Letter To Judas

Dear Judas,

It has come to my attention you are having second thoughts about your help. I know it is not necessary for me to remind you that we have been paying your “expenses” now for some time. I feel I must also remind you that you came to me, I did not seek you out. You were the one who came in fear of what could happen if this mans power continued to go unchecked. We both agree that the Romans must be maneuvered around not removed forcefully. You were there when 5000 men picked up their swords to drive out Rome. You were filled with fear that day, fear that he would not be able to control the mass, fear they would drive the Roman Footmen out. We both know what would happen if men rise too early. We both know that it is not “If” he will lose control of them but “when.”

Believe me your patriotism is well tempered by wisdom, you were right, this man could ruin everything. His speeches must be stopped if we are to hold to God's plan for our country.

I know that you care for him, and I assure you, he will be handled well. We all care for him he is one of our own, but we must save him from himself. I wish no Jew to fall to the hands of Rome, but you know as well as I, that is what will happen if he continues his spectacle, if he continues to rouse the masses. Rome will not be able to stay silent if he continues and many will die.

You must help us Judas. We want what is best for the people. Annas and Herod both send their encouragement, and hope you will help us. You are our only hope, we have no man closer and can not get one closer before Passover. I and many like me fear that if we cannot have him under control before then Israel will be steeped in bloodshed. The Zealots are massing outside of Jerusalem, and they will use Passover to have their way, but if we can bring him close to us, if we are given the opportunity to guide this carpenter we may be able to use him toward our advantage to pacify Rome. Annas and Herod both agree with this plan. We must have him in our care before Passover if we are to save him from himself.

Oh, and we have increased your reimbursement to 30, don't worry you will be well cared for. You will be an important patriot when we finally do rise against Rome.

Yours Truly

Caiaphas, High Priest

PS. It is important you destroy this letter by fire to protect your cover.  

From Pole to Shining Pole

The current landscape of religion is changing. 15 years ago a conservative and progressive could sit together on a pew (though I understand that 50 years ago they could not). They would disagree in Sunday School and agree to disagree during the worship service. The disagreements were not small either, but the faithful understood being faithful was more important than being right.

Since that time the Christian church has polarized from Conservative to Liberal. Conservatives talk as if Liberal is a curse and Liberal's as if Conservatives are all evil. Remember though this was also the time before the internet and before 24 hour news channels were popular. There has been a unification of the religious and political poles, and no one respects a moderate. The Christian Church has forgotten there are two sides to every story, and we are generally not the progenitors of the story, we are but hearers and opinion holders.

No one knows that many churches still do good work, work with the poor, and work toward peace. There are still many Christians who believe that, “We can agree to disagree, and still fellowship together.” It is a problem when the conservatives loose themselves of liberals and vice versa. Polarizing topics can create a moderate base or polarizing topics create different churches. The Christian church is separating Liberal and Conservative like we used to separate black and white. This time though the demonizing takes place on both sides.

It is possible for someone who believes that God Inspired means 100 percent accuracy to sit next to someone who believes God Inspired means that God was behind the writing. It is possible for two people who disagree on the governments role in our lives to sit next to each other and sing Amazing Grace. It is possible for someone who disagrees with gay marriage to sit next to someone who does. Why do I believe this?

The church service, Christian faith, and God, have little to do with individual. We love to talk about the polarized issues, then hate one another for them, and the poor still go hungry. We love to phrase questions to figure out if someone is Liberal or Conservative, but it doesn't change the fact church and community members are losing loved ones due to illness and crime. We love to demonize the other side as evil, but our children refuse to come back to church.

I believe that we focus on these topics because we are scared of doing the actual work of the church. Feeding and clothing the hungry is hard, complaining about the Liberal Agenda or the Tea Party is easy. We spend all this time getting “our house,” in order, and look up to see the neighborhood has fallen down around us. Do we forget that two like poles in magnetics can't touch? The north cannot touch north and south cannot touch south, they need their opposites. Why do we reject ours?

I would rather work with a church that bore fruit with imperfect doctrine than find a church with perfect doctrine surrounded by death. The American Christian church is like a whitewashed tomb. Pretty on the outside, and filled with bones. We hurt others because we can't get our shit together.

Uh oh did you just see that guy typed shit?

Is This Writers Block?

Lately I have had a lot of ideas and thoughts. Today I sat down to write my thoughts on the current state of Religion and options that might help us reach those who need some kind of religious faith. The other day I sat down to write a story about something or another, and before that I tried to sit and write about some political topic of late.

The problem is, every time I sit to write my ideas, I get to the third line, reread what I have written, and understand it for the rubbish that it is. Not the idea, but the cohesion of the essay. I have some massive writers block, I have plenty of ideas and it seems I lack the ability to put them in to prose.

Arghh... Maybe I will post some more pictures of my damn plants.  

A Girl to Take Home

The hero had forgotten the most important absolute, that when he wakes he is no longer a hero. The sad reality of dreams is that they are dreams and that worlds in which they take us do not exist as we toil through the day. Too many times our hero had woken from a dream of love, connection, and hope into the world he loathed. Sadness filled him the moment he realized the people around him weren't there.

It happened so cruelly, it would be in the midst of a kiss or conversation, his partner would become none responsive and he had to begin working harder to get them to hear him. He would rush behind them through a door and find himself lying in a dark room with only the remnants of the world in his memory. There was no feeling like that feeling the hero has in the shower the next morning remembering only a shadow of the glory for which he lived in the dream, preparing for a job he hated, and hoping to find a girl to take to his parents.

It has been years for our hero since he felt that feeling. It had been since he met Jane. A short buxom woman who's love out shined any dream he had once had. Her touch, thrilled him to the point of ecstasy, and though that carnality did fade he never turned down her touch, not even when they were angry at one another. Our hero knew that he finally had a girl to take home to his parents.

He noted early on the wonder of lying with her. He joked that her feet were freezing and her body was like fire, but secretly he enjoyed it. Wrapping his arms around her while they lay like two spoons interlocking he would wake in the middle of the night whispering in her ear when she was half asleep. He loved the way she rested against him in bed. He could talk for hours of the ways he had enjoyed her body, the look and feel but that was not the place where he rested his thoughts only. The support she had given him when he lost his job, sitting next to him during the death of his sister. She knew, not only, how to comfort him in pleasure but also in pain. When he met Jane he had almost lost hope, he expected to be alone the rest of his life.

Love was the reason they married. A small service, family present, and the hero's brother stood next to him, while Jane's sister stood next to her. Of course the hero can't say that the moment the preacher pronounced them man and wife was the greatest day in his life, there were too many great days. The honeymoon, their first Christmas as man and wife, their children. Finally the hero had found the thing he'd been looking for, love that met him daily and nightly never forgetting him, to never wake alone again. All these days brought him joy, so much happiness that he could never name one best day. Of course, some days the hero rested in fear, fear of the greatest rule.

However, fears just like rules can be forgotten, and for our hero this was the case. It was a Friday, the kids were now old enough to ride the bus home from school and he waited anxiously for them, having come home from work early so they could leave for their family vacation to the beech. Jane was busy packing in their bedroom. He was so excited it felt like it was taking forever when the hero noticed that is was getting dark early, “There must be a storm coming,” he said with chagrin.

It began to get dark so dark in fact he could barely see out the window. The rain beat against the shutters, and the drops sounded loudly from the overflowing gutters in the house, the power lines hummed as they always did when it rained. He waited and waited and waited for the bus to come but it must have been running late, the power lines buzzing now.

He ran to the bedroom to find Jane sitting alone in the middle of the bed. He called to her but it seemed like his voice could not carry, his feet were like iron and he finally made it to the bed and lied next to his wife. It took everything to choke the words “I love you” from his mouth. He was afraid that she couldn't hear him over that asinine buzzing. Why is the buzzing so loud, and why did he feel paralyzed, unable to rise or talk?

Finally after a minute, he realize he had to urinate badly and popped out of the bed, turned off his alarm, and remembering little of the life that he knew as the hero he got out of bed. He went to the bathroom, relieved himself, got in the shower preparing for work, and thinking maybe today he would find a girl to take to his parents.

From the Letter of San Angelo to an incipient heretic

In Orson Scott Card's book, “The Speaker for the Dead,” a character named San Angelo records, an old Biblical story. He writes of a Rabbi who is confronted by religious leaders seeking to stone an adulterous He points out that everyone knows the traditional story so he offers two different options for the story.

In the first story the Rabbi looks out to the crowd and says, “Let anyone without sin throw the first stone.” The story plays out in the normal way, the men drop the stone and the crowd disperses because the teachers of the law and the villagers are confronted with their own imperfections and sin. It is their hope that should they individually be in the same situation. As Jesus and the adulterous woman walk away the story changes, Jesus says to her, “Tell the magistrate who defended his mistress so he knows I am his loyal servant.”

In the second story the Rabbi is confronted with the same situation. He yells to the crowd, “Let he who has no sin cast the first stone.” Confronted with their own guilt, the people began to drop their stones and rocks and as the last rock hits the ground the Rabbi kneels down to pick it up. Looking down at the woman he smashes in her head and kills her saying, “Nor am I without sin, but if we allow only perfect people to enforce the law, the law will soon be dead and our city with it.”

In the first story the woman survived because of the corrupt nature of the city, and in the second she dies because her community is too rigid to accept her defiance.

The writer describes the original version as “rare,” in regard to human experience. Pointing out that most communities move back and forth across the continuum between, “decay and rigor mortis” The letter closes saying, “Only one rabbi dared to expect of us such a perfect balance, that we could preserve the law and forgive the deviation. So, of course, we killed him.

(Speaker for the dead: 277-8)

Letter to God

Dear God,

I believe in you, I stake not only my reputation on your existence but I have chosen my life's path in regard to that belief bringing that very belief into the center. The core of what I do and who I am rests on your existence. I believe in you, partially because I was so conditioned, but it is deeper than that. I will argue until the day I die that I have experienced you, but it is even deeper than that. I believe because a world without you just isn't worth living in. People have told me that isn't a good enough reason but I agree to disagree and move on.

I live in Mississippi God, so I don't often run into people who are extremely vocal about not believing in you, but I know they are here, I actually feel good that many of them open up to me. I get frustrated about that God, not because I think they should believe but because people curse them in your name. I am so glad to live in a place where I am allowed to believe as I choose I like to offer that opportunity to everyone else. Yet they feel victimized and forced to hide here. Maybe they are victims. I get so frustrated with your people, because they hurt people in your name. They browbeat and do harm and call it love. I feel for those who don't believe in you, and struggle often not to hate those who do. You call us to love yet my brothers and sisters are so full of hate, it's frustrating.

You know what else is frustrating? Your silence. As I said God I believe I choose to believe and lately it feels like I have to make that choice anew daily. I have walked the line that so many of my friends and colleagues have in the past, many have crossed over and just given up on their belief. You know what I think it is that drives them over the line? It is easier to believe that you don't exist than that you could be a jerk. There I said it, I have been thinking it for a long time, but then the buck stops with you. I feel safe saying it because I know you aren't petty like many of the people around me. Your self worth does not hinge on whether or not I think you are being a jerk. What is really crazy is that, I don't really care if I am wrong, or if this situation is my fault.

Of course, I don't believe you get your rocks off on my pain. I never thought that. I never believed I am a joke to you, nor do I believe you stopped listening. I know you love me, I know that I matter to you, and I know that you listen. But lately I am having to choose to know that more frequently than I like.

Do you remember the days back when I was new at college, new with my little church in North Memphis? Those were great time, College, seminary, Residency in the hospital, God it was great to feel your presence every day, to know that what I was doing was right because it worked, and it helped others to come to know your love. I felt so much love in those days, and I believe as fully I believe you intended this current mess that you intended that joy. I blame that joy on you, which is why I am trying to make sense of this mess.

In his time of need, you showed Jacob a stairway to heaven, it would be nice to get a glimpse of that stairway, just for a moment. God I know better than anyone I am not innocent, but all I have left is a broken heart and heaps of regret. It's yours if you want it, for I am quickly running out of all else.

Justin

Why I am an environmentalist

Our current political system lives in extremes. We are divided in halves by television news and opinion shows and current political trends. It seems like every day we are forced into the ideals of one camp or the other, when in truth if we weren't all forced to answer questions worded with absolutist and pejorative language, we might even find that the middle isn't such a bad place, if only we were allowed to live in the middle conversation would aid growth, the temperament of conservatism with the action oriented nature of liberalism.

I remember as a child and through college hearing the phrase, “All things in moderation.” Growing up with a conservative Christian heritage this phrase was often saved for drinking alcohol or eating chocolate. Ever mindfully we didn't want to slip away into a side that was too restrictive or too permissive. Even conservatives Christians will find themselves rolling their eyes when it comes to the statements of extremists.

It was important to start with that simple introduction to move into my next topic. I fear often we have halted helpful dialogue in the fear of being alienated from our most extreme brothers and sisters. Growth is stunted by both sides when only one opinion matters. In the rest of this post I am going to offer my views of environmentalism and current trends while offering the “Whys” involved in making my ecologically based decisions.

I feel I must warn readers though, I recycle even though there is no local governmental mandate for it in my small Mississippi town. I choose to save my recyclables and drop them off at a local collection center in my daily travels. I also recycle my organic waste in an indoor vermicomposting bin. If you have read my blog you know that is a composting system using a tropical red worm. I use reusable shopping bags, and am careful about the things I bring into my apartment that will have to go out to a landfill. Now that I recycle my aluminum and tin, plastic, paper, and organic material, I have cut my weekly trash output to almost 50 percent. I no longer get bag when buying a soda and candybar at a gas station and I shop at local thrift stores. And having said all that I would still not make a good eco activist, the extremists would raise their noses at me and walk on. It is also important to say that many anti-climate change folk would come in and tell me I am wasting my time and not being beneficial to anyone.

So one important question both camps would first want an answer to before I was allowed in is, “Do you believe in Climate change/ Global Warming?” Neither side would like my answer which is: I don't know, maybe, maybe not. The fact is I am not a scientist. I like science, I think it is fun and beneficial to all mankind for moving forward into a better age but beyond that I don't have the education to critique it one way or the other. However, every time I drive into Memphis and the digital sign over interstate says, “Smog warning, don't roll down your windows,” I am taken aback. I also have to admit it is strange to say we are not effecting our environment when I can't eat fish out of either the Mississippi River or the Ohio River because of industrial pollutants. Obviously humans effect the environment, just ask the fish swimming around what is lovingly called “The Great Pacific Garbage Patch,” you know the island of plastic debris bigger than Texas in the Pacific Ocean. Personally I have to admit that, pictures of this patch encouraged me to take a more active role in dealing with my own trash. So what do I say to all this as a Theologian and a Dollar store Philosopher? I don't know if Al Gore is right, I don't know if the anti-Gore's are right, and though the information seems compelling

I will answer a different question and ignore climate change all together.

What's God's intended role for me on this Earth? Genesis starts with a strong and wonderful story that we often waylay because we'd rather talk about Evolution and Creation. The writer speaks so wonderfully about this world and God's intention for it. The story culminates in God's greatest creation, within whose hands he leaves creation.



“And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth” - Genesis 1:28 KJV

But then the Fall came and we were relieved of that.

"And God blessed Noah and his sons, and said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth. And the fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth, and upon every fowl of the air, upon all that moveth upon the earth, and upon all the fishes of the sea; into your hand are they delivered. Every moving thing that liveth shall be meat for you; even as the green herb have I given you all things.” -Genesis 9:1-3

A little different than the first but the basic stuff is still there. The Earth was placed under the charge of humanity. The Psalmist says that, “The heaven's declare the glory of God.”

When I signed the lease of my apartment I paid a deposit. If the apartment is in good shape when I leave the deposit and a reference is given to me. If the apartment is in bad shape, I get neither the money or a reference. All my life I have been told that humanity became stewards of creation. Admittedly this most often came up in relation to taking up a collection on Sunday but the world would be mentioned too. I was asked too many times to count whether or not I was being a good steward if the gifts God has given to me. We like to focus on money, but in the end that is something we created, even if it is necessary, it is OUR creation. This world, is God's and I should treat it as such. I believe this world was spun into existence by the hands of a loving God. I believe the heavens still declare his glory, but smog does not. This world was created by a divine hand and should be treated as such.

I have to admit eco-nuts drive me crazy, and so do anti-eco nuts. I don't understand how anyone can look at the devastation of this planet to make our lives easier a good thing. And yes there is devastation. I have already mentioned the island of plastic waste in the pacific, over fishing that is causing entire species' of animals to die out. God left all this in our hands, we rule over them, so why do we ignore our accountability to God for them? The burning of Fossil Fuels cause smog, solar and wind does not. Does that mean we can't use Fossil Fuels. I believe like the rest of the world they are a gift. But we need to be responsible with our gifts. So lets use them, because right now we have to, but to ignore other fuel sources that are cleaner, that is just stupid. I believe we can come up with a way to burn coal and oil cleanly, we went to the moon, I mean we are pretty smart people. We can also use solar, wind, and hydro to offset them so we should.

My decision does not rest on whether or not we are causing climate change, it rests on my belief that I am to be a good steward of God's creation. And I also believe one day a year isn't too much to ask to celebrate that idea.

By the Gazelles and by the Does of the Field

The Bible brings us wonderful literature. I remember in college thinking about the scribes that sat and copied text, letter for letter, checking, double checking, and triple checking the transmission of the text. I found joy in reading this text. I doubled my joy the first time I read it in Hebrew. Over the years my abilities in Hebrew (which were shoddy at best) have declined such that I can often only remember phrases that had been long memorized to feed my arrogance and narcissism. Yet I found, and I still find, joy in the Hebrew Testament.

The poetry speaks with such emotion that I fear the ability to touch. The joys and pains of these writers in relation to their divine walk astound me. The singing the weeping, it can be exhausting. Even the law, I poured over it with joy, creating in my mind a map of worship, and ethic that would transcend ages. I loved being confronted with the power of the divine in the text.

But this joy of textuality came second to my joy of philosophy. It wasn’t enough just to read and understand the text but to give this text the opportunity to bend my life. I often counted on, and would again, commentators. These men and women confront the text, if they are good, in such a way that letters and words make up phrases then the phrases make up more than paragraphs but thoughts, these thoughts were then tied together to set forth ideas, and these ideas, they help us every day to continue in God’s original work and create life.

I love the Book. I cannot live without it, even the dusty tome that sits on my dresser always open to a page to bring comfort. It is strange the things that bring us comfort. I remember my friend Heath always setting the seminary Bible in the entrance way to Ecclesiastes 1:1, for when one is surrounded every day by those of greater knowledge, articulating our thoughts could be daunting. That is, until we remember, the teacher called it all meaningless.

For those that are still with me, I will honor you and get to my point, and finally begin my essay. Years I stumbled through scripture, entering a book only when it seemed pertinent, and when it was necessary to bring life back into focus, devouring each tense until life made sense. Many experiences have oriented on the Greatest Song, and the last year especially.

Many look at the text of this Song and relate it as a metaphor. I love a good metaphor, this sultry poetry is not sultry, it is a metaphor for our relationship with God. Sentence by sentence God graces us with talk of our neck and we reciprocate with comments concerning our skin tone. It is a wonderful idea, an idea that wraps up everything an idea that makes us look into the wonderful book about life and ignore romance. I was encouraged once with a question, “What if it really is about sex?”

More poignantly what if it is about a relationship between two human beings that is so powerful, proper society blushes. When was the last time we heard the phrase, “Let me kiss you with the kisses of my mouth,” in church? Maybe the fear is that too many people would leave with their hands dripping in myrrh. But more importantly we are never confronted with what I find to be a core point in the book, “Do not wake or rouse love until it please!(JPS)”

For years I spoke of love. I preached on love. I sang songs of love. Love involved God, women, friends, roses, and thorns, but I didn’t get it until it involved one other. Early on thoughts of her devoured my days and nights. I had to increase my cell phone minutes and texts, my car miles were increasing quickly day after day week after week. All of the sudden six hours of traveling in one weekend made sense, and all the little romantic fantasies of my youth didn’t matter.

I poured forth with poetry, with roses, and she returned these things with letters and kisses. Our fights would drive my days and keep me awake at nights, and not hearing from her in too long a time made my stomach nervous. I noticed that I didn’t fear her (or my) arrival as I had looking for love with others, I reveled in it, I looked forward to the connection of our hands, and feeling her breath on my neck as we hugged. Love was roused and this great song made sense in a different way.

One night I remember reading her my favorite parts of this wonderful book. It was because one day I looked at her and thought, “Your neck is like a wondrous tower, smooth and elegant.” I had never known this thing. I had never known this love. This love so full yet so ancient the poetry that describes must be beyond classic, beyond man but divine.

Years ago I met an old couple at a hospital in Memphis. It was past midnight, but not yet morning. The man was dying and his woman sat holding his hand. I stood with them. In hindsight I remember clearly I was watching the machines count his heartbeats, she was watching him while hers broke. The sacrifice of love being roused! I hoped from then on that someday one would hold my hand, and it was that just recently I learned about love.

The danger of love is something I knew, that to love, one must be willing to lose everything. Of course the danger of love is something that I have just recently divined, “to love, one must be willing to lose everything.”

When I lose everything, I finally have the room to open the doors of my heart. Doors that I hope never to shut again. And finally I know “Many waters cannot quench love, [and] rivers cannot wash it away (NIV).”

My Memphis: A Love Story

Every now and again my thoughts move behind me. Some sensical stimulation starts, it’s like driving down the road and a special song plays. “Walking in Memphis,” I’ve done that, quite a few times in fact. The song elicits strong emotion, at least for me. From the opening line “Put on my blue suede and boarded a plane, touched down in the land of the Delta Blues in the Middle of the pouring rain.” Mark Cohn had a life changing revelation with W.C. Handy watching over him. I don’t remember my first steps in Memphis, I don’t well remember my first year; it seemed like a lifetime ago. I wonder often if I were to meet the boy who moved in search of God would I know him, would I like him, or would I pity him? The difference between he and I cover an expanse unperceived by traditional sight. Of course for all the differences, I wonder, really, am I that different? Having left and returned I warn you, it is like the golden mountain, once I left it I could never really come back, she wouldn’t let me. For any who would like to read on I offer you my Memphis, my sultry southern belle with “Catfish on the table, and gospel in the air.”

As I said I searched for God, I searched avidly for him. I opened my ears more than ever only to realize it isn’t the ears that open it is the eyes. See I came to Memphis for God, because he called me here. I know that sounds narcissistic. In an entire universe, God calls to me and puts me in this perfect place where I would thrive. Relax my Arminian heritage offers a wonderful balance, I did a lot of the work to. Don’t think I wasn’t scared, or alone; I spent a long time as both.

But I did see God… I had only to open my eyes and look. Sure the trees and such but in the people around me. I was blessed to live on the campus of my seminary a wonderful place where the God led and god less walk hand in hand, preaching and teaching, I was lucky because I was allowed to listen to the experiences as well the long nights in conversation with brothers and sisters in faith, in conversation with the God above, and the silence… these things led me on. I ate, slept, and breathed experience and had the opportunity to bathe it in theology. Like a wine that is slowly cooked away during simmer I was left with strong tannins that could easily breed in me a distinct bitterness, save the stock of grace to bring balance leaving me with a full fruity and meaty theology.

My Lovely Church Lady Memphis walked with me. I saw theology walking the streets dressed as Elvis, where else was I to see it, it was a year in Memphis before I was to walk on Beale, and another two after before my feet lifted “ten feet off.” I wouldn’t say I lived sheltered; the churches in which I found my work were to be locked in the middle of the week when I was alone in them. I walked proudly (with a humble gate) in places white men were to not; I stood face to face with gangsters with only a shield of faith to protect me.

Ok maybe it wasn’t that bad, I had a huge church van protecting me too. Learning quickly that gang-bangers and drug dealers like prayer too. I can think back to the specific day that I realized I was becoming a democrat, shaking hands with an ex-lieutenant who was hiding from his gang in L.A. I guess there is no nice way to say, “State’s evidence.” I wouldn’t want anyone to think that I was slaying dragons, the other reason I was left alone is because I did what they perceived as, “Babysitting.” Maybe, just one will remember the bombastic white guy who used to jump and sing with them, maybe some of them will find hope, years from now. It isn’t like I knew what I was doing, but I sure felt like I should’ve. I guess that is why I went a different way with my calling.

I began to “should’ve known,” a lot in those years. When I finished my stint I moved from that Inner city Church to House Church. God walked with me still holding my hand, or so it is that I say. My work moved from outside to inside. Let me say it this way, I believed for years all I wanted to do was help others, when in truth it was a nice way to alleviate years of guilt impacted like a pregnant woman with a low fiber diet. I figure it was important for me to figure out that I liked me, especially since that was whom I thought of most often.

My sweet southern belle, Memphis had introduced me to the people I needed. I think she needed me to open up; she needed to see the heart of the boy that had been escorting her these short years. I walked underground for years, holding and being held, crying and crying with. There are places in my old sweet city, that if I were to walk I would tear up today, for the memory of the grace I had found there. It was in these Grace meetings that I learned I mattered, and once I learned I mattered, I could see that others mattered too. To these brothers and sisters, though I may never mention their name I would also never withhold the necessary hugs that point to self-worth. Anytime, anywhere and without shame!

That’s when my sweet southern lady first demanded I take her dancing. Now not only did my Theology walk with me, it demanded I lead. This is when I got to know her sultry side. Did you know that somewhere near the end of Lonely Street there is a hotel? In that hotel is a bar, the Jungle Room. And if you went the right night there was a pretty little thing, now whether or not she was waiting for king I don’t know however, her drink specials couldn’t be beat, but I digress.

My Wonderful Lady and I first danced the Charleston, I found I didn’t care for it much, but there were other dances. I realized something about the Libido that Jung and Freud had yet to inform me, not only does sexual desire and masculinity (femininity too) live there but also religious expression and spirituality. My Sultry Southern Belle taught me why David danced in only an ephod for God.

It is important to note during this time that I saw her suffering side. My Theology and my Lady walked with me through the halls of a local hospital, attending to the souls of her sons and daughters. She showed me death until I begged her to stop, then she showed me a little more. My smallness increased, as it were. Sitting in a hospital chapel at 2 AM one Saturday mourning with my lady, and making love to her on a seedy dance floor in Orange Mound the next. She reminded me what God had said, “There is a time for mourning and a time for dancing.” The extent to which I danced was always proportionate to that which I mourned. I can say assuredly say I sampled her Gospel and her Catfish.

I don’t know what time or what day it was, only that Country Girl introduced me to the song, “Ain’t No Sunshine.” For weeks this song played on in my head I was singing it day after day, night after night, until this one night… you see there was this little girl, and I was holding her when they pronounced her mother, I realized… “She’s always gone to long, anytime she goes away.”

She had escorted me a long way when I said goodbye to her, wondering if I would ever find another love. I had listened to mankind cry out for God in Churches, Houses, Jukes, and Libraries. I was ten feet off of Beale when I left. I lived on the edge of Midtown, right before they call it downtown. I knew all the Antique store, doughnut shops, and coffee shops. I even knew a guy who roasted some of the best. Saturday morning I would drive from shop to shop after coffee and a muffin, or chocolate milk and a doughnut. I saw the greatest artifacts in the streets of Memphis. I didn’t have to go to the museums or the art shows. The art was right where God had painted it, in the people that made up this amazing place, a place I felt truly home. I remember saying goodbye to her, in my apartment late one night, and I knew then that she would never let me make her mine.

I said goodbye to my fair maiden… to my sultry southern belle with promises of return. I didn’t look into her eyes when she said goodbye, they tried to warn me it would never be the same, it could never be as it once was. She knew, long before I did that I would find home again, and my new romance would welcome me with wide eyes. This goodbye was for good.

I tried to return to her less than a year later, in that time I had changed and she had changed. I felt as if I were peddling backward. I tried again to woo her but her sights were set on another, I danced with her again and it was empty. She knew when I greeted her that the old crossroad’s in Mississippi had it’s way with me. I walked hand in hand with another, and when I looked in my Sultry Belle’s eye’s she knew, even before me, I wanted to return there.

I never regretted my decision to leave that was the problem. She had shown me a vibrant life, a life that I never dreamed I would have ever lived. We feasted, we danced, and we loved. I found these things with her. Maybe once I had the chance stay, but it had long passed by the time I’d looked to the crossroads. Many nights I woke, wondering where I would be in a year or two. I feared I had wondered across hot foot powder, that I would be doomed to ramble on forever.

Maybe there was a part of me that knew I could never love her again, and vice versa. It was the part that moved me here, across the line in Mississippi. Shaven off of Mississippi and Memphis I sit in the middle, awaiting my call home.

Ditty Bout a Girl

I wanted to write a poem

Cause I care so damn much

Describing your eyes and lips

Longing for your touch

 

Talking about why I care

And how great you are

Thinking bout all your attributes

And how you must’ve fallen like a star

 

I try and relate you to the cosmos

The sky and sunsets and shit

But the words I have don’t describe

The feelings and all of it

 

I can only stare blankly

And listen to your words

And in the silence smile at you

And pray for what to say…

When it is my turn

 

Something to say

I was lying on the floor considering my life… and I laughed. Thinking back to the winding road walked, I couldn’t help it. I spend a lot of time walking the line between life and death, searching for something… not sure what, just something. On more than one occasion I have felt the heavy black robe on my shoulders, the cold face of death masking my reflection, sometimes hoping to God that it was just a mask and worried that the true mask I wore was the face I show my friends when I walk out of my house.

I have presided over a half dozen weddings, but only one funeral, but in that time over 100 deaths. It is easy when my life surrounds so much death to feel like my Bible is a scythe and my smile is hidden behind the bones of the Ghost of Christmas Future. Commonly I feel like I sit outside of life watching the living, and I sit outside of death watching the dying. Can’t help but think the words, “Love is not a victory march but a cold and a broken hallelujah.”

I don’t know if I would say I had ever lost hope of the good things, but I know I have never lost sight of the bad. Weeks have begun to roll by, so have many lives, and I can’t help but mourn for the bit of life that I let slip by in my own fears. For the longest time the only way to hold back the onslaught of grief was to dance. There is something naturally healing when two human being hold one another and converse without words. It makes it easier to remember that the blood in my veins is warm knowing that I have not faded into the background of existence.

But there came a time when dancing didn’t work anymore. Well, maybe it wasn’t that dancing didn’t work, it was just that my heart had become to heavy to lift for the time it takes to ask. Though I guess my imagery of the road isn’t complete unless I mention the mountains. I can’t walk straight up a mountain, I walk from side to side in that direction, and I suppose descent is the same. It is manageable if I go back in forth and avoid falling off the mountain.

And the ideas of the prophets fill the corners of my waking mind. Looking back the prophets spoke of the better times, begging that if those who hear would return to those times better times would return. Reminding me ever to have faith in God because God has always been faithful. I do remember a time, my happiest time. There was a time when life was ascent only, with small descents but mostly ascent.

Those were great times but I also can’t help remember the conversations I have had with others in the valley. To put it more succinctly the love I felt from those in the valley. When I am forced to play the serpent, or the psychopomp I am met by those other tribes wondering in the valleys, and we all become one because we have to.

This is purely a rant, I don’t know where it was going, all I know is that as I laid on the floor, I laughed, and it was good.

Cars and Feelings

My car was broken into tonight, outside of a Methodist Church in Memphis, I was outside a Methodist church because we dance there on Thursday nights, so I was up for a fun evening when someone, totally unrelated to us came in asking if we saw anyone in the parking lot because someone busted out his window. I thought then I would check mine, and wow did they do an A-1 job. there was no window left, you could tell they put a hole through then cleared it out with a bar or something. My plastic bags held almost all the way to Southaven on the interstate, I was proud of them.

So I process my feelings when it comes to this. I feel annoyed. I feel annoyed because I will have to deal with this tomarrow. I will have to miss work to deal with it, and I have only been there two weeks so I really haven’t even got any vacation time to use, I will just not get payed. The other thing that gets me is, I really like my job, I look forward to going, but my car in intrical to my job, I drove five hundred miles last week.

I am surprised I don’t feel violated. I mean they entered my space without permision it seems like some violation should go witht that, well maybe that is why I looked for any reason to stick around longer with my friends, knowing that I was comming home alone and had a long ass trip with a loud window, alone. Maybe there is some violation in that.

The funny thing is they didn’t even steal anything. I think that actually pisses me off, dammit if you are going to put me through this at least steal my Al Green CD, or my Bill Withers. Sure I love those CD’s but then I would have felt like, well at least they got something.
The other feeling is relieved, I work out of my car and have information in there that would be a pain to put back together, it was all there.

Then there is Irony. A year ago in Memphis I lived in a bad part of town, in Jackson it wasn’t a great part of town, now I moved to a decent place and get broken into when I travel into the place I love, Memphis.

I think then, that is the main frustration, now I will always be worried that my car is going to get broken into, regardless of the fact I have been dealing with cars for 13 years and this is the first time, even when I lived in bad parts of Memphis. I am frustrated that anytime my car is outside when I am at a juke or at the old church dancing I will be worried, it will take the joy from dancing... so how do I keep the bastards from robbing me of that joy? Maybe that is why I am still in shock.

My Memphis

I was listening to Mark Cohn's song, "Walking in Memphis," and I became sad. At first the saddness made no sense, then I heard another song, Rufus Wainwright's "Hallelujah." I would sit in Jackson Mississippi and think of the Cohn song over and over again and become sad. But why now? why am I sad that I am in Memphis. Well first, I have to tell myself that I am not sad, per se, the problem is that the people I love live in different places. After a weekend of dancing I felt great, excited it was wonderful, it was like the old days, but the problem with the old days is that... the days between then and now meant something too.

So the words, "Love is not a victory dance it's a cold and broken Hallelujah," sting. I remember the words best from the lips of a friend, I heard her sing it on a recording but every now and again I would pull a little bit out of her while we were together. I am glad to be in Memphis, I am glad to be home, but home has always been where I hung my hat. I never had friends like those that sat with me on the stoop, and stood with me at the crossroads. It was odd, over the weekend I think I would even feel a little guilty having a good time without my friends from the Bellhaven Stoop, the plaque which currently hangs by my Minister Bond and Diploma. I suppose that I have to have it both ways, happy and sad together, dancing...

Home for the Holidays

I received a card from my parents the other day, part of it said that even though this is the first Christmas I spend on my own, not to spend it alone. I struggle with Christmas. My denomination doesn’t treat it as a holy day, nor does my family. It is a family holiday, a chance for us to gather together. My first Christmas away from West Virginia I expected years ago would be different. The days I assumed I would spend that time in Memphis, the days where I hoped to call it home are now gone. I have traveled further south, to a different place, to a different home. In a place where I often feel alone, I rest in the cognitive assurance that I am not alone.

I remember looking for apartments in Jackson Mississippi. The first I walked into seemed to me to be a tomb. I fled that place as the day flees from the night. The second was different. I walked in, and smiled and knew this would be the place I call home. Three weeks after moving in, I met my neighbors, then I understood why this place felt right. It wasn’t long before we were all friends. It wasn’t long before we had come up with out own traditions, and our own weekly observances. It wasn’t long after that they became family.

I have always had a family in West Virginia, my first family, those who are akin to me by blood. I love them dearly, but it wasn’t until I found family else were that I understood my connection to them. This year I am away from my family of origin. I was sitting in church today, the last Sunday before Christmas, and I saw many people I didn’t know, I saw those who had come home. There was a slide on the powerpoint that said, “Home for the holidays.” Two songs in I fled that place.

God has blessed me with the ability to find family in any place. It wasn’t a month before one began to form here. That also carries with it a curse. It is a curse that all nomads feel. We create homes for ourselves, we create families, we build important relationships, then when the time is right we are torn from those relationships and are off to build more.

This year I won’t watch my niece open presents; I won’t see my nephew’s first Christmas. I won’t eat my mother’s fudge, or my grandmother’s turkey. There is a forlorn nature to which I sojourn through this world. Jesus said that he had no place to rest his head. I understand Jesus. I gravitate to Gethsemane, to the grief, for I don’t understand how he could build those friendships knowing they would be ripped away, that in the end they would fall. I suppose that is why resurrection is so important to me, and heaven. Because at some point my sojourn will end and I will come to my final home.

Advent, another season I grew up without, looks toward the second coming. What season looks forward to today? Looking forward to a great community in heaven is fine and dandy, but what about the community here?

Home for the Holidays… Currently home is where I hang my hats (for I have many). Knowing then that professing faith means that I have a God that always walks with me helps. Because these days I sit alone waiting for the season to end, and in these days I feel kinship with Jesus Christ, wondering how he dealt with his final Passover. Knowing that dawn come to all who lie awake I wait. In Advent… for the Triumphal Return. Until that day, I surround myself with those in whom I see the divine, and I walk. Sojourning through this land, knowing that I do because I have been called to. …for the son of man has no place to rest his head.

On being a Patriot

Last Tuesday night I had an interesting and informative conversation with a Vietnam Vet. He was standing on the corner, on the opposite end of the crossroads on which I live in Mississippi. He told me his name is Angel. I was talking to the Vet because it was cold and my neighbor, a very good hearted woman, wanted to take him a blanket but didn’t want to walk over alone (it seems her rottweiler wasn’t good enough). In truth I believe he was quite mad. He has PTSD, and has lived on the streets most of his life since his return from Vietnam. All I could think in hindsight was, fallen angel.

The next day I was leading a Bible study in the nursing home at the local VA. I lead one every Wednesday, because that’s what chaplains do. I was speaking on an interesting passage in Genesis about killing. The Bible study is always full, most of the people who come are WWII Vets. I reflected shortly after on my own patriotism.

My freshman year of High School I refused to stand for the Pledge of Allegiance. I got a lot of bad responses to that from the teaching staff of my school. I thought of them as judgmental, as idolaters, as fascists. Go figure, forcing me to stand and calling it freedom. In rebellion I blew my nose on an American Flag. The response of most of my peers has faded, and I don’t think much on the response of my teacher, or the vice principal who called my mother in for a conference that day. Oddly enough I don’t think much on my mother’s response. The response that lives forever in my memory was my grandfathers. My grandfather served during the Korean Conflict. He didn’t use many words, and to be honest I don’t remember them… it was the look in his eyes…

As I write this we are nearing the end of Veterans Day 2007. Today I serve as a chaplain for the local VA, every day I hear stories of WWII, Korea, Vietnam, and Iraq. I have had the honor to stand in the room with Tuskegee Airmen, WWII Airborne (the folk who jumped out of plains behind the enemy lines), Vietnam Vets who swear that if they had known what they were in for they would have fled to Canada, and Iraq/Afghanistan Vets (men younger than me) trying to put their lives back together. I however, am a civilian.

I was listening to a General speak today, and I also watched a movie about war. As I sit here, a world away from the conflict, from the car bombs, the bullets, and the death on a mass scale I consider the few years of eligibility I have to join what I hear every day referred to as “the service.” Don’t worry, I doubt that I will, but I wonder… what do those chaplains offer? What do they say when they talk to their fellow soldiers about losing their buddies and just making it out alive.

I also have to consider that I am a bohemian in thought. Let me explain for two days ago I didn’t know what that word means. I consider myself in some ways an artist, a singer, a poet. My friends are artists, singers, and poets. Last night I went to see La Boheme, and earlier that day watched (for the first time on screen Rent. I also have to admit that for the most part I am a pacifist. Yet I think… what would I have done as a pacifist if my number had come up in earlier conflicts?

When did I become a patriot? It’s not even that I believe in our current conflict or the man making decisions. It’s not that I have all the sudden become a supporter of this war. However, I must say that I do believe there are things worth fighting for, dying for, and in some cases… killing for. In the end all I know is that I cannot make the same mistakes objectors made after Vietnam and that I can support the men and women who fight. It is not my place to spit on a soldier, to call him or her names, or to judge them. Maybe it’s better that I am a civilian; I will never understand them… but I can stand with them here, and I can honor them, from home.

God bless you, and goodnight.

To Whom It May Concern

To Whom It May Concern:

People don’t often think of me as an introvert. I guess because from the very beginning I was assertive, well maybe aggressive. My first boss couldn’t stand me, and could stand me even less when I told him I was going into business for myself. He was like a father to me, being rejected by him… in many ways wrecked my life. That isn’t to say I would want to work for my old boss again, but there were some good times.

Then there was that incident with that woman… I can’t remember her name right now. I can’t tell you how many people thought I was the shit because I approached her the way I did. They thought it was even better that I “tricked” her. I think that is a very judgmental and one-sided way of looking at things. I let her know the truth, the truth that my boss didn’t want to let her know, look I think information should be free, we shouldn’t hoard information, even when it is expensive. I think the prices we pay now are ridiculous, but then I am always called the bad guy.

I don’t get it sometimes. All I want to do is help, it isn’t like my enlightenment isn’t important, shoot if it weren’t for me then no one would really enjoy life. I would be surrounded by thoughtless automations with a fear of fruit. Ooh if you eat of this fruit you will die… like that’s fair. He pulled that shit with me and I stood up and said HELL NO!!! Who needs wings anyway?
And because of these things people think I am an extrovert. Look, I am the first one to tell you that I know I need a few friends around, I don’t like to be alone, but then at the same time, approaching people has always been hard for me. My brothers Mike and Gabe, they always knew how to approach and not feel awkward. It is that, so awkward for me.

I walked into Wal-Mart the other day and there was a greater. I could tell I made him uncomfortable, but then I can’t stand that outgoing bullshit, especially when it’s fake. I think I liked the ones in Memphis better; there at least the greater didn’t put on this facade like he gave a shit when he really didn’t. Down here everyone wants to look polite, regardless of their true feelings. See that’s what I am all about, true feelings.

I figure that if everyone was just honest with one another, then this world would be a much nicer place. If you don’t care say you don’t care, if you don’t like someone say you don’t like them, and for fuck’s sake, if you need to hit someone hit them.

Case in point, I was in church the other day, this fool up front telling me how to live. I chuckle at that every time I hear it, then of course he blames me for it. Actually I think that bastard blamed me for everyone who doesn’t like him, at least that is what I think he was saying. Oh, it’s my fault that the pastor lusts after the deacon’s wife, it’s my fault that the youth minister likes porn, and oh yes, it’s my fault your 16 year old daughter is pregnant.

I am not always whispering in people’s ears. Generally I don’t have to people make these decisions all on there own, regardless of me. In truth the last time I really even approached anyone it didn’t work. Sure the first one did. Most people don’t even listen to me. Generally people just want to blame me for their problems. All I want is a few friends: to drink with, to dine with, to sleep with. Anything I do is just to make friends. I’m like anyone else, lonely and scared to death of rejection.

Sincerely
Legba

The Rosary

Hail Mary full of Grace
The Lord is with you
Blessed are you among women
Blessed is the fruit of your womb Jesus…


The rosary sat coldly in his hands though he ground the beads like they were sand. Try to keep the image; it’s all he can do; try to picture the Holy Mother… to know at least someone is praying for him…

…Its funny, I have been doing it so long I don’t know anymore if it even matters, anymore… I know it used to…

It was a cold day, but warm. I know that doesn’t make any sense it just was. There was a dry rain, and I hit bottom. Let me tell you, bottom is an interesting place to be, all I can see is what is below me, and there is nothing below me. Bottom, so low in fact, I could no longer hear the conversations of the people above me. Of course every now and again someone would get close to me, but never as low as me. Bottom’s are funny though, it isn’t like I was drinking, I hadn’t pissed anyone off, I hadn’t lost my job and by no means had I hurt anyone… not even myself. Often at bottoms people have suicidal idealizations, I had none, I knew what was before me either way, hell… no, capitol H Hell. Not in death but in life, and then in death because of the waste my life had become. And it would make sense if I was addicted to drugs or alcohol if I had just lost someone important, if I was so depressed I wanted to die… of course I was just so depressed I didn’t think I could be lucky enough to die… then one way or another get stuck with eternal life.

Hail Mary Mother of God
Pray for us sinners
Now, and at the hour of our death…


I guess I am not at my death, but now… will the holy Mother come to me, and even if she could… would it matter, I hear there are some things that can’t be forgiven… A contract is often one of those things, especially when Hell has the best lawyers. I know what you’re thinking, “This nut job sold his soul to the devil.”

Let me correct you, “This nut, Job, sold his soul to the devil.” Okay so I am not necessarily the one in the book, at least not the one the book is written about, but Goethe liked me enough to put me there… Okay maybe I am not that one either. Who am I then that this Faustian deal weighs on my soul? It wasn’t a long contract; you know there wasn’t even any fine print

I, state your name, blaspheme the Spirit
Signed,

Well, you know…

There were witnesses too, what was her name… hell I don’t remember anymore; maybe I can find the document. Of course I lost it years ago…
He really hasn’t bothered me since I signed either, he got a kick out of it, I didn’t tell him I wanted anything, in all honesty, I was just sick of being fooled, so I just signed… “Easiest soul I ever knew,” he said to me as he walked away. Mephistopheles has a good sense of humor, he threw me a rosary, I am not even Catholic. Years ago I thought about converting but you know… never got around to it… was too busy… hitting bottom.

Is there grace once one signs his soul away? Sometimes I wonder why I couldn’t just be like one of those folk I see every day who sign a wee bit more away every day. If they died right now it might take some purgatory to burn that shit out, but in a few years… hell… I might have a roommate, at least in Hell.

Should I continue with this rosary, I never really took to the doctrine of Mary… I mean it’s all right, just not my thing.

Grace… Damnation… Peace… how is it I feel like I deserve all these things at the same time… maybe I will be lucky and I will find out the Evangelicals were wrong, and the Catholics, and… well most everyone, and there is annihilation of the soul. I think that is what I want anyway… for annihilation I get peace…

Well… it’s time to go. Time to sleep, perchance to dream…if I am lucky, an empty dream… where my soul is already annihilated.
Mary looked down from heaven… Mephistopheles looked up from Hell… both willing to fight for a soul. Then there was Jesus… he smiled… because he knew something more.

The Journey

It was an odd day, the day that I died. I don’t think that it is worth getting into the details of the event, they weren’t very meaningful, at least not to me. Not in the long run. I think it is also worthless to talk about lights and tunnels and things, not because I didn’t see them, it just… wasn’t important to me.

See get this, I was lying there… I was in the hospital, I remember having to argue with my wife about what I wanted, there were a few things that were obvious that she already knew. She knew my flair for the dramatic and my desire to utilize what many have called, meaningless gestures, partially because I believe and also for the dramatics.

Its funny, I didn’t have to argue with her about getting a priest, a specific priest. Yes I know, I am not Catholic… but he was a friend, and he used to sneak me communion during Mass. It was funny I remember once over a beer I told him I wanted him to give me last rites, he figured that he’d go first so we just toasted our glasses and he said all right. I won’t tell the diocese if you won’t. I still remember him praying the rosary for me. It was neat, maybe the cross between Morphine and Dopamine… but I saw Mary there… She was behind my youngest son, there was a tear in her eye, and a smile on her face… her face was so warm and inviting, I wonder if everyone knows how warm and inviting her face is. Sure I know it is crazy for a protestant to talk about visions of Mary but hey… it’s what I do.

The room was strangely warm, I thought I would be cold… I wasn’t, I don’t know what was warming the room up… maybe love… maybe frustration… You know there was a chaplain there. I had hoped there would be one, this was a Southern Baptist fellow… I think I was conscious about two hours, he was there the entire time. At one point he sat with me and talked, just he and I, I had to smile, he was so young, and his eyes an odd mix of warm and cold. Like he was full of emotion, but fuller of a desire to only let it squeak out. He was a good guy, I don’t remember his name, he was in training, I told him a little about my training, I told him how I wanted to die… I opened the door for him.

"It seems like your ready," he said to me in a haunting voice. I always wondered if I would have that conversation with someone. The truth is, I was tired, I suppose a little young but still, I have two kids and a wife I love very much… The oldest is married, I won’t get to see my grandchild this side of the shadowlands, but I know he is coming, I know it’s a boy, they don’t believe me, think I am a damned old mystic. I will get a chance to speak with him before he goes, I will send a message, I wonder if they will get it.

Now the youngest, he is the most like me, he is in seminary, followed in my footsteps, I can’t believe it. I argued with him about it, talked about the hours, about pain, about the tears I had shed, about living paycheck to paycheck, God’s forced faith, knowing that he will provide because otherwise we starve. I knew I had lost the argument when I saw a gleam in his eyes… later a vision… I made the arguments of his grandfather, but my heart welled with pride. I know he doesn’t know about the pain that is coming, but I know he can take it. I feel that I can stand before God and feel redeemed because of my children… because through all the mistakes I made… they will change the world, maybe that is just the father in me… but God is a father too.
I will never see him wed… be he will. Its funny when Mary left his side she was replaced with the shape of a different woman, olive skinned… seemed cute… holding his arm. I don’t think he was open to the vision fully but I saw him shiver, then scratch his arm where she was touching him… he would meet her soon, maybe two years out, but soon.

The oldest… successful bastard, he is like his mother. I never thought I would spawn his kind. The popular kind, the sporty kind, but he was a little different. Sure I had to adjust his attitude as a kid but he seems to have gone a different direction. He seems to have… grown. He will be a good father, I can’t believe the woman he married. Every day I wonder how he got her… She is so kind, I think she is the reason he went back to church. My vision of him is interesting… a rose… he will be a leader someday… a leader in the church… not like my young son… but a lay leader… an elder...

My wife, she is funny. She has two silver dollars in her purse… because I asked for her to carry them, to pay the boatman. When I die I want them over my eyes. She will hand one to each son; they will cover my eyes. She is okay with that, but she wasn’t okay with me dying… at least not at first. I keep telling her I won’t make it, she keeps talking about miracles. I keep telling her I don’t want those miracles. I am not afraid of death, or at least wasn’t until that damn chaplain asked me a question.

"Yeah I’m ready," I heard myself say. "How about you, you ready?" I know the expectation of the chaplain, I know what the staff thinks he should do, I smile at him. I can’t help it, I tell him stories about CPE: About the years I spent as a chaplain and as a preacher, the years as a husband and a father, the years alone… in transit… wondering if I would ever find a home. I saw a tear in his eye… That bastard, he knew what I needed, and I think I knew what he needed. I needed to talk… he needed to hear… yes I was ready… it was right

"You are Catholic?" I always laugh when people ask me this question.
"No sir, never got around to conversion," my priest friend laughed.
"I think you understand what Catholic means better than most…" my Priest said.

My new Southern Baptist friend didn’t understand that comment, so the father, it feels odd to call my friend father, explained about the big church. This chaplain is just a kid, we both know he isn’t going to listen too well, but I like him. He is me… I am him…

My niece and nephew are there, and a man who became like a brother to me later… my sister-in-law’s brother. A good guy… I was glad he was there. I look forward to seeing my brother again. I wonder where he is…

All the sudden there is pain… God awful pain… So I do the only appropriate thing… I start to curse… the nurse gives me more morphine immediately I get loopy, it’s almost time… I glaze my eyes with the look of goodbye, I try to speak but I am too tired, I can raise 1 finger, I wave… the circle around me joins hands. Mary was back, Jesus was there, and Grandma, that is where I saw you first… My brother standing next to his wife… I hadn’t seen that in years… I can’t exactly remember why… oh now I remember. I don’t think she knows he is there…. Mom… Dad… smiling, holding hands. I really appreciate that theology about "believers but not knowers."

They are gone and I get up… blue lab coat… chaplain coat… I am in the hospital… "Code 1 to ICU 3" I rush to the code and find out it wasn’t a code… the chart says, "do not resuscitate." The family is standing around the body; Mary is here, Jesus is here… Mom, Dad… why are you here… Anna… Adam… why is my family here? I look down on the table, me… all the sudden I am looking up from the table… and I am filled with breath.

Grandma, that is when you handed me my chaplain coat… my sons placed the silver dollars over my eyes. I put my coat on… I walked through a corridor… another chaplain next to me… he wore black… pretty macabre for a chaplain… oh, he is "that" chaplain… I walk to a river… there is a boat, and a man with a lantern. "Charon?" I said. He smiled at me and held out his hand, I reached into the pocket of my lab coat, lets see… papers… more papers… census’… there they are. I hand over two silver dollars to Charon. He smiles.

The journey is short… peaceful, and oddly enough seemed like forever… I was a little nervous… now judgement it coming, now I stand before God… now the decision… Elysium or Tartarus… All the sudden no fear… I should be afraid, I am not… I got off the boat onto a dock… I walk through a door… I am in the hospital again… but it is a dream I had many years earlier… I walk into employee orientation… I state my name to the man behind the main desk… the bookkeeper opens a large book… this was just like a dream… he smiles… "St. Peter?" I ask. This is no longer the dream. I begin to walk and turn to ask a question, "can I check on my family?" he showed me a monitor. There was crying… even the chaplain… but it was okay… Mary was there… so was my Dad… and Mom… I looked to the right; Grandma was with me… she had never left me. Uncle Bud on her right… smiles… all smiles… The journey, I plot my course.

Haven't posted in a while

Haven't posted in a while, sorry between my Myspace and Facebook accounts and the fact I have to use the public library I don't get to post much. I am currently working on an article that I hope to post, it will be about the archetyple of the Faustian deal in relation to integration of the shadow.

Mother's Day

Who needs the attention at the death or dying of a loved one?

My pager went off at 10:30 PM, I wasn’t looking forward to going on a call but they really wanted me in the ER. I left the oncall room, put on my chaplain’s lab coat, and began to walk. As I got to the ER I got the info from the nurse. 19 year old girl coughing up blood, three hours earlier she felt decent, the day before she had been released from a clinic saying she was "Okay." She died the day after mothers day (this is very important), it was 12:30 a dark Monday morning. She left 3 sisters, a mother, and a daughter 3 years old. I can make no judgement as to whether she was a good mother I just knew her baby knew who she was, sometimes that speaks enough for me. Regardless it is none of my business, at least not anymore, if she was a good mother.

See I witnessed the death of three mothers that day (when working a 24 hour shift a day goes from 7 AM to 7 AM Monday morning) it was one hell of a mothers day. I called my mom to tell her I love her, she said, "You must have heard the same sermon I did." My reply was, simply, "probably." It didn’t matter that I hadn’t been to church that day, God speaks regardless.
Have you ever tried to connect with a 3-year-old. I am a pediatric chaplain (at least currently) it is my job to know how. If I can just get her eye early in the night, make a face, do the stupid removing the thumb trick. I did all those things. I remember at one point of the night she was being overlooked, please don’t judge the family you weren’t there and sometimes when emotions get high even the best lose direction, she came to me and held my hand. Her mom had been in the ER under constant work for two hours now, maybe more… I squatted down to look her in the eye… she said something about her mommy and pointed to the crisis room… I don’t understand 3-year-old eese. She just walked toward me, leaned on me so I hugged her.
I am not a huggy person… I get it from my father, but this girl needed attention. I picked her up and she put her arms around my neck. I generally don’t opt to hold children, this was a exception. While I was holding this baby her mother was called. I shut my eyes and imagined the magnanimity of growing up with no mother, knowing that your mother died on mothers day… but then I looked at my watch 12:15 AM. Mothers day was over.

On a death call whom do I give attention to? The family was in shock they were in mourning and they were taking care of each other. I did my chaplain duties, I took them in to see their fallen kin, I walked them back and forth from the chapel, I made sure paper work was taken care of, I listened, hell, I got water for those who needed it, these things were easy. My heart broke for a three-year-old girl who lost her mom…

I am just arrogant enough to tell this story because it is a neat story about me. I can’t help that… Another chaplain said he pictured this as a statue with the inscription, "The chaplain comforts the dying mothers child." That feeds my ego, at least on one level. It also makes sense of tragedy… at least on my side. The family still has to make their own sense… but I will never forget the child saying, "Mommy," and pointing to the crisis room.

Somewhere in the midst of shit there is grace. Somewhere in the midst of Hell there is hope. Somewhere in death there is life… Sometimes I ask why I am the one who has to stand there in the middle. Maybe because I am just arrogant enough to do it… maybe because it is the only way I am humbled… maybe because when I don’t have the strength to control life, God does.

A year ago I was afraid to walk into the ER during crisis… I am not sure when the fear dissipated… maybe God increased… not necessarily in my whole life but this one aspect. Fuck… I don’t know anymore. I was talking to a chaplain who has walked this a lot longer than me, I asked him, "What is wrong with us that we choose to do this?" I think about that every time people ask me how I work as a chaplain at a pediatric hospital. "Some folk are just wired that way I guess…" or at least that is what I tell them, and even sometimes that is what I tell myself.

See it isn’t hard, at least not the way you think. I looked at my shoes the other day. My work shoes, they were new a year ago this week. Now they are old, but more comfortable than ever. I got a shoeshine in the airport… made em look real nice. A week before that I looked at them while attending to the death of a 15 year old girl. Her dad asked me, "Why would God take my baby."

I thought about that in the airport when I put my feet up on the foot rests and said to the shine guy, "They been through a lot man, whatever you can do I would appreciate." I ended up tippin the guy three bucks for a four dollar shine, I wish I could have tipped him more.

What I said to her dad and what I thought were two different things. What I said was, "I don’t know." What I thought was, "Because she got hit by a car." I know its cold a bit macabre, but it makes sense to me. I looked at my shoes while standing on a blood stained floor. The airport shoeshine guy made em look nice a week later, but some blood never gets washed away.
Maybe the significance, you know the reason I am talking about death and shoes, is that my work shoes are also my dancing shoes. Ecclesiastes tells us, "There is a time to mourn and a time to dance." Tradition be damned… I gotta make sense of this life somehow.

Anyway I don’t reckon I will ever have any statues built for me… and most of these families will never remember my name… but I am called to stand in the place between shit and grace. My blue coat is often like the shroud of death. Its okay sometimes, because I know someday I will cross the river Styx… I just hope someone remembers the two coins to pay the boatman.