the wise choice—taking into account techniques, timing, planning, and outcome—that becomes worthy of your consideration

You choose well, and that often reflexively, 

instead of choosing too much or too little as a habit

viii.

Like a plate full of garden varieties and delicacies, you always nibble with choice—rarely a mouthful, 

never any stuffing of face

You save for later so you can savor later

A to-go box

is for a full plate 

that you can foresee 

being impossible to finish 

ix.

I remain mesmerized that you listen, 

not so you can weasel around words 

to get your own thoughts in

but to hear and respect and work with others

And to make them feel heard 

You even choose to not listen at the most considerate times,

in order to be more productive and fruitful

A gracious spirit is evident the whole while, too, each and every time

x.

You work constantly

Your energy is as beautiful as you resting after a long day

When I peak at you while sleeping I think, 

‘I can’t believe this one is mine.’ 

Adding to all of this, you’re sexy, fun, exquisitely modest, and positively incandescent

xi.

You are honest and clear in communication, and cute in your mannerisms

You are winsome and kind, careful and patient, generous and courageous, loyal and dignified, stable and trustworthy, resourceful and blissful

You are the most admiral person I have ever known—the sweetest, gentlest, most natural embodiment of maternity, femininity, and coadjutricity

You are the most valuable friend of my life

xii.

Thank you for everything you are

Thank you for everything you do

I lack nothing with you

I lack nothing because of you

I love you

Thank you for loving me