Tag Archives: Word

Ways of (not)Knowing

Is it good to bite into

the crusty, doughy wheatiness

of Word made Flesh made Bread;

to drink the cup- the complex bouquet

of birth and stars and long roads,

friends, stories, long roads,

betrayal, suffering, short road to death

but also hearth-fires and washed feet?

 

Is it good to remember

that love had courage

to speak out, stand tall,

stand with, be told;

learn and grow;

to hold firm and die?

Dare we shed a tear?

 

Is it “him” and is it even me?

Where is the place on earth

where love bakes, breaks bread

and wine is shared;

where suffering is acknowledged?

What does it mean

to have “life”?

Prayer

I was trying to copy down some of the liturgy resources from church into a dropbox and as I always do when I work with liturgy resources I felt a need to make my own. I am thinking of doing my blog a bit differently for a time and this might be a good transition to it. It feels like a change I need and I will try it out and if it isn’t right will return to what I have been doing. My intention here was to use some humans apart from “mother” and “father” and also get away from the anthropomorphism to show it’s a metaphor not a literal “truth”. But still to honour the human experience of the world because we are humans and life and body are good things.

Author of the ongoing story:

history, herstory, earthstory, lovestory;

Midwife of our better selves

taking us forth from the earth out mother

and placing us in her arms;

Living water running through our veins,

Spirit: wild wind of change, exhaled breath,

kiss of life;

Fire the yearning in our spirits for liberation,

the passion for justice and to be in beauty;

Word and Wisdom,

Way, truth and life;

we reach for you

hold us.

Amen.

It’s your birthday: let’s not forget!

I’ve been relatively good at doing what the lectionary tells me for a while, but today I am cherry picking the first reading from  proper I and the gospel from proper III (only because I love them so much, not for any profound reason) and adding in my favourite Micah segment because for me it is a symbol for my commitment to God and my need to recommit and reorient toward God constantly. 

Happy birthday darling, little Wisdom. Always new and beautiful as a tiny baby. Always vulnerable to our neglect or mistreatment. Always for us to bring into our lives, and introduce. Happy, happy birthday.

Once long ago, somebody asked what you would like for your birthday. They suggested rams and rivers of oil or maybe human sacrifice (please note: not even for you would I sacrifice my sons). These seemed fitting tributes if you were a great warmongering deity, an accepter of tribute. But you came to us as a persecuted baby, as a voice that the powers of the day wanted to silence, as Wisdom dancing and treating us. And you said there were really only three things that you liked, to take all other presents back to the shop and exchange them for the only thing that could ever make you smile.

You wanted us to act justly, love with kindness, walk humbly with you. Why is it that so much injustice and cruelty and arrogance are brought in your name? Why is it so hard for us to get the present right? I love you, I want to give you your heart’s desire.

And yet you come, not demanding but giving. Our world walks in darkness and you offer us “a great light” and incredible joy. So easy to read this light as a lightening of the depressive load we bear, a kind of escapism from the realities of the day. Easier still to see the “joy” as dividing the plunder of first world privilege, of 24 hour shopping and maxed out credit cards, of tables groaning under a burden of too much food, too much of which will be thrown away while most of the world starves. If this is the only joy we have, then we do not have your joy!

But you come for the burdened people, the oppressed and enslaved and exploited. Will you break the yoke of capitalism, the bar of vacuous consumerism and the rod of inevitability and despair? Will you break open our hardened hearts and let flow the tears we have repressed so that you can wipe them and hold us close once more in compassion? Will you show us how to be miracles upon the earth and let the refugee free while supporting the single parent and the young?

The suspicious and unloving within our hearts, the militaristic hatred and tendency to move to protect our excess and privilege you will burn. Within your love we have no need of such things..wondrous child.

Yes as a mere child you come, again and again.

As what is small and powerless and easy enough to ignore, to bury in cast off wrapping paper and the expectations of our nearest and dearest. Even if we problematise Christmas how tempting to growl “bah humbug” and leave it at that. Easy either to enter into the spirit of silliness and excess or to condemn and retreat. How much harder to enter into your transformation and allow a child of truth to be born in our lives? How will you transform me? Do I have courage to step upon your path in the coming year and let you lead me into the unknown? But not entirely unknown because your path is always truth- the unchanging truth of right relations with humans and the earth itself (justice, kindness, walk humbly: once again my refrain).

If your zeal will do this God, then I look to you to enflame my heart with your zeal so that I may follow and serve your interests (there you told me I might find real joy).

As for the gospel, you know me: what a nerd I am and how I am a person of words of reading and writing and lively discussions. How kind of you to be “Word” when you touch my humanity. How slow I am to discover that all life that is worth living is within you, to ground my own life, my own words, my own meaning in you…always you. But you are not only for me- as some sort of feel good inspirational text would be- you are deeply and transformatively political “for all people”.

“The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.” we wrote those words upon my mother’s grave. Wisdom and love are far reaching, more than I usually dare to believe. You embody yourself within us, within our human heritage of love passed down and imperfect wisdom too. Through you we come to believe, to know at last what is important (justice, kindness, walk humbly). Like John we are commanded to make a way for you into the hearts and lives of others. How to do this for you birthday-Wisdom to whom I owe so much?

We are not the light, but the light needs our work so that it may shine.

We receive you because we were born from something greater than the “will of a man”, you called us into being and again into fulfilment of that being. “The man” may block our progress, but God does not accept the inevitability of failure and death. No. Even dying on the cross the eternal hope of God screams out in defiance of all oppression, of all that dehumanises, of all that seperates. We could mourn the state of the world but God gives us life after death.

The Word knows us well having become flesh and soiled nappies and been utterly reliant on the love and goodness of imperfect others. The Word gives us grace and truth to go on and bring light and change the world.

Happy birthday beloved, beautiful Word of God- invite me to be a better friend to you this coming year. Make my heart and hands big enough to respond generously to the need of those you love. Give me the little words that reflect your own Wordness. Let me like Mary labour to bring you forth in faith, hope and always LOVE.

 

Dry bones and yearning for wisdom

Readings here

How on earth do I (the mortal) prophesy in such a way that dry bones live? Is there really such a power in God’s words, even filtered through me, to change reality? We do know that discourses do actually change reality – it’s how people like Rupert Murdoch gain so much influence. But how to circulate a counter discourse in these (neoliberal) times?

The living, and life-inbreathing Word of God- the discourse that is justice. How to access its power and heed its mission? A vast multitude of the people of God is (once again) cut off from grace and hope. Completely cut off, it would seem. Ironically I am among them, I the prophet, the mortal also nothing more than a dry and despairing pile of bones. God’s call is also to me, against the odds to live and to “know” that God will speak and act. God calls me to be the prophet also, to give the call to others for life and hope and knowing also.

God what are you asking? This is worse than an alarm going off at 4am. This is JUST NOT POSSIBLE. This is #justnotpossible. !!! Unlike the prophet in the first reading, who quietly and simply obeys God (quiet, simple obedience does not seem to be in my nature) I rant and rave. Why? How? What exactly are you expecting me to say and do God? Why me? Oh this is just too hard! I conclude that I am mistaken, God doesn’t mean me, I am overhearing someone else’s call and because of my “crush” on god am thinking it pertains to little old me.

In my life, in my person it is not possible for these dry bones to live.

Sorry God.

Sorry.

Onto the psalm. Oh here we are praising an all-powerful God who can offer food and renewal to all her beloved creatures. Well go on God, feed your creatures. Starting with the refugees, the Rohingga, who no country is prepared to take in. Bugger watching Leviathan, these are your people!

I cannot hear a reply from my God. My dry bones remain still.

What hope is there? What knowing toward a powerful and life-giving divine? I have no such knowledge, I fail to even brush at the hem of the robe of eternally desirable Wisdom. I gather with “them”, in one place. I like that “they” are anonymous, not necessarily the patriarchal leaders, or not only. I am there too.

I wait for the rushing wind, for the sound of something happening, something changing, being transformed.  I wait for the Holy Spirit to inspire us to be understandable and understood to the “other”. We are only Galileans (well actually I am a Taperoo bogan which is even worse). And I sit here, this pile of dry bones and wait and reread the story to see what will happen next.

And as I read, I stop identifying with “them” because “they” are really not the othered “them” but are at the cultural centre of the story as the authoritative “us”. They are after all the “Apostles” they speak, export their truth from the centre and the marginalised “all nations” simply receive it passively and with the naïve wonder any colonised nations get depicted as possessing. We export our white, privileged, wealthy capitalist truths and standardised tests too as well as our bullshit about “border protection”. But we do not let “them” speak back to “us”!

“Us” of the hardened hearts, the stopped ears…the dried bones. Was it stubbornness and privilege that dried the bones then?

“They” call on the name of the Lord, because don’t kid yourselves Muslims (in boats or otherwise) follow (as imperfectly as we do) the same God as “we” Christians do! And how can God save them when “we” deny them salvation? The dryness of our bones is the raw material our society is based upon, we cannot afford to hear God’s word and live. We cannot afford to change the discourse.

I turn finally to that “gospel” reading. Gospel means “good news” and by now I am desperate for hope.

The ruler of this world has been condemned. The ruling class and our own investment in privilege cannot stand in the face of the Advocate for God’s righteousness (justice) and remembering that other gospel where Christ clearly identifies with the hungry we refused to feed and the thirsty we refused to give water to the stranger we refused to embrace. And the other one about the Samaritan. Our Spiritual heritage abounds in precedents for the Advocate to cite against us when advocating for the hungry, dispossessed Christ.

Can we really not bear to hear these things yet? Can we really not yet bear the command to live and to give life? The Spirit speaks to us. May she also speak through us, to create life where there is none, to be radically creation affirming, truth finding and accessible (and open) to every othered soul in creation.

Spirit I acknowledge I am lost, I tried to follow you into Good Friday but it was so dark there I missed the glint of Easter I was looking for. Spirit find me and hold my hand because what can one lone voice do against the hordes of life-denying, rational, border-protecting hell? I want them to be fed. I want to believe in you again; if I knew how, I would follow you anywhere.

Can these dry bones live?

Please God, can they?