Saturday, December 29, 2012

Dec. 29

I have always avoided bandwagons;
it is words of hope I wait for.
As I watch others follow their leaders
and grasp for the latest pronouncements,
I listen for sounds from a distance,
ears tuned for that message of hope.
The bandwagon sings celebration
in honour of the road itself travels.
Am I alone in the knowing?
This wrong road has left me unraveled.
This is not the right way for the journey;
all the signposts are too unforgiving.
So as wagons move into the distance
I search for the track of real living.
Dec. 20
I am on the road to Emmaus
right where I'm meant to be
but it's still before the Lord meets me
to talk with and comfort me.
I don't know when He will show up
and help me to understand
but I've set out, and walk on wondering
if anything's going as planned.

From Dec. 19

Give me the suffering theologian who has stared the monster Unanswered Prayer straight in the eye.
It makes me want to go ask a homeless bum
what she can tell me about God.
At least she knows she's homeless.
I stay in my house,
don't much go to God's house;
I cannot pray for my heart is broken
And in your heart is where you truly pray.
So don't tell me about perfect plans,
I've seen too many shredded documents.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

^Photo: In my garden, long ago, the summer of 2009^

Today I read this quotation from Alessandro Pronzato:
"The crowded bus, the long queue, the railway platform, the traffic jam, the neighbor's television sets, the heavy-footed people on the floor above you, the person who still keeps getting the wrong number on your phone. These are the real conditions of your desert. Do not allow yourself to be irritated. Do not try to escape. Do not postpone your prayer. Kneel down. Enter that disturbed solitude. Let your silence be spoiled by those sounds. It is the beginning of your desert."
-Source: Meditations on the Sand
The quotation fits my today, and this came to mind:

Oh, desert, now I know you!
and I know where I've seen you before:
your other name is chaos,
and you're a regular at my door.
And I must learn to live you,
and make my way along
through this dusty loud distraction,
and not forget my song,
or Whom it is I sing to.
Though I have seen no sign
the memory I cling to
is a green and growing Vine.