As of today, this blog swept past eight thousand visitors.
Proposed Antiphon: 'How wonderful and encouraging that you can serve God as an Angel'
The King Awoke;
And the over-servant shouted; ‘The King Awakens! The Great and Powerful King! We Worship the King!’
And the under-servant arose from tending the fire and brought him a steaming cup of spiced wine.
The King put on his riding cloak;
And the over-servant shouted; ‘The King Rides Forth! Praise the King! We Worship the King!’
And the under-servant arose from his seat at the doorway and brought forth the King’s horse.
The King rode out into the city;
And the over-servant shouted; ‘Way! Way! Make Way for the Great and Powerful King! Praise the King!’
And the under-servant steadied the King’s horse as the King rode out into the crowded streets.
An old seamstress fell as she tried to make way for the King, and a young boy ran out from the crowd to help her up.
And the over-servant shouted at them; ‘Praise the King! Make Way for the Great and Powerful King!’
And the under-servant lifted the old woman to her feet.
And the King stopped;
And he said to the over-servant: “I believe that this seamstress needs your help more than I do. Go and serve her from this day forward.”
And he said to the under-servant: “Good and faithful servant, you have served me well. Please continue to do so as my over-servant.”
And he said to the boy: “You have shown yourself worthy of my service. Please join me as an under-servant.”
And the boy bowed in assent.
And the King rode on;
And the old over-servant was silent.
And the new over-servant ran beside the King to steady his horse, with the new under-servant beside him.
And for a moment everyone was silent, and you could hear the clip-clopping of the horse's hooves;
And then the people all shouted:
‘Make Way! Make Way for the Glorious King! Praise the Beloved King!’
Did you think
That all you had to do was read
That all you had to do was pray
That all you had to do was recognize me?
I am sorry
that the answer is not so simple
and that this is not all that is required
But in truth
what is required of you is much more
When everyone else is aligned with evil
You must speak of good
When the evil are dying
You must save them, and
When you are dying
You must speak of life
Did you notice the special deference allocated my son
And his disciples?
Know that they are not alone
And that you will share with them
The rewards of my kingdom
If you can gird yourself
with the word.
Nothing comes for free
And your sacriifice
Is not wasted
But the reward
Is also
Not visible
In this world
The peace of God
Such as it is
Be with you.
In response to 'Unclean'.
Photo Copyright and Credit: Ciril JazbecThe Squirrel
Wakes and leaves its nest
Searches the lawn for
Treats left by me
Or my family
Or acorns
Or seeds
Or anything
In a hard year
In a spare year
In a year of hardship
It will take what it can get
And if nothing can be found
On the lawn
It picks up a leaf
Crumples it in its mouth
And brings it back to its nest
As bedding and insulation
The practicality of this activity
Impresses me
And reminds me
To leave a little something
For those who have
Nothing
When we go a feasting
We wonder what to wear
Which shoes go on our feet
If we should 'do' our hair
Is this a time for white
Or should we all wear black
Should we buff our buttons bright
Or could we wear a sack
When we enter in
If we aren't like the rest
We might feel singled out
The cuckoo in the nest
But some don't have the means
To buy a fancy suit
For them 'What to Wear'
The question is quite moot
So when we gather in
And hope that all will come
I'd like if we dressed humbly
Both rich and poor as one
And maybe the Lord God
Who forgives our sinfulness
Will value every single soul
No matter how we dress
Peace
LE
As of today, this blog swept past two thousand visitors.
Not so long ago, on July 14th , it hit one thousand,
And I posted a poem to commemorate the event, which poem I update below.
I promise, I'll wait till at least FIVE thousand before I make any more fuss.
p.s. I do see that lots of you are coming here wondering about your dreams and visions, and I do have a post that discusses discerning about the dreams, signs, visions and the like you have here, and I will be posting more on that subject. Please also feel free to post as comments dreams that you have, and I will share the ones that inspire me as blog entries. Do also feel free to share any comments, prayer requests, or other requests that you have.
...And thank you for dropping by, all two thousands of you. See, there was plenty of room after all...
That's Still Nuttin:
Two thousand folks came knocking
Two thousand at the door
Two thousand people searching
Two thousand, and now more
Two thousand hidden smiles
Two thousand who came by
Two thousand from all countries
Two thousand who drew nigh
Two thousand quiet moments
Two thousand friends to tea
Two thousand 'I understand's
Two thousand friends for me
Two thousand people questing
Two thousand asking why
Two thousand gleaming stars
Two thousand in the sky
Two thousand cups of coffee
Two thousand bits of toast
Two thousand hands held in comfort
Two thousand times a host
Two thousand questions answered
Two thousand, more or less
Two thousand joined in prayer
Two thousand joined to bless
Two thousand is so little
Two thousand is so small
Two thousand is not many
I have space for one and all
So come in off the doorstep
Come in, come through the door
Come into my guest room
There's room for many more
Thanks to each of you for coming
I'm sad when your visits end
And please do come back often
And please do bring a friend
I'll be waiting by the doorstep
I'll have the kettle on for tea
Come by whenever you want to
And spend more time with me
-LE
Are you awake?
And if you are awake, do you see?
And seeing, do you speak?
And what manner of speech?
Are you welcoming or hard?
Available or distant?
Helpful or not helpful?
Do you note those around you who are hurt?
Those who are regularly put down, insulted, excluded, assaulted? The ones you see being harmed?
And if you did notice, would you offer them a word of comfort? Some direction? A hand of assistance? Or do you stand coldly with those who do the harm?
Remove your steel gauntlets.
Take off your armor.
Put up your barbed helmet.
Pull off your hob-nailed boots.
Wash yourself, cleanse your face, your eyes, your ears, your skin, and be clean;
Annoint yourself with scented oils;
Don soft garments for gentle interactions;
Silken slippers and gloves.
We are about the business of love,
And steel will not serve you today.
How do we manage to live well-rounded lives?
How do we ensure that we invest enough in the right things?
How do we even decide what are the right things?
There are so many choices, and so many tasks. Life demands much of us: far too much paperwork and conformity. Others are always asking, asking, asking, and pushing, pushing, pushing, and we don't get the things done that we know we really should do: things that make a difference.
But we must have balance in our lives. Not balance like a tightrope walker, but balance like a portfolio of investments - investments we can move as necessary.
And our assets are limited:
We have only so much time,
Only so much energy,
Only so much money,
With wich to express God's infinite love.
We must put the love first
(What are our priorities?)
And see how that drives the tasks
That use our time
Our energy
And our money.
Happily, God's love is free.
Peace to you
-LE
With reference to last week's lectionary lesson;
To be sung to a country, sprightly melody.
There ain't no barns in heaven,
Lest maybe you are a cow;
And you won't need a big bank vault-
For treasure anyhow;
So don't go building storage,
For things that you don't need;
If you give away what you can share,
You'll find you're rich indeed!
May your kindness and generosity build you mansions in the hereafter...
Love to all!
-LE
I dreampt that I was visiting a small town in Italy that was tucked in a niche in the base of a volcanic outcrop, sort of a cross between a dike and a volcanic neck. The outcrop formed a pinnacle in the center and two ridges of the same very dark brown rock swooped down to the plain from which the outcrop protruded at a wide angle, curving ever-so-slightly as if to contain something as they dissapeared beneath the yellow, dusty plain.
And there, between the arms of the outcrop, lay the plaza of the town. And it was not just any plaza, but a plaza made up of many colored bricks that made up a huge, rather realistic mosaic of a proud lion standing in left profile, tail twitched in front of its left haunch, head turned slightly towards the viewer.
The niche in the outcrop, and its little town faced the plaza, faced the lion that was turning to look at it.
And I sat at an outdoor table in that town with my true love, sampling tiny, bitter pickles that were the specialty of the town, as our waiter, who wore clothes with faint, small vertical bands of maroon and brown of varying width and a crumpled looking white apron, explained that eating a lot of these pickles would make us sick, and could be fatal. I told him not to worry, we would be careful, and I awoke.
Is the message of the dream temperance and moderation? Is it more about accepting your situation and nature? Is it about enjoying where you are? Is the lion a pagan symbol alone, or is it symbolic of the watchfulness of Christ, whom I associate with the lion? Why does the lion face the little town, and the pinnacle, and not the plain?
Perhaps this last question I can answer, in a practical way: the lion is posed for someone on the pinnacle, or in a building within its niche to view it.
Perhaps the lion is not concerned with those who might assault the town, but with the welfare of its residents.
Perhaps the theme of the dream is care: caring for yourself and others, being careful, and taking care to appreciate where you are, and who you are with.
Or maybe there is a message in the way the earth in the form of the outcrop, the lion; a symbol of faith, and the town all form an integrated whole, working together to form a place which people can call home.
This post has been lightly edited since first posted
You might think that Monday starts the week
Or maybe Sunday.
You might think Friday ends the week, or maybe Sunday again.
But Wednesday is the middle.
Most certainly the middle,
The center of the week.
Thursday and Friday and Saturday and Sunday have particular liturgical connotations. Church Fathers, Christian theologians and mystics have suggested that Sunday and every day be a participation in the great Eighth Day, when Jesus rose; and that Saturdays remind us of Holy Saturday in holy week, and that Fridays all remind us of Good Friday, and that Thursdays remind us of Maundy (or perhaps Agape) Thursday. Each is rich in tradition.
But Wednesday is kind of like the end of 'ordinary time' - the last day before the mystery and passion is revealed.
Where does Wednesday sit liturgically?
And what devotions do you add to Wednesday?
Perhaps Wednesday should remind us of Ash Wednesday?
Should Wednesday be a solemn day of preparation?
Or is it the last regular day before you start thinking about the weekend?
Much as I like a good party, our current culture's celebration of 'hump day' seems wrong-headed.
Is what we are doing with our work-days, our weeks so very useless, unfulfilling, and without reward that we must celebrate when the week is half over?
It seems like a disgraceful way to view what we do with our lives, and not how we should value or spend our limited time here.
Instead, perhaps Wednesday, in the weekly cycle, is where we make our transition from living in the eighth day, to preparing to meditate on Christ's passion again.
A joyful but serious day, a day of preparation. A day to express love, to share, to care, to help, to do little things, a day to finish one thing and begin anew.
May God bless you in all your days.
Love,
locust-eater
Jesus stands at the door and knocks,
But not just at your door,
You'll find him knocking along every street
Mine, and theirs, and yours
This feast that we are called to
Is open to all who'll come;
And it's our job to welcome
Each and every one
We must mean it when we say that
Our sins belong to God;
Jesus himself has told us
We may find the guest list odd.
Forgiveness is for sinners,
For us sinners, every one;
And a mixed lot of repentant sinners,
Will make our feasting much more fun.
So may we be among the guilty;
Told: "You'll take anyone",
And be numbered with those oddball saints,
When at last our lives are done.
Peace,
LE
...
Railroads are by their nature surrounded by wasteland.
Their roadbeds are not usually considered pretty, their switching areas, rusting signals and overhead electric lines are eyesores, and the trains that travel them are loud, discoraging the close encroachment of the neat lawns and dwellings of residential suburbia.
And the odd angles that the rail-beds make with roads, property lines, and each other create wedges of land that are virtually impossible to put to any use, even if someone wanted to do so.
And so they are left fallow, ...and life finds them and springs up.
The odd-shaped wedge behind the train station where I wait in the morning teams with life and is laden with ripening wild fruit;
raspberries and blackberries and grapes and choke-cherries, rose-hips and milkweed, and wild herbs and seeds - eaten by silly baltimore orioles (singing 'oh-boyeee!') and robins and sparrows and mocking-birds and chipmunks. ...and these are likely just the bold ones, who dare show themselves while I am there.
The amount of life per square foot is amazing. And to create this beauty, we just had to give it space. We abandoned it. We ignored it. We left it alone.
This was a waste-land, useless.
Sometimes we feel that way about ourselves, about parts of our lives, about people and places. But perhaps they need just a little space, some light, and a bit of water. Just a wee opportunity for growth and creation; time and space for God to enter in, and fill the wasteland with life.
May God enter all the abandoned places in our lives, all our waste-lands, and make them bloom and be fruitful.
And may we be wise enough to allow space for life, to leave spaces for the wild magic of God to take place.
Love,
Locust Eater
Related:
Wasteland Pictures
Seeing Truth in the Wasteland
God’s Sheep are Confused
...
Why does the darlky-tanned hispanic man wait at the shelter of the rural spur line? The trains there are rare, yet I watch as he lets one go by. Is he the same man I glimpsed sleeping in the hot shelter a month ago? It makes no sense to sleep there, in sight of green, shady bowers.
If he has an appointment with someone, or something, why not come closer to the right time? Or perhaps his appointment is with something or someone more mercurial - and he cannot know when, or if it will arrive. Something mercurial, but still worth waiting for.
And who is the older woman in yellow waiting for? She stands in the shade of some green trees, on a sidewalk away from the commuter's shelter and the platform. A freight train rumbles through, I turn for a moment and she is gone. Did someone arrive and I missed seeing them? Did she give up? Is this just a happy pause on her morning walk... ...watching a train or two pass, or does she daydream that someone will arrive, someone she misses?
Who rides all the dozens of bikes that are chained up by the station? They are here when I arrive and there are less when I return, indicating an early schedule, but I never see their riders. Do they ride for pleasure, out of a sense of economy and environmentalism? Are these students off to school? I doubt it. I suspect they are fry-cooks and baker's assistants and day-laborers, and bicycles are what they can afford.
Some religeous pamphleteers arrive, young men in starched yellow shirts and striped ties, soft-covered black bibles and literature clutched in their right hands, bending gently in their grips. They make a vague attempt to reach the commuters at the station, but they are on the wrong side of the tracks, and a train arrives to foil their efforts, whooshing their prospective converts off in the direction of the big city, and leaving no one save me. They glance briefly at me, but the cost/benefit of saving my soul must not seem promising, and they climb back into their beat-up suburban, and motor off, its hole-y muffler resonating loudly.
I resolve to try to meet all these people in the future. This is a waiting place, it is true, and people don't think of their lives as happening here, in the waiting places, but they are wrong. God also waits for us at the way-points of our lives, and while we wait, our lives are going by, and God is showing us people and situations and wondering: "Who will go for us?" And "Whom shall we send?"
May we often meet and recognize God along the myriad paths of our lives, and moreover, enter into God's labors.
Peace,
LE
I teach Sunday School because:
Once upon a time, someone asked me to help.
I got over my fear of caring for other people's children.
It is needed.
I had good examples in the other parents.
I get to create a welcoming, safe, friendly, happy place for children in church.
I get to play with the *other* children.
I care about the place that the children are.
I get to hear children explain God.
I get to see quiet, shy children turn into outgoing, engaging little people.
I get to be an unnofficial God-parent, over and over and over.
I get to draw, color, stamp, paint, and make up silly crafts and lessons.
I am building memories that will last forever, both with the wee ones and with me.
I worry that sunday school will become rote following of pre-packaged lessons.
I think that coloring even a poorly drawn lesson from me is worth much much more to a little person than sitting in a long and confusing service.
I know that sometimes, the families come to church because the children want to color, paste, stamp whatever I have made up for them today.
I get to see the Bible and Prayerbook through a child's eyes - (and they need some healthy editing to be accessible to young ones).
I help build relationships and communities of faith.
I learn that everyone can bloom.
And because it's wonderful to see everyone bloom.
On a similar topic: Click Here
The other day
I found myself parking
In a pay lot
With numbered spaces
Where you put money in a slot
But I didn't have exact change
So I had to pay too much
In the evening
I found exact change
Left for me
By the honest parking attendant
Who had carefully accounted for what I had paid
Even so
Maybe in the end
We will find our efforts tallied up
With every good deed accounted for
And learn the true value of goodness
The way things compound
And children grow
And one good deed can lead to another
Our final heavenly net worth may be
Inestimable
* * * * * * *
Dear Lord,
Help us to place something
On deposit with you
Every single day
And may our investments
Grow in love
Benefiting many
Amen
I have spent the last few days in the land of palaces, and the place is spectacular.
Brightly-colored palaces with tile roofs and bowed balconies jostle each other for space along canals and beaches. Fountains splash along cleverly bricked walks and streets, while gates and walls, (not all of them visible) enclose their manacured lawns and carefully planned plantings.
It is an amazing and startling land, a place where new palaces rise every day, and extravagence tops extravagence.
Certainly the owners of these stunningly perfect poems of architecture must be superior, happy and generous people, noble beyond common measure.
But walking among them, even where they are dining together on sumptuous feasts I see no joy, no happiness. Their palaces stand empty most of the year, unenjoyed by any, their yachts and watertoys hoisted and tarped over. They only visit for a few weeks out of the year and then they are off to the next house or palace, flitting from place to place in persuit of a happiness that eludes them as they spend on foods that cannot fill their emptiness and wine that cannot slake their thirst.
As I passed through this stunning land of palaces, only one smile of friendship greeted me, stranger though I was. Some prince, or merchant, or wealthy lawyer or trader?
No, an outcast, Hispanic and middle-aged but proud in his cowboy boots and straw hat, as he sat on his bicycle. I was greeted by one smile, while the palace-owners and their guests sourly dined and went about their leisure among their jewel-like palaces and shops, unable to find smiles even for each other.
The Hispanic on the bicycle was wealthier than all of these, and the center of their beautiful city.
I wish that they could see it.
