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Reflections on Proper 7, Third Sunday after Pentecost, Year A

 

 

Textual focus: Jeremiah 20:7-13, Matthew 10:24-39
Click here for biblical texts

 

 

He was raking in 10 million
in leanest years, celebrated
for Midas ways with stocks,
his counsel sought by all
who wanted more and more
even as he felt less and less,
waking at night with scenes
of gaunt-faced children watching him
as he ate at Sardi’s and the White House.
He cried, he prayed, went to church every day,
gave away millions to hungry kids everywhere ,
still the money piled up
mocking his nightmares, misery and guilt.

Hurrying from one meeting to the next,
he heard a street evangelist quoting Jesus,
“Those who find their life will lose it,
and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”
He was stopped, unable to move,
I want to lose this life—the voice sounded like his—
no more capital gains
no house in the Hamptons
no private jet.
He cried, right on Wall Street.
People stared, others averting their gaze,
most kept their distance as he tore
at his Armani uniform
thrusting his coat, then his tie, shirt, shoes, pants
at gaping tourists and brokers,
“I don’t need these, please take them, in the name of God,”
he said, and hearing himself thought,
where did that come from? Who said that?

He looked around, as if seeing the street
for the first time,
now knowing what he had to do.
He remembered hearing a preacher say
following a divine call is rarely easy,
Jeremiah and Jesus surely knew,
friends and family, authorities too
turn away, turn against,
the loneliness can overwhelm
even in the embrace of God.

But he felt raised up, resurrection-like,
his mind racing, his heart at peace,
beat of new life beckoning him
to become a disciple, a student
of the Lord, gentle Jesus whom he knew also said
some hard either/or words
about not bringing peace
setting children against parents
foes arising in the household
hierarchies of teachers above disciples
seeming normal
but masters over slaves grate against modern ears
can we love Jesus more than mother and father,
what about God?

He thought, I love God most of all,
and I want to serve with Jesus and the Holy Spirit;
this is my ‘I can’t not do it moment’
I heard my pastor describe, when he knew
he was called to share the Good News:
God’s total, unending, unconditional love.

Naked as Francis long ago,
he saw the church and went inside
to pray and to listen
for further instruction.

 

 

writing+poetryAbout this poem. . . So many of the really cool people in the Bible show us that following God is not a necessarily smooth way, that the challenges can be huge, daunting .  Upending a life is best done with divine direction and that can come in all sorts of ways to all sorts of people. Jeremiah and Jesus, two prophets who had hard things to say because they listened so carefully to God, surely must have felt, from time to time at least, why me? Of course, God’s answer to them, as to us, is, who else?

 

©Robin Gorsline 2015 FaithfulPoetics.net

Stop!

A Meditation on the Second Sunday of Advent, Year A

 

Focus: Isaiah 11:1-10; Matthew 3:1-12
Click here for all biblical texts
 

This strange John arises out of the wilderness
sounding like a crazy man wandering the streets
muttering and yelling incantations
we do not understand, or if we do
not wishing to hear as we bustle to and fro
from work to home to shopping, maybe even a party
where we gather to celebrate the Savior’s birth
with too much food and drink.
He is not Isaiah though he uses the prophet’s words
to declare his mission: big things are coming and the Lord
is on his way!

He is far from the first to proclaim big God news;
Isaiah himself tells us a shoot shall come from the stump
of Jesse and a new branch, a new David, will arise
to change everything, all the predators will cease,
their victims shall not only breathe easy
but all will lie down in peace and plenty,
a glorious vision for humans while undoing animal
ways of survival—and it cannot be disconnected
from Isaiah’s immediately prior verses where stumps
are made by divinity angry at the ruining of life,
the distortion of human relationships, by people
who profess to love God. Cedars of Lebanon
are cut down in response to perfidy by God’s people.

Strange John also points with alarm at the practitioners
of unholy or at least mixed religious rule
and greed for lofty stations based on public pieties
of his day—we might include, as Isaiah does,
those who trample on the economically distressed
and disempowered from their high towers
of privilege and gold-fixtured bathrooms—
even as we pray for the souls of all,
proclaim the coming reign of God. singing
Come, O Come, Emmanuel, ransom captive Israel.

But who is captive? Israel then as now for sure,
to fear of neighbors and desire to stride regionally,
but closer to home are we not captive as well,
enthralled by our own national virtue,
sure of the rightness of our cause
in the world as we bicker and stab each other
at home, unwilling to provide health care for all,
end violence on our streets and campuses by controlling guns
and transforming dead-end lives on mean streets
through shared commitment to the well-being of all,
no matter color, nation, religion, gender and all the rest.

Stop!

Could not this Advent be a time not only to honor
tradition—getting ready in the usual ways
for Jesus, Mary, Joseph, shepherds, angels, and wise men—
but also to break with tradition and turn the world upside down,
letting our world be turned upside down, inside out,
waiting in hope not for what we want or expect under the tree,
or at the pageant, but being fully open to receiving
what God wants in our lives?
 

 

 

About this poem. . . . The figure of John the Baptizer never quite seems to fit in well-ordered worship; it is often hard enough to domesticate Jesus (but by and large much Christian practice and worship has succeeded all too well), but John really stands out. This is especially so as the stores and the web are alive with shopping deals and catchy, familiar Christmas songs. But the message this Sunday is quite clear and stark: repent and let God have God’s way.
 

 

© Robin Gorsline 2016 FaithfulPoetics.net

 

Looking in the Mirror

Response to Proper 21, 19th Sunday after Pentecost, Year C (Luke 16:19-31)

(Click here for biblical texts)

 

People of means in your church help pay the bills, including
salaries, and especially the pastor’s,
and they are usually pleased and proud to do so,
but conflict may arise when Jesus tells
the parable of Lazarus and the unnamed rich man.
What church, indeed what church leader, lay or ordained,
would know the name of a beggar
but not that of a rich man who either
already gave funds to build the new addition
(and where his name is on the plaque)
or who is being asked to do so?
But that is what Jesus does—leading us
again to wonder what kind of leader
he would be for our church? Could we afford
a pastor who lives this way, turning the tables
not only over in the sanctuary but also
making it difficult, perhaps impossible, to buy new ones?

lazarus-and-the-rich-man-wikigallery-org
wikigallery.org

Here again Jesus provides comfort to the slave,
the sharecropper, the unemployed, victims of racism,
ableism, sexism, xenophobia, and all other ways we divide people
into those with whom we connect,
those we see, those whose eyes we meet,
and those we walk by, step over, avert our eyes
as if to say we deny they exist,
echoing today in the claim “All Lives Matter”
in response to anguished cries of many
that some lives more than others are blown away by bullets,
thrown away by poverty, discrimination and privilege.

Privilege. That is what the rich man had,
the option not to see Lazarus, not even to see
the dogs who licked Lazarus, infecting his wounds.
So we see what to do, emulate Father Abraham,
bring those we “diss” and dismiss into our heart,
make it the bosom of Abraham—and that is not
only the work of the rich but also many, including me,
whose privilege is not only wealth greater than most
of the world but also whose skin color,
gender, ability, age, weight gives us
a leg up in the marathon of life.

Oh that Jesus, doing it again, holding the mirror
up to see ourselves so we can decide
which actor in the parable is us—
and perhaps choose how to respond . . .
today.

If you are reading this, it’s not too late.

 
writing+poetryAbout this poem . . . This parable continues Luke’s focus on money and spiritual health, but it seems to me to be one that is often overlooked, because I suspect it makes us uncomfortable. There is no mercy for the rich man and somehow many of us (the ones who set the social norms or whose lives live in concert with them), although most certainly not all of us, instinctively know who we are in the story. And we may inhabit several different identities and that can change which character we are at any given moment. Still, it seems, again, that Jesus wants us to choose.
©Robin Gorsline 2016 FaithfulPoetics.net