the weary darkness of my soul
my eyes turned to light
teaming moments of trauma
like teeth dug in my side
i would run but that is all i’ve done
i would sit so long as to bring an early death
but this all a moot point at the end of the day
so, i wonder in my thought as i begin to survey
“When a man of peace is killed
by a man of war, he gives a light.”- wendell berry
The deliverance meets me here
wedged in the movement of this town
wheeling around in distance, the birds—parrots mostly
squawk by to the dazzling skylight
The gray bleeds orange
surf wax, whiskey and the tree tops my company
i listen again, to the arid evening turning to this night
beardom has tested my thoughts and times I hold sacred
We are older here with hast taking its toll
blood and its marrow
holding to the ground
i think with the old garden
The deliverance meets me here
in the cold sweat of the day and dusty toes of twilight
we walk shy amidst the tomes
and the deliverance meets us here.
“Be blessed, David. And dwell in the fullness of the love that so many have for you. Swim around in it until your fingers get all pruney and your lungs give out and you look for the edge with grateful, tired legs. (Though fair warning; you may find no edge at all)” — caroline clunk
The late great Rabbi Jacob Milgrom invited his colleagues from the Protestant seminary, where he was teaching, to partake in a Passover meal. When the Baptist students saw that there were several bottles of wine on the table they subtling drew back. But the chancellor reached out and inspected one of the bottles. He read the label and said, “Ah, its okay boys—it is sacramental!” Some time later Jacob was at a baccalaureate service where the climax of the event was the Eucharist. As the body and blood were passed to him he recalls the same awkwardness he noticed at the Passover meal, this time, it was him. The chancellor, sitting next to him, reached over and passed the plate over Jacob and whispered— “It’s not for you, its only grape juice.”
There is this interesting phrase that both Paul and the ancient rabbis often used, m’aseh torah. We often render it “works of the law.” What is interesting about this phrase is its closeness to the phrase m’aseh todah. This is another phrase that certainly rhythms with the former, but also, was to be used (specifically in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the rabbinic literature of the Talmud) to complement the former phrase. The two phrases were often mistaken even in translation because in Hebrew the consonants daleth and resh are nearly indistinguishable. It is noteworthy then that m’aseh todah means “works of thanksgiving” or even the “power of thanksgiving.” The Israelites were rescued from slavery in Egypt and their response to the “mighty work” of God was the work of thanks, which took on flesh and blood as they followed the way of God, the way of torah.
So much of what it is to follow Jesus is learning the way of God, the reality of God, in response to a work that has already been “finished.” To live on the other side of slavery, death, darkness is to live into a certain texture of reality—bright, free, alive. Law, the yoke and the burden—even when crushing—is lighter that we thought. It is as if we pass though the waters everyday and refresh covenant law with thanks. To make things right in a relationship or to go the extra mile is like a prayer floating on thanks and gratitude. This week some friends got together and gifted me some funds to replace the bike that was stolen just a week ago. I opened a letter yesterday and just started crying—I was so thankful. And there is nothing that I am to do beside hold that gift in thanks as I ride for the next several years on that bike redeemed be my friends. I know I can take the metaphor to far here but let me be clear. Thanks is a good work, work that fulfills all of the instruction of God.
yes, its true—it happened while i was listening to a sermon on encouragement this morning. i walked out of the building to a disturbing sight, if you have some leads around 200-500 let me know.
windy scenes of the aftermath, gripping huddle of the survivors
and hollow sounds of excavating misfortune
here in the scattering the claims lay heavy
weighted by time and the erosive distance from event
the pieces lay bare
glimmering under the bright sky, held by the cold ground
they congeal as i look over them—hoping they hold
in the resemblance of memory, bursting in light
a scene so subtle and yet new
“you is kind, you is smart, you is important” — the help
“the impossibility of fully accounting for oneself is conditioned by the irreducible context of every narrative reconstruction” —
slavoj zizek, the nieghbor: three inquiries in political theology
There is this quote that rings in my head lately as I read for class and make my way through the Torah. It goes something like—scriptures are unsettling but it is because of the unsettled Character behind the text. It is quite a claim, I am realizing, that Someone is not only with the most challenging of texts but also within the content of these stories of desperation, judgment, humanity and grace. It is unsettling right?
It feels as if I am the one who should describe the world—me tell me how to live into this whole thing, but it seem the unsettling has a way of giving opportunity to trust in something beyond my own experience. God is the one with whom all experiences are given voice and redemption. God is, in some ways, a giving back to human experience—having absorbed your ache and fear and hurt and trust, God is the one in the text that is coming alongside characters like Hagar—the one enslaved, impregnated and sent away. This Character is on the move as well, surrounding a situation with the thickness of presence and then having to turn an ear to hear the cry from what seems to be too far sometimes.
Another quote, offered by the same author in a different book, has a pinging echo in the mix of these thought. That is that home—landedness—is not so much a place but a place on the way with YHWH. That is, God is the one with-us, even now—the God of the living. That is settling and unsettling. So, as I find some new rhythm and rhymes in this new and old place, I have this sense that the story is going somewhere. That the events, desperate wanting collections of human existence, are the unsettlement we situation ourselves in—with hope and honest vigor—that tomorrow meets us today, that God’s wind inhabit our lungs so that we might sing a song with our lives, from the unsettled crevasses of soul—thick with blood, healing the plains.
from the porch, jets wishing pasadena a happy new year.
I just got back to Pasadena a few days ago. I’m crashing in my buddy Adam’s old bed and using his pillow until I move into a new place this Saturday. The “Six Man Crew” pad is nearly on Colorado Blv, where the Rose Parade marched by just hours ago. And so it begins, a new year, a re-engagement with school and a new cell number (616.258.9004). The journey from Michigan to here was a good time. I stopped off in Minneapolis for a few days and hung with the Diehl crew, it was great, minus Caila getting bit in the face by a dog. We spend our first day together in the ER. She has healed up fine with a stitch or two and a good story. As we sat waiting for the doctor (for hours) we talked about how this is life, and how we are glad to be doing it together—it feels like home when we are in the same place.
Everything seems oddly new. I’m not sure what to make off it yet. I stopped by the café I would current and the menu went an’ changed on me. However, the newness is familiar. Caila and I had ourselves a date for our 16 month, at a pub of all places. But we had never been and it seemed just right as we roamed the quiet town of Sierra Madre. This is my last quarter at Fuller, I have very little to my name, I gave myself a haircut today—I’m feeling nimble in a way I haven’t for some time. Nimble yet planted. My buddy Sean and I are both jumping headfirst into writing projects these next few months, which feels rad and might influence some thoughts that land here. So this is sort of an update, a report of sorts.
“the path is made by walking” — nora gallagher, practicing resurrection