Rhythm of Communion

Standing this morning in worship as we were preparing to take communion I was struck by an observation. I held in my hands the bread cube and the little plastic cup of grape juice and I tried to identify myself with the millions of other believers across the globe and across time that have stood united by these same words and elements but my eyes and thoughts were drawn to something else. As I watched, I noticed that the surface of the grape juice trembled with the vibration of my own heartbeat. It resonated with the beat of my heart. The ultimate aim of communion is to remember the sacrifice and be united with Christ; to resonate in unison and submission to the one we call Lord. Yet we know too well our failings, our frailty, our immaturity--- the things that often break our focus and our communion with Christ. As I stood watching the visible reminder of the rhythm and patterns of my life I prayed that I would continue to abide in Jesus—my Savior. That I would resonate with His words and the life He modeled. This is our prayer of communion: that we take Christ into our lives physically and symbolically (depending upon one’s views on transubstantiation) and return again the proper rhythms of righteousness. Our aim is that the beat of our own heart, manifested through our thoughts, words, and actions, would become increasingly synced with that of Christ, that through our continual abiding we would be further sanctified by and come to desire more to know the person of Christ. As we stand united even if just for that moment, we pray that we would decrease, that we would still our hearts from the distractions of life: sin, worry, anger, resentment, idolatry, and that in that stillness the surface of our lives would ripple with the reverberations of the Lord; that in the absence of distraction, the Spirit would abide and fulfill its perfecting work. 

Speak

We will sing

as seasons turn

as skies grow dim

as fires burn

when flowers beat

the long retreat,

the crushing march,

the great defeat.

When flesh proves weak

and hope has fled

and shade across

the sky has fled

and verdant hues

turn sickly pale

while harvest winds

moan and wail

still our tongues

will yet rehearse

the ancient words,

the stirring verse.

We will sound

the royal call

with faltering hearts

while kingdoms fall.

When misty veil

draws ‘cross the sky

and mournful clouds

toward heaven fly;

with grieving hearts

while flowers fade

when darkness falls

as daylight wanes

our hearts will cry

profound lament

yet still resound

when tears are spent

with song of hope,

that smoldering coal,

persevering portion

within our soul.

Our groans will preach

a hope yet distant

past starry bowl,

---a joy resplendent.

When joy sticks

in our throats

when words fail,

learned by rote,

in darkest hour,

though they be weak,

our anxious souls

resolve to speak.

Dearest Rutherford (The Crossroads)

Dearest Rutherford[i] (The Crossroads)

Dearest Rutherford,

I pray this letter finds you well

though perhaps you sleep

beneath the covers of tranquility

at Spiegel Grove[ii], where your heart ever resided.

What thoughts, I wonder, fill your slumber?

Valiant conquest?

Or dreams deferred?

What vagrant thoughts fill now your idle hours?

Do you wake to the cries

of our twice-bound brothers

descending again into ignoble barbarism?

--- into living death?

I must ask

with as much civility as I can muster,

did the thrush sing

as the thin mist rolled like silky tendrils

off the Potomac[iii] that cold April morning?

Did the sun, that glorious ember,

perceive the err of its rising that day?

Were the seeds of acrimony evident

or was the veil of expediency too thick?

Its melody too alluring?

Did you weep

as the troops beat their retreat

across the taciturn Ohio?[iv]

Did you rejoice with each vote cast;

each tacit proclamation?

Did you wail as the tide of Christ-won progress

slipped back into the murky

waters of oppression and despair?

Did the halls echo with Tilden’s[v] laughter

even as your banners flew triumphant?

Did you weigh, upon your noble brow,

the question of enforced morality?

Could you know the cost of complacency?

Or were the gears of patronage

wound too tight,

to grind the seeds of humility

into the meal of progress?

Do they grind still?

Dear friend,

do not misjudge.

I condemn you not,

though angels stand ready for the reaping

and judgment beckons upon the horizon

kissed with the kindled watch-fires.

I wish only to know,

while the Emancipator’s form

lay quiet;

lay cold, in the dust,

while the scores rested

in Arlington[vi],

in Gettysburg[vii],

in Andersonville[viii],

and thousands upon thousands more

made their beds in

unmarked field and furrow,

could you hear the whisper stirring from the pregnant earth?

The cries of the people rising to the Lord?

Could you perceive the provocative voice

beckoning from the crossroads

while the fires of democracy burned low?

Did the stench of purification

descend upon Wormley’s[ix] that day?

What remained when the cheers of adulation fell silent?

With the curtains drawn

and the flames extinguished

and the creak of old wood resounding in the night,

were too your dreams of equality snuffed

beneath the douter[x] of pragmatism?

Where does the corpse of idealism lie?

Forgive me,

my friend,

for my own reproach is heavy,

a weight I fail to bear

and I am crushed beneath the crippling

blows of impotence and despair.

My love I send you,

though you dwell I know not where,

beyond the veil

where sorrow, perhaps

fades and hope swells anew.

Look upon us, we who remain,

whose tears wet the parched earth;

whose feet bear the scars of prolonged sojourning

and whose eyes probe restlessly

for the lamp of justice and salvation.

---

[i] Rutherford B. Hayes, the 19^th President of the United States of America elected in the contested election of 1876 and was confirmed in 1877 through what is known as the Compromise of 1877, an informal and controversial agreement between the Democratic and Republican parties in which Democratic electors would switch their votes to the Republican Hayes, in return for, among other things, the removal of Federal troops from the South (a provision of Reconstruction) and the restoration of ‘home rule’ allowing the Southern states to deal with blacks without Northern influence.

[ii] Spiegel Grove was the estate of Rutherford and his wife, Lucy Webb Hayes.

[iii] The Potomac flows through Washington D.C. where the informal Compromise of 1877 was secured.

[iv] In the pre-Civil War period, the Ohio River served as a dividing line between the slave states to the south and the free-soil states to the north.

[v] Samuel J. Tilden, Democratic candidate for President who lost the election of 1876 despite winning the popular vote.

[vi] United States military cemetery established in 1864 on the former site of the estate of Confederate general Robert E. Lee’s wife, Mary Anna Lee.

[vii] Gettysburg National Cemetery was established in 1863 to inter Union casualties. Also, it was the site of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address.

[viii] Confederate prison near Andersonville, Georgia designed to house prisoners-of-war. Noted for its brutality and abhorrent conditions, it held approximately 45,000 Union prisoners. Of that number, 13,000 died within its walls largely of malnutrition and disease.

[ix] A five story hotel in Washington D.C. where the Wormley Agreement, precursor to the final Compromise, was signed.

[x] An instrument used in the snuffing out of candles.

Follow Christ Together

Originally written for my church, Ypsilanti Free Methodist Church

There is going to be a day (or many days) when you are going to ask yourself why you even bother to be part of a church at all. It’s going to happen. No matter how mature the community of believers or how orthodox the theology, there are going to be moments when you’re just want to run off and head for a solitary cabin in the woods. It’s inevitable. It’s inevitable because every single person in your church is just like you, flawed, imperfect, and often unintentionally hurtful.

So even with all of our eccentricities and failings, why keep at it? Why continue to follow Christ together instead of on our own?

We were designed to GATHER together in community.

The short and definitive answer is that we were designed by God to meet together and experience Christ together. Based on their understanding of corporate worship and communal spiritual life in the nation of Israel, the earliest believers implicitly understood that gathering together was critical to their realized faith in Christ. So to it is for us.

In fact, the writers of the New Testament seemed to take involvement with a larger group of believers as a given and spent little time exhorting believers to be part of a church. What they do spend a considerable amount of ink on, is encouraging believers to live together in unity. The church is the first place that we demonstrate our love for each other. It is not enough to love in theory. The church is where we are able to love in practice and deed. The church is that opportunity.

We GROW best in the context of community.

Beyond being an outlet for the love we have been given in Christ, the church is our opportunity to be encouraged and encourage others to follow Christ more closely. Through experiences such as worship, preaching, discussions, and prayer (among many) we grow and are stirred towards obedience by the words AND witness of fellow believers. The church is not simply a location for believers of Jesus to congregate but rather an entity in which the Spirit of God ministers to the individual and the corporate.

We are sent to GO out in mission from a place of community.

In addition, the church serves as a jumping off point for ministry and missions; a place for believers to be equipped for ministry as we fulfill our individual and corporate command to go into the world and make disciples.

We follow Christ together because it is the way we were made. We follow Christ together because it is how we best grow. We follow Christ together because in doing so, we honor Christ by loving each other.

(white) Skin

Forgive

this (white) skin

this fickle frame.

Exorcise

this heart of leisure;

safe,

complacent,

confused,

willing but bankrupt of stimulus,

engaged but uninspired;

more apt to see the brush strokes of creation

in the stars’ advance across the washboard sky

than in my neighbor’s skin;

to feel the passing of the Lord

through the rippling field of wheat

but dismiss the thumbprint of the Creator

reflected back through fractured mirrors.

So I stare

down the barrel of an incomplete theology

with an inconsistent personality

dressed in the vestments of piety

concealing the filthy rags of impropriety.

Impassioned doctrine lacking application

is abortion of a stillborn faith.

A spirit self-identified as committed to life

bearing the fruit of ignorance,

impotence;

indifference;

of a calloused soul.

How many suffer

for fear of confrontation

as I seek ease

at the cost of a man’s emancipation?

In what hour will it be revealed

that the blood shed was shed for all?

All us weary sinners?

All us wounded saints?

When will my insatiable quest for justice

lead to the Spirit beating down

my own front doors?

When will delusions of holiness

be littered with the shards of my deception?

I am bound

to the sins of my own  privileged condition.

When my consistent

ethic of life ends

at the point of my own nose;

When the depth of my understanding

is bound

to a swifly vanishing tide pool of experience.

Vision worn thin

by vigorous omission.

Eyes gone dim

paralyzed by conviction

while apathy and ease

make short work of

atrophied ambition.

Stumbling

Struggling

Shambling steps

toward a future glory

through the streets of grime and

acrid aromas of our

sin-stained, grey-hued

day-to-day existence.

Come, Salvation,

come

meet us here

for tomorrow

for today.

Tune my heart to grieve;

my soul to hope;

my feet to march;

my lips to pray;

and tears to trace the lines

on this (white) skin.

Nebo Cabin

The interloper warmed his numb hands

before the warm gleaming of the stove.

Snow melting

pooling on the concrete floor

smelling of dust and pine.

The first cruel pangs

of sensation crept back

as he slowly massaged his hands

repetitiously.

The wind howled wickedly;

The ancient oaks

thrashed violently;

threateningly.

Night fell with icy resolution.

Specters encroached in the gloaming

of the forest

stark

bereft

abandoned.

The radiance wavered.

Elongated shadows waltzed

upon the floor

with sly foreboding.

Again the wind

whistled through leaky seals.

The chill bit

with callous indifference.

A somber acknowledgement grew

and the light fled further.

An Image

She looked down into the waters

deep

as clear as crystal---

shimmering,

and saw the clean, bleached trees

but not trees---

bones,

bones solemn and ancient

lurking like roots of the deep.

Fathoms below.

Far away.

Quiet and lonesome.

Monstrous, familiar.