something to share

I've probably shared this before, I looked back through 2011 and didn't find it, so, even if I did share it before, you've probably forgotten.

This is a poem that ends a chapter of some reflections I've been writing about regarding parish ministry. The chapter has the same name as the poem--God around the edges.

CREEDO

I believe in the Edges of God.

Truly, that is my limit on the whole question of Creed.

I don't believe in God storming out of the clouds

and smiting me to smithereens if I am bad.

I don't believe in a God who would wake me up,

pin me to my bed and give me bleeding sores

on my palms and the top of my feet,

much less my side.

(Explain that to your general practitioner!)

I don't believe in a God who would instruct me

to slay infidels or displace peaceful people

so I can have a Motherland.

I don't believe in a God that has nothing better to do

besides visit bedrooms around the globe

uncovering (literally) illicit love.

I don't believe in a God who frets

about who wins the next election.

I don't believe in a God who believes in 'abomination'.

I believe in the edges of God--

the soft parts, the tender pieces--

the feathers and the fur of God.

I do believe in the ears of God,

which stick out—cartoon like—on the edges of God's Being.

I, myself, listen and listen

and then listen some more

for the Still, Small Voice.

I believe in God's nose—pronounced and distinctively

Jewish in my belief--

I smell trouble from time to time

and imagine God sniffs it out too.

The toenails and finger nails of God--

there is some protein I can hold onto,

if only tentatively.

Hair, there's something to believe in as well.

God's hair—full, luxurious, without need of jell or conditioner,

filling up the Temple, heaven, the whole universe!

I can believe in God's hair.

God's edges shine and blink and relect color.

God's edges are like the little brook,

flowing out of the woods beyond the tire swing,

in what used to be my grandmother's land.

God's edges are like the voices of old friends,

old lovers, people long gone but not forgotten.

God's edges are not sharp or angled.

The edges of God are well worn by practice

and prayer and forgotten possibilities

about to be remembered.

God's edges are the wrists of someone

you don't quite recall but can't ever remove from your heart.

God's edges are rimmed and circled

with bracelets of paradox and happenstance

and accidents with meaning.

God is edged with sunshine,

rainbows,

over-ripe, fallen apples, crushed beneath your feet

and the bees hovering around them.

God's edges hold storm clouds too--

the Storm of the Century coming fast,

tsunamis and tornadoes, spinning out of control.

Blood from God's hands—now there's an edge of God

to ponder, reach for, then snatch your hand away.

God bleeding is an astonishing thought.

God bleeding can help my unbelief.

And most, most of all,

the edges of God are God's tears.

Tears of frustration, longing, loss, deep pain,

profound joy, wonder and astonishment--

tears that heal and relieve and comfort...

and disturb the Cosmos.

That's what I believe in:

God's tears.

Leaving home....

The robins are gone. They didn't say goodbye. They never write or email or call. Just like children, huh?

One day they were featherless little birds with more beak than body and Mama was going crazy bringing them worms. Then, what seemed like the next day, they were little robins standing on the edge of the nest wondering how to fly. Now they are gone.

Some days I wake up and wonder where that little boy and little girl that used to live with us went. They left home like Frank, Lloyd and Wright, my names for the 3 baby robins on our front porch. I know we had them for years and years that seemed like decades and decades at the time, but where are those little toe-heads Josh and Mimi? How did it happen so fast? How did all those years disappear like the fog in the morning? Those wondrous little bodies I used to carry and hold so near...how did they grow up and leave him so soon?

Today I went to church at St. James. I was sitting near the back and saw Scott walk in after communion. His wife and two children had been there from the beginning. After the recessional, I asked him if he'd like communion and he said yes. So we went down to the vesting room where I had a communion kit. Bryan had consecrated some wine and I had some consecrated wafers so I gave him communion while he held his daughter Sophia (which is Greek for 'wisdom', by the way) close to his face. I was reminded of holding my children like that when they were one year old, like Sophia. I almost told Scott to hold fiercely because the years would fly and like baby robins, so would Parker and Sophia....But I didn't. First of all, he would never believe me--having young children seems like the experience of eternity--and secondly, it was about me, not him, and my feeling of loss that Frank, Lloyd and Wright had fled the nest and long before them those little children I used to know.

Then, late this afternoon, I was out on the deck having a cigarette--I know, I know, don't start with me--and I heard unmistakeable robin calls coming from some of the trees around my house. I know Mama and Daddy's calls by heart, so, I thought it must be the babies (F, L and W) saying good-bye. Try as I might I never caught sight of them though they chirped for almost 10 minutes. But I did see a young cardinal, obviously a male because of the deep red of his head and back, but still with his darker baby feathers on his wings. There has been a pair of cardinals in our back yard all spring. I never found their nest, but this was obviously one of their chicks.

I was so happy I came in and fed our parakeets and gave them fresh water.

I've decided that birds are one of the great joys of my life. Even the hawk that flew over our yard about 60 feet up while I was hearing the robins. I pray the hawk won't find the robin babies. That bird was magnificent. I see an even bigger hawk on Rt. 9, coming back from Higganum, almost every time I drive that road. My favorite bird is the brown pelican whose largest nesting area is on Oak Island, NC, where we go in September. Expect lots of Pelican tales then. But I love all birds, even the hateful bluejay that shows up in our yard from time to time. Maybe not turkey buzzards, but I'll think that through.

Don't we all dream of being a bird? To fly, to soar, to know freedom from gravity, to meet the sky?

I feel enormously blessed that that faithful robin couple has chosen our front porch for two years running to have their nest. I hope they're back next year....It would be nice if they didn't pack up and leave so abruptly and never keep in touch....

Flavors

Ok, I ate a whole bag--a small bag though--of gourmet jelly beans tonight. I normally don't like sweet thing,I like salty things, but the flavors were wondrous. Things like watermelon and cantaloupe and blueberry and vanilla bean and lime and stuff that all had exactly the flavor they promised.

One thing about those jelly beans--you eat them one at a time to appreciate the flavors and savor them. Those larger jelly beans I just toss in my mouth and chew up together because the flavor is simply 'sweet'.

Some of the other flavors were chocolate pudding, red apple, toasted marshmallow, tangerine, Dr. Pepper, Cream Soda and buttered popcorn. That's only about half of the flavors.

I started thinking, what if they made gourmet jellybeans for people like me who prefer salt or tart to sweet. I've thought some up.

Kale, smoked salmon, deviled egg, green olive, cheddar cheese, spinach, hot pepper, french bread, salsa, dill pickle, blue cheese, yellow mustard, onion, garlic, french fry, chicken gizzard, anchovy, pepperoni, double Gloucester cheese, capers, bacon, soy sauce, pepper, Frank's hot sauce and kraut. Those are some jelly beans I could get addicted to, have to carry in my pocket, hide around the house, keep in the car.

Someone should patent that.


By the way, does your saliva have a taste? This is a serious question. Does the stuff your taste buds make and that is secreted in your mouth have a flavor?

Stop and taste it.

My saliva is smoky, a bit salty and very tasty. It always has been but I've never had the courage to ask other people if their saliva has a taste. I enjoy it. I'm glad it isn't sweet or fruity, though I do like sweet and fruity tastes--like that bag of jelly beans I ate tonight. I prefer smoky and a bit salty. My spit tastes like bacon, mostly.

How about yours?

if the rapture comes, I'll blog on....

In case you haven't noticed, and I talked to one of my bishops today who hadn't, there's a lot of hype about the Rapture happening on Saturday, May 21 and the Tribulation ending by August sometime (which seems short to me for the Tribulation, but who am I to say: I'm a skeptic.)

In front of Yankee Stadium on Saturday evening, there were people with these interesting back-packs that had signs rising above them, foretelling 'the end'. They were handing out literature about it all, which, if they are right, won't have much of a shelf life.

Is the guy's name Lamont (or is he the politician?) it starts with an L at any rate, who wrote the 'Left Behind' series that has almost outsold the Bible world wide. The series is about the end of the world--the Rapture and Tribulation and all that--and is a runaway international best seller, translated into a gazillion languages making more money than the budget deficit of CT, NY and CA combined.

My question was to him--I hope you're not going to invest that money if the End is really near....

At our Clericus meeting this morning 6 priests, a deacon, a former Episcopal nun and a candidate for holy orders, joked and had great fun about the end of the world guys.

It proves my contention that 21st century Christians can't possibly imagine the mind set and the expectation of the early church who believed Jesus would be back in the morning if not in the middle of the night. When that urgency of life ended, the institution of the church began. "If Jesus isn't coming back soon," the church told itself, "we better get organized...."

Here's a distinction to help us all understand the urgency with which the early church lived.

Remember your last airplane fight. Remember how as you were being taxied out to get in line for takeoff, the cabin attendants showed you a video or demonstrated for you how to put on your oxygen mask, where the emergency exits were and how to disengage your floatation device.

Remember how much attention you paid to all that between making sure you had your ticket, putting your carry-on where it belonged and reading your book or magazine.

Now imagine the Captain coming on the intercom and saying, "Ladies and Gentlemen, in 10 minutes we are going to have to ditch this plane in the north Atlantic. Please listen to the cabin attendants' instructions...."

Ok, now we're talking 'urgency' and you would be paying attention with all your being. Like your life depended on it, which it would.

That's the distinction between how I (and probably you) listen to the faint buzz about the Rapture on May 1 and the way the early church thought about the end of days....


(We have Rhododendron around our back deck: one bush 11 feet tall, one 9 feet tall and one 7 feet tall, all full as punch and laden with little bulbs that will burst into bloom soon. I counted 130 on those three plants before I lost count. One has begun to burst already. I figure a few more days of rain and a warm day and our deck will be overcome by brilliant deep pink, almost red blossoms. The front porch has three plants as well. The leaves cover the whole of the front of our porch--11 feet or so, but they are only 6 feet tall. Just to the right of our walkway down to Cornwall Avenue there is an 8 foot tall Rhododendron plant. Taken together, we're talking about serious color about to burst forth. Hundreds of flowers.

Rhododendron is the 'state flower' of West Virginia, where I come from. Since they are further south, even though the elevation is higher, I can only imagine the Rhododendron is already in flower there. I remember it being early May when the mountains exploded in pink and red. I'm talking about driving up a mountain for 10 miles and having Rhododendron blooming solid on both sides of the road. What a riot of color that was...and is, I imagine.

Just imagine that kind of remarkable feast for the eyes. You can't look too closely because the roads over the mountains are narrow and very curvy.

But imagine it for a moment--10 miles, 20 minutes of solid Rhododendron on both sides of you as you ascend or descend one of those mountains that I know so well....Just imagine....)

My point being, you can imagine that drive through the mountains of Appalachia easier than you can imagine the Rapture happening on Saturday. You can probably image a trip to Mars easier than you can imagine the Rapture on May 21st.

I once confided in my friend Brenden McCormick (one branch of my father's family were McCormick's--though we pronounced it Ma-Com-ick, without the 'r') that I sometimes imagined that the Fundamentalists might possibly be 'right'. Brenden told me, "of course you can imagine that because you have an open mind and love questions more than answers. But let me tell you this," he continued, "the Fundamentalists never, ever, not for one moment imagine that you are right...."

I can, in one part of my brain actually imagine that the Rapture might come on Saturday (though I don't even know if I believe the Rapture is a real thing rather than a metaphor). But this I know and know fair well, those folks who are certain that the Rapture is Saturday, don't imagine for a moment, not a nano-second, that I'll be one of the ones Jesus takes....)

So, Rapture or not, I'll be here blogging about 'stuff' or, maybe, about the Tribulation....

Let's wait and see.

bird mommies

I came home from Clericus this morning and saw two little featherless heads poking out of the nest on our front porch. The babies have arrived! I was about to try to see them better when Mama Robin came home with a worm in her beak. (It's so wet that the worms are jumping out of the ground into the birds' mouths in our back yard....)

I went out later and Mama wasn't on the nest so Papa buzzed me. He did the same thing when I came back. He's a real guardian of the chicks.

Then, on the Canal, I saw Mama Duck teaching her dozen or more babies (they move so fast it's hard to count them) how to hide from predators. They were swimming in the middle of the rain swollen canal when Bela and I approached. Lickidy Split she herded them all to the far side under the brush there. Same thing on the way back...middle of canal...sighing of man and dog...up on the bank on the far side.

Bird mommies are very busy this time of year....

walking on the dry spot

Ok, you probably get weary of my endless tales of walking the canal with my dog.

But, remember, I'm retired and not much happens in my life...the little things matter more to me since little things are mostly what I've got.

But today's story is filled with awe and wonder. It's like a myth or a tall tale or science fiction. Ready?

As we walked along, it was raining in the woods on one side of the pathway. You could hear the rain in the underbrush and see it falling. It was raining too on the canal, you could see the drops splashing on the water.

The thing was, it wasn't raining on the pathway....

OK, I thought, the wind is blowing and it is just water falling off the leaves. But then I noticed we were on a part of the pathway where trees lean over where we were walking and no water was falling from them. Plus, there was no wind discernible.

Then I thought it must be my imagination, but I met a guy coming the other way who held out his hands, shrugged and rolled his eyes. There was another witness to this phenomena, this freak of nature--rain to the left of me, rain to the right of me, no rain falling on me.

I've heard of 'scattered showers' but this seemed ridiculous. The next person I met looked at me, then looked up and then looked at me. I nodded and he shook his head. None of us spoke, it was a bit to odd and spooky to talk about, I think.

It went on for at least five minutes. I felt like Bela and I were walking through the Red Sea on dry land. It was sort of the opposite of Joe Btfsplk....You don't know that is? He was a character in the comic strip Lil Abner who walked around with a cloud over his head and rain falling from it. People gave him wide berth--Lil Abner and Daisy Mae and Ma and Paw Yokum and Fearless Fostic and all the other characters in that strip.

You can look it up on Lil-Abner.com if you don't believe me.

So we had our walk and didn't get rained on. But when we got back to the car, it was raining in the parking lot.

Truly odd.

The End of The World

Outside Yankee Stadium on Saturday night, there were several people handing out pamphlets about 'the end of the world' on May 21. The Rapture, they believe, will be on that day, beginning East of Jerusalem somewhere at 8 am in the morning and spreading West. Seems to me that Jesus could either find the International Date Line and make this work out in an orderly fashion or else come everywhere at the same hour. But who am I to say, I don't believe the Rapture will happen on May 21.

I've thought a bit about 'what if I am wrong' and 'they are right'?

It seems to me that the mark of a 'free thinker' and a 'liberal' and someone with an ego that is as large as Montana it this: you can imagine that what you definitely DON'T BELIEVE might just possibly BE POSSIBLE. So I wonder. What if they're right and on the 21st of May Jesus comes in clouds of Glory and takes those with him who he wishes and leaves the rest to go through the horrible days of the Great Tribulation. What if they are right?

Here's a thought to ponder: what if what you absolutely 'don't BELIEVE' is possible?

I ponder often whether the Tea Party is 'right' or not. I certainly don't 'believe' they are, but then I don't think 'belief' is 'certainty'. So I ponder.

I tried to engage some Tea Party folk who have a little demonstration in front of Cheshire Town hall a day or two a week during drive time so I could ponder further what they 'believe' and wonder if, as much as I don't 'believe' it, they might be right. I talked to four folks. The first three told me to go away when I tried to engage them (in order) about health care, Obama's citizenship and the value of 'government'. The fourth guy called me a 'faggot' and got people around him to chant "faggot, faggot, faggot" until I left.

I'd be proud to be a homosexual, if I was, but those chants caused me to ponder how cruel the words would have been if I was, in fact, gay.

I still ponder, but Tea Party folks want a monologue, not a dialog.

Same with the Christians who are ending the world on May 21--actually, that is the Rapture and the real destruction will come in October. There have been one group or another claiming the end of the world would come on a date certain 220 times in the last 300 years.

I don't know about their Bible, but in mine Jesus and Paul say clearly that no one will know the day or the time, that the End will come like a thief in the night.

All this brings up, again, the question of what 'belief' means, really.

Tea Party folks and the End of the World folks thing "belief" and "faith" mean certainty I prefer another possible translation of the New Testament Greek word "Pistus"....Another way of translating it is "Trust".

I "Trust" in God. Nothing I trust in about God is "certain". Trust isn't 'certain', it's trust.

So, mostly I ponder, Trusting but having no Certainty, none at all. And always wondering if those so different from me--the Tea Party and the End of the World people--ever ponder, as I do about them, "if I am right and they are wrong?

I know they answer--NO, they don't ponder than.

But I do even though I 'trust' that what I 'believe' is true...or at least more possible....