Rant of the Exiles

  Please don't take this poem the wrong way But narcissism is a gift when you're a leader A scoop of self-consuming tendencies  Can take your organization to the next level No more worrying about what other people think No need to listen to and receive feedback No more second-guessing yourself Every decision you make is right and good You'll sleep well at night knowing  It's always someone else's fault and never yours No more anxiety about the future or the past Because you own tomorrow as well as yesterday and today Rules and regulations are for other people Never forget that you’re the exception If you break a rule that might be meant for you You can always pretend you didn’t know Willful ignorance and good intentions Can justify any of your actions You’re the hammer; everyone else is a nail Build that wall and pound away What’s good for you is good for everyone else That’s the core belief of a self-focused person Never deviate from that narrative It makes the wor...

Psalm 131 1 O Lord, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high;  I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. 2 But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me. 3 O Israel, hope in the Lord from this time forth and forevermore. I recently preached a sermon from Psalms 131. It was a scary message to preach because my personality and temperament are diametrically opposed to calm, quiet, and not occupying myself with great and marvelous thoughts. I love noise, chaos, and thinking deep and philosophical thoughts. I seldom think a thought is too great and marvelous for me. In light of these barriers, I spent most of the sermon highlighting all the obstacles we face in calming and quieting ourselves with God. I talked about not getting a good night's rest. I talked about tossing and turning endlessly to find the perfect sleeping position. I confessed how, in the wee hours of...

When God speaks Light When God speaks Life begins When God speaks Day and Night are named When God speaks The name contains the end When God speaks Evening then morning When God speaks Sky separated and gathered waters Seas When God speaks Hills and valleys; deserts and plains When God speaks Trees, bushes, berries, and bananas When God speaks Sun, moon, and stars When God speaks Whales, eagles, and minnows When God speaks Elephants, rats, and donkeys When God speaks He projects His likeness  When God speaks He uses words When God is silent No evening or morning When God stops  Holiness and blessing When God rests The seventh day celebrates May you hear His voice In the morning, when the sun bursts forth May you hear his voice At twilight, when the moon and stars emerge May you hear his voice On the wind whispering through the leaves  May you hear his voice In the squeak of the dolphin and hoo of the owl May you hear his voice From the mouth of your brother and mother...

Step off the cliff and fall into slumber Or step to the edge and look down There is darkness and the past below On the precipice of now and eternity Sit on the fence dividing Consciousness and nothingness This desert of liminal space Place of wanderings uncharted  To walk off the edge is to surrender One's thoughts to the whim of the wind Swirling and lost in the oblivion  A blissful trance of suspension drift To balk at the edge is to fight the fall Monkey mind screams against the plunge The body longs for the drop But thoughts panic from the heights Wicked dreams wait at bottom Lurid fantasies beckon Nightmares lurk on ledges unseen You don’t find out until you fall Some escape in the descent Some avoid it like the plague Fatigue chases the restless Until they’re caught and thrown down Long is the trusting fall of childhood Oft interrupted is the curse of age Apnea and anxiety make shallow depths While inno...

The fog drifts in Surrounding all in quiet embrace Trees wrapped in mist Real masked by cloud The road is obscured My path is blank Objects are hidden Wisps whip past There is no sky There is no firmament There is only gray mass A cage of cloud trapping me Driving in fog Searching for a collision Blind and confused Barely seeing in front of me Uncertain of direction Unclear on the route Unsettled in mind Unseen obstacles in my path What does my future hold? Where are you, God? Why have you forsaken me? How can I see clearly? Frantic in thought Frenetic in action Heartbeat races But I drive on Frozen in fear Yet faster I go Faster to nowhere Further to go or too far past? But the LORD is the fog Stop moving Stop thinking Stop planning Stop searching Stop You cannot see me Because you’re moving You cannot feel me Because you’re too busy talking You need only to be still To see...

[In one of the wettest Februarys in recent memory, a reflection on the book of Romans.] In parched land, dry straits Paul opens the floodgates Israel finds the first spring Come thou fount all nations sing Faithful father Abraham’s kin Not known by cut skin His children find their start As ones cut to the heart Law condemns sin to death Flame burns sucking breath Drought and fire blacken lands Black hearts, black feet, black hands Adam’s blaze consumed all Second Adam’s rain rights Fall Washed clean from scab and ash Scars healed as waters splash In newness of life we gleam Saturated in righteous steam Unsoiled hearts do not wick Water seeps deep and thick Baptized with Christ we die Raised in life to sin defy Born of water, born of wind Born no longer slave to sin Spirit streams none can see But moisture is reality Outside the world may burn Inside dew of Spirit churns Water nourishes and grows ...

Poetry is an accident on the freeway Poetry is frustration A dreadful inconvenience An obstacle that prevents you  From getting where you want to go  As fast as you expect to get there An interruption to your regularly scheduled programming A careless intervention  Into your carefully structured life Your blissful reverie broken Your mobility halted or slowed Forced to tail the bumper of the car in front Forced to gaze upon someone else’s destruction Forced to share in a collision Poetry is a journey delayed Poetry is personal invasion The worst and the best at once An opportunity to consider life and death An invitation to think about someone else  A chance to step outside yourself Or to think about yourself from another’s perspective Or to feel another’s pain Or to stop and help Or not Poetry is waiting Poetry is witness There are others seeing the same scene But they are irrelevant because ...