A Future Full of Stars

Arthur C Clarke, father of the idea of communications satelites and the idea of of using geosynchronous orbits for them, prolific author, polio survivor, scuba diver, and environmentalist passed on to his reward at his home in Sri Lanka today. He was 90 years old.

Wikipedia has a fairly good article on his life, and the Fox has a decent write-up from AP. I suggest reading them, and thinking about this life, where it started with the "War to End all Wars", how it was changed by World War II, and how this man with an active mind re-tooled himself, several times, and helped to change the world.

For me this passing is a milestone. Clarke came from the world that was, and wrote about the world that he thought might come to be, some of which came to be, and some of which still might come to pass. The story of his life and how it wove into the movement of history reminds us that the journey continues, to this day, and that the future continues unfolding for us. Our job is to continue, to work to breathe life and love into it.

May we find that it is full of stars.

Peace,
LE

Good Grief

'Good Grief' seems to be a catchword for me lately. This piece is inspired by the passing of a great man, who we mourn. Certainly this is 'good grief'; to remember and miss those who have gone on to their reward, to honor their place with us, and share our memories:

They push off from here most every day
And for the farther shore
The saints sail onward to the place
Where head those Christ adores
The journey there is not so long
The river is not wide
They do not suffer on the trip
To Jordan’s other side

We wish them peace
And pray their souls
Into our Maker’s care
We will miss their presence here
And the all they used to share
A goodly crew sets off each day
From ports around the globe
To take up crowns and find their place
Beneath God’s mighty robe

We miss them all, so very much
And this grief is good.
Our lives are short and worth a lot
In death it’s understood.
So shed your tears and hold your friends
As tightly as you may
Because this world is not a place
That we may always stay.

And wait for joy, for it will come
Least on the other side
When all our hard day’s work is done
And we with the saints abide.
And there with our beloved saints
We’ll see the Lamb upraised
And cast our crowns upon the ground
May Jesus Christ be praised!

For Frank, and the great company of all the saints,

LE

Outrageous Easter

In my dream we were planning the funeral of a good friend, someone we loved a lot.

We were just getting started, gathering around a large table.

Family and friends were there, and around the table there were several who did not feel wlecome, or worthy to sit, and we were encouraging them to do so.

There was room for all.

And once we settled, and had started discussing, we realized a funny man was behind us...
...painting huge Easter eggs on the picture window that was there.

Even funnier, he didn't paint from his imagination, which you might think he would with such a simple subject. Instead, he had a friend who was arranging and holding large colorful Easter eggs so that he could paint them 'from life', draping fabric about them, and positioning them just so.

We talked about the two of them, and thought they were just a bit crazy.

But upon waking, I am not so sure.

In your times of mourning may you find moments of outrageous Easter.

LE

Job Was A Good Man From Uz

Job was a good man from Uz,
Whose life caused a biblical buzz.
He was good as can be,
Steadfast as a tree.
And blessed in all things that he does.

His faith was quite pleasing to God,
But the Devil said ‘Isn’t it Odd?’
I think Job does what he should
‘Cuz his luck is all good.
If things went real sour, he’d curse God.

Well God said “I hear what you say,
That Job’s heart is as pliant as clay.
I think you are wrong
Job’s faith is quite strong
Go ahead, take Job’s blessings away.

Horrid Satan, that very same day
Took Job’s children and riches away.
But Job, though distraught,
Had faith, and he thought;
“The Lord giveth, and taketh away”.

Now the Devil got kind of hot
Things did not turn out like he thought.
But he thought he might
Still prove he was right
And prove ill Job whom Our Lord had wrought.

So Later - inside of a year,
Satan said to God; “Isn’t it queer
How to save their own skin,
The most righteous will sin -
Even Job whom you hold so dear.”

So God said “I see you imply,
That if Job thought that he might just die,
He would sin a whole lot,
-I think he would not,
But go on and give it a try.”

So Satan made Job really sick
Inflicted him with wounds, sores and ick.
From his foot to his head
Job wished he was dead
He was so sorely tried by ‘Ol Nick

Job’s wife didn’t do him much good
She said that she thought that he should
Curse his cruel God
That traitorous clod,
And if Job fell over dead, it’d be good.

But Job with a pious ‘Aum’
Uttered a brief Hebrew poem:
“God can’t only give good,
As you think he should,
Depart from me – with my Shalom.”

Then three friends of Job came to see
How Job still managed to be;
Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar
Came from near and from far
And sat next to Job, knee to knee.

They sat quiet with Job a long while
In true friendship – they showed some real style.
They said not a word,
They looked quite absurd,
With Job they were walking a mile.

Then Job spoke - cursed the day he was born.
His life he treated with scorn,
He wished he was dead,
Or died in birth instead,
His comfortable life was so torn.

Eliphaz, Zophar and Bildad
Gave the best advice that they had -
“Confess all your sin!
-This trouble you’re in,
Must be because you were bad.”

Then God showed up in a cloud,
With a wind and some thunder real loud;
Poor Job and his friends,
Feared that this was the end;
By the Almighty they were all quite cowed.

And God said; “This is not a dig;
But you all forget I’m quite big
Though I’m with you each day,
And I won’t go away,
For piety there is no ‘vig’.

By this speech faithful Job was impressed
Though his friends were rather distressed,
They’d all learned quite well,
That life can be like hell,
And the faithful are not always blessed.

Now Job, who had lost quite a lot,
Was restored – new children he got,
He got back his health,
And twice as much wealth,
And lots of grandkids to besot.

Now I hope that Job’s lesson is clear -
Not to hold things in this world too dear -
Don’t be quick to blame sin,
When folks fail to win.
Because trouble is always quite near.

An Issue of Scope

I was going to post for tomorrow a poem by Gail of Scribal Terror entitled 'Double [Ptero]Dactyl' as part of my theme that spirit exists in all creatures and that all are loved by, inhabited by God.

A theme expressed in my poem/post We Didn't Fall - We Climbed.

But then I heard via Tobias at In A Godward Direction that Madeline L'Engle had been released from this mortal realm, and felt that my post should honor the spirituality of this woman who saw...

...spirituality in our mitochondria, in our very atoms, and in the song of the universe...

...and as I thought about it, 'Double [Ptero]Dactyl' seemed a very appropriate poem for honoring this marvolous woman, who saw the scope of God as so very much broader.

And so here is Gail's poem, with the same artwork (above) as on Gail's original post:

Double [Ptero]Dactyl

copyright Gail Hapke 2005, 2006, used with permission

Flippity-flappity

Phantasmagorical,

Furry and bug-eyed and

Batty as hell,

Whatever became of these

Unprehistorical

Pteromarsupials

No one can tell.

Thank you Gail, and thank you Madeline.

We will miss you.

Yours,

LE

Tobias's post on Madeline is here.

Gail's post on Madeline is here.

The NY Times on Madeline's pasing is here.

"This is NOT a Test"

They say that our God tests us,
But it is not like they think;
It's not to see of what we're made
That life brings us to the brink

And life's not a trial by jury;
No sum of wrongs and rights.
It's not to prove our mettle;
That we suffer painful rites.

Our testing is to temper;
To strengthen and to cure;
An annealing and a firing;
That makes our spirits pure.

God does not need to try us;
God knows just how we're made.
Life's not about temptations;
And some rules to be obeyed.

No, at life's fire God smelts us
To work out evil's taint;
In fire and ice God tempers us;
To draw us out...
-a saint.

Care of the Dead

We honor and care for our departed in many ways.

Some of what we do is profoundly practical;

-collection of bodies by families and health workers;

-cleaning, preservation, and clothing or wrapping of bodies so they can be neatly managed;

-documenting and displaying of bodies so that those who had dealings with the departed can know that they are truly dead;

-final disposition of bodies that prevent them from becoming food for hazardous beasts or disease-spreading vermin.

And these are practical, sensible steps that humans execute to properly manage the dead in almost every culture, and which we have done since the days of the Neanderthals.

These tasks have also a 'ritual feel' to them, a depth. I think that few can care for the dead without being moved. Like children, or the very ill, the dead cannot care for themselves. They will not complain. They have no words, arguments, or expression any more. What filled them and gave them life is gone.

So we care for them. Sometimes we can express things to the dead we could not, cannot, to the living.

The dead do not judge.

The dead do not get angry.

The dead wait on us, and on God.

So we care for their mortal shell;

We place pictures, reminders, and little offerings;

...Where they died,
...Where they are buried,
...At memorials,
...In our workplaces,
...In our homes,
...In our lives

The dead cannot use these things.

The dead don't need flowers or sea shells,
Pebbles or crosses,
Candles or pictures

But we do.

We living, need to remember;

This one was, and is no more
This one lived
This one loved and was loved

This was one of us.


-for Boomer, and all our loved ones

Today we Mourn

Today we mourn and pray for those who were lost or injured in yesterday's bridge collapse, and pray for their families and friends.

And we also give thanks that so few seem to have been lost or hurt, for the favorable weather, and for the many helping hands that appeared when needed.

May God turn our mourning hearts to each other, and may we find comfort.

Lost Prayer

I lost a prayer today.
I wrote it for us,
I thought about it,
I prayed it,
It was beautiful and encouraging.
You would have loved it.
And then I accidentally deleted it.
I felt quite bad for a moment or two,
But then I remembered where all lost prayers go.

God probablly has it on his fridge right now.
And is showing it off to 'Ol Leaky-Palms and Casper-With-A-Halo.
Saying: 'locust-boy did this one!'
'Not at all bad for a beginner, eh?'

Silly me, of course it wasn't lost,
It was PRAYED.