Continuing Education

We have joined the Books Program, started by NY Senator Libous. The program encourages parents and children to read together by offering rewards after certain numbers of reading-hours are accumulated. (The first reward is a McDonald's gift certificate; but the second reward is a pair of passes to a local educational museum.)

So I try to keep track of the times I spend reading to Gwendolyn. Since I have to read for work, I figure it's fair game to read out loud and get credit for Gwendolyn. Thus it is that we are logging time spent reading a classic middle-English epic poem, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

I remember having to read it for senior high school English class, but all I retained from it was that it had something to do with Sir Gawain from King Arthur's court and, well, a green knight.

Now, having developed a good deal more interest in the kinds of things they were trying to teach us in high school, I am enjoying the second read very much. It is a masterful work of art, even in translation (I cannot read the middle English text). Since it is poetry, it reads out-loud much better than, say, Jared Diamond's Collapse. And when the alliterative assonance gets rolling, Gwendolyn joins in with raucous cheers.

If Gwendolyn ever decides to pursue studies in English literature, perhaps we'll know why. Thanks, Senator Libous!

~emrys

A Reason to Cry

Someone (it may have been Mark Twain) once said, "The doctrine of sin is the doctrine that enjoys both the least general acceptance and the most objective proof."

I just witnessed a stranger saying to his over-tired, crying and disobedient three-year-old, "Keep it up, and I'll give you a reason to cry."

There are few sentiments which prove with greater acuity humanity's need for saving.

~emrys

Ironies of Parenthood

Dear G,

I am totally thrilled that you are sleeping soundly, even through your coughing. However, I am caught by the irony that the night you choose to do this is the night that I have chosen to stay up much later than normal to take care of you.

You see, almost every night for the last two months, no matter what time you go to bed and no matter when we've fed you, you've woken up at least once before midnight and needed a new diaper or snack. Tonight, I was going to preempt being woken up out of my sound sleep and stay up. And you're sleeping through.

I love you and sleep well.

Mommy

October Tid-Bits

So October is flying past us! I have been busy with craft shows, sewing, crochet and this little person, who is just as mischievous as this look would lead you to believe!

As she's working on getting on her feet we've entered the stage of booboos and bonks. Usually the cry is worse than the injury and the pride is the most hurt.

Most days have their fair share of smiles and fun as GBaby explores her developing personality. Although, having cut eight teeth in eight weeks, we've had our fair share of rough days too. My favorite new game is putting three or four finger foods on her high-chair tray and watching which ones take preference. Some days its the green beans, other days the cheerios win and since goldfish crackers are a new food of the week, they're getting a lot of preference.

GBaby and I spent a week with my parents so she got some quality time with Granny and Granddad. Here Granddad is teaching her about fall leaves. She wants the contract to do the taste testing.

Our days are full, our nights still interrupted but joy abounds.

~sjt

Kissing Virtues

Here is the text of the sermon mentioned in the last post. The text read was Psalm 85, and specifically verse 10.

"I have decided that because the Lord saw fit to include so much poetry in our scriptures, I may, on occasion, preach in poetry. So whatever mental or physical posture you need to adopt in order to hear poetry well, I invite you to find that place now.

A poet remembers the faithfulness of Yahweh:

“Lord, you were favorable to your land;

"You restored the fortunes of Jacob.”

But that time is no more.

Salvation has fled, tribulation has come.

Doubt shrinks the hearts of the people of God.

Can Yahweh make things right again?

“Lord, let us hear you speak again!”

says the poet.

“Our lives cry out with pain;

"The infection of sin grows red and inflamed.

“Will you speak words to us again: words of healing, words of hope?”

“Yes,”

says the poet,

“the Lord has a word for you.”

85, verse 10:

Love and Faithfulness meet together:

Righteousness and Peace kiss each other.

Lovers apart so long

Brothers apart too long

How long have they been apart? Where have they been?

What has Righteousness become without Peace?

A pair of old calloused hands, smudged grey

By twenty years without a single sick day,

Tough and precise, devoted to the job;

A furrowed brow beaten low by a boss

Then another, then another

Who never once said thank you

Flawless in duty

But hiding a heart that still fears a slight slip of paper

Colored pink.

Righteousness without Peace: do you want him?

A child whose A never has enough pluses,

Whose friends always have too many piercings

Or tattoos in places no decent parent would allow

Whose concertos, though perfect, lack just the right feeling,

Or maturity

A life in which an ounce of approval

Would cure a pound of challenge

Whose pillow whispers fear:

Can I be more than the sum of my achievements?

Righteousness without Peace: do you want him?

A life of defiance against the evils of the world

Whose fingers stab accusation that “they” are the cause

Of my ills and our sufferings

Without “them” we would be safe

The nerds judging jocks, or the farmers the mean girls

Or blue collars seething at big banks

Or flags waved at Iran

Those protestors marching at the end of the parade

“Jesus or Hell” signs flapping in the breeze

Faces set harder than the concrete they tread

Yes, they are righteous, but where is the Peace?

Torn from his lover, his God-given spouse

Righteousness craves the touch of his bride:

To be frozen forever, sculpted in bronze, in that moment of passion,

That lostness in bliss,

The bare-naked second that parents will try to distract

Their young children from seeing

Until they are older

And then they will desperately hope

Those children will have it

Righteousness misses

The kiss.

But where is his bride?

Where has maiden Peace wandered, and what has she done?

What dress does she wear when her husband’s away?

The smooth-sliding rapture of hormones

And touch that drags teenagers

And college students, and middle-aged adults, and

Those in the prime of life

Into the “feel good” relationship:

No worries, no cares, no boundaries, no bothers, it seems,

Yet doubt slivers in, because this isn’t the way it used to be:

Didn’t Grandma describe it differently?

And didn’t her happiness seem deeper?

Peace without Righteousness: do you want her?

A cheek stung daily with the white hand-print of rage,

The soft flesh that was made to be caressed

Abused instead by an intimate liar with cowardly fists,

Its only chance for safety, another hour without pain, is to stay silent

To hold its Peace

Even as the flesh cries out:

This is not right!

Peace without Righteousness: do you know her?

Nations, villages, genders, ethnicities, kept hooded and bound

By the muzzle of a gun, a machete, or

An intercontinental ballistic missile

Who know their place in an age of empires

At the bottom, uncertain whether their children will have children

And so remain captive to economics and power

While whimpering hope to the soft-spoken big stick

That they just want food and water and medicine

Peace without Righteousness: do you want her?

When the house, or the car, or the MRI bill, or a winter of fuel

Requires a loan

That does not look good three years down the road

But the banker says, Don’t worry, the economy will change

And quietly, cheerfully, another bale falls

On the back of the camel

Peace without Righteousness: didn’t I see her just the other day?

She, too, misses her spouse

And no phone calls, emails, or Facebook messages will do

She wants to be with him

To hold Righteousness close

So that if you’re talking to one, you must talk to the other

She wants them to meet, to hug, and even

To kiss

Do you remember them together?

You’ve seen them apart, but to see yellow and blue

Is not to see green

Did you catch it before?

Did you see it?

What the poet speaks of with joy, did you hear him?

A stranger in the temple, a teacher attractive and odd

Named Jesus

Sat

When a pack of Righteousness came and threw down before him

A woman who had looked for love in the wrong place

And when the wolves, wanting justice, said

“What do you say?”

He said, Let the perfect one among you condemn

And let his words fall like rain on the rightness parade

Until only she was left

And she had to look at him

And know she was wrong

And think she was dead

Because she craved a kiss that she could not have

Until now

Standing before the first man who sees

Not just the evil she had committed

Nor the curves of her body, the only power she had

But the image of God and how it might mend

And the hope that forgiveness can bring

The man who said,

You have seen Righteousness, now receive Peace

Then outside the city he would sit with his students

And teach them of Peace

But not the kind they had known

This Peace would equip them to walk into flames

Of anger, offence, of hatred and scorn

Of peevish little words that no one says matter

But everyone knows

He taught them the Peace that never stays silent

In the face of injustice, or error, or pain

But sings truth in the tone and the timber of love

Who gives up a house when the enemy needs a motel

And builds a new bridge when all the others are burned

And drives to the sister all the family scorns

Pregnant with sorrow, weeping with cold

To bring another chance

He taught them a Peace that walks

With Righteousness

Like old lovers with many grandchildren

And more than a few great-grandchildren

Hand in hand through the hayfield of dreams and realities

Whose life has been hard, and happy, and grey

With hearts deeply scarred by trusting through pain

Whose commitment some years

Was the only thing they shared

They stop once in a while to lean on a shoulder

To sigh and to smile

And to kiss

And when their great-grandchildren

The students of Jesus

Look out from their windows and see the old lovebirds

Who gave them Life

They cannot imagine Peace without Righteousness

Or Righteousness without Peace

And know how the two hate being apart

But still they must wonder

Will we be like that someday?

The Word of the Lord . . ."

~emrys

Victory

My profession carries with it the hazard of drowning in platitudes. Now, I must be clear that sometimes platitudes are desirable. They can smooth social interactions which, for reasons known only to one party or the other, might otherwise be uncomfortable. They have their place and are happy to be left there unattended.

It is perhaps the commonality of platitudes in my profession that makes events rising above the level of bland, generic affirmation such precious jewels to be held.

So many Sundays, after delivering to the congregation what I pray will always be an encouraging and insightful interpretation of a scriptural text, I receive a host of comments affirming the "good sermon" and "good service." This past Sunday, however, was different. I chose to render my sermon in poetic form, departing from my usual habits of logical and narrative flow. After the worship service, a high school age member of the congregation approached me and asked for a copy of the poem.

Never before has someone under the age of fifty asked me for a copy of a sermon manuscript, let alone someone in the high school age bracket. It is precisely this bracket that I often fear I am not reaching with my words.

So the Holy Spirit has done something wonderful this week: Victory!

~emrys