Tired of Speaking Sweetly

This is the title of a poem/prayer I heard recently. I hope you'll enjoy this alternate picture of God.


Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all our teacup talk of God.


If you had courage and
Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,
He would just drag you around the room
By your hair,
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world
That bring you no joy.


Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly
And wants to rip to shreds
All your erroneous notions of truth


That make you fight within yourself, dear one,
And with others,
Causing the world to weep
On too many fine days.


God wants to manhandle us,
Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself
And practice His dropkick.


The Beloved sometimes wants
To do us a great favor:


Hold us upside down
And shake all the nonsense out.


But when we hear
He is in such a "playful drunken mood"


Most everyone I know
Quickly packs their bags and hightails it
Out of town.

-Hafiz, "Tired of Speaking Sweetly"
Translated by Daniel Ladinsky


My favorite part is this idea that God needs to practice His divine dropkick on us! I hope this short poem helps slightly to expand your tightly held perhaps narrow picture of God, just as it did mine.

Rhythm

Last Friday night my wife, some friends of ours and I ventured into a land of the strange and the wierd, a land unique from any other in its diversity of patrons and residents, a land of lights, tastes, characters and creativity - a land called Downtown Asheville. The reason for this group-sized galavanting was as unigue and intruiging as the land it was in: drum circle.

Every Friday night there is a drum circle in Pritchard Park, downtown Asheville where drummers from virtually every walk of life come out of the woodwork, drums in hand, to feel the rhythm, play together and have a good time. People of all ages, races, shapes and sizes showed up to play the wide variety of African hand drums which were singing into the air with each "thud," "chum chum," "spok," "tat," and "boom."

Among the instruments I saw were djembes, dumbeks, congas, bongo drums, a dun-dun, an ashiko, cowbells, woodblocks, singer mini-cowbells, taborines and various shakers. Some players were life-long drummers, some were playing for the first time, but all were locked into a perpetual rhythm which some research has suggested has a theraputic quality.

Of my drums, I brought a djembe, conga, cowbell, egg shaker and a woodblock. There's an elevated pavillion-like seating area which was full of hand drummers and an open area filled with more drummers but predominantly dancers. As people walked by they always stopped to watch the rowdy ruckus, feel the rumbling rhythm and refelct on the robust aroma of cigars, inscense, and body odor.

My mates and I all had a such a great time drumming, listening and watching that we're planning on returning this Friday and perhaps many Fridays to come.

Despite Greg's express wishes that his wife Hannah not engage in "hippie dancing," this picture is evidence that she didn't listen.

Heather's dad and his wife also came along and brought the beat with'em. Afterwards Sherry adamantly said, "If I'da knowd it was gonne be that fun, I'da brought my tamborine!"

My guess is, next week she'll get her chance.

Remember 9/11

I remember vivdly walking to English class during the early part of my first semester of college. Because my SAT scores were barely under the set standards, I was in a remedial English class which (not to their discredit) included a number of Carolina's finest athletes. Walking through crowds of people I gatherd from cell phone snippets that something was on the news; however, I was more concerned feeling embarrassed that the assignment from a class I was ashamed to be taking was actually hard. Upon finally arriving in class we heard news from two athletes who ironically knew more than I did aboutf what was happening in New York.

"Something about one of the World Trade Center buildings was hit by a place, or is on fire, or something," she alerted us, "It's all over the news." Our professer quickly dismissed us appeasing our overriding interests to watch the news rather than hear his lecture.

Returning to my dorm room I found my room mate watching his computer screen (something he did 90% of the time) with the news on the TV in the background. I remember just how our room was set up that day, where I sat, and how I felt watching and learning the details of the terrorist attack on our country using two passanger filled missiles to bring down our tallest buildings, a third to strike the Pentagon and a fourth which never reached its destination no doubt due to the actions of the heroes on board. I remember it all.

Isn't it funny how our most celebrated moments in life (weddings, graduations, birthdays) fade into our memories as fuzzy shadows of jubilation and happiness, but the hardest, most terrifying, paradigm shifting moments in our lives are etched into the granit of our memory's stone tablet. The world's greatest poker players cannot remember the hands of how they won their fortunes, but I'm sure each of them can recall the specific cards in each hand of those times they lost the biggest. Isn't that funny.

Perhaps we remember moments like September 11th, 2001 so vividly so that we can learn lessons, remember our loved ones, not repeat mistakes, and realize the lasting effects of violence. 9/11 taught me that we can't rely on our tallest buildings to harald us as a great nation but rather on our fortitude and strength of character. It taught me that redemptive violence is a myth, and that we ought to pray for God to bless every nation not just our own.

So, today, this week and this month as you are remembering 9/11, remember where you were and how it changed you. Remember the courage shown by so many representative of our country. Remember the damage of violence. Remember that what matters in this life is just that. . . life.

"Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD, the people he chose for his inheritance." Psalm 33:12

My First Book Review

Last week I finished reading Shane Clayborne's Irresistible Revolution. Clayborne is a Christian activist living in Philadelphia whose influences include Rich Mullins, Willow Creek Church, a 1st century homelss wandering rabbi, and Tony Campolo whose writing style is very similar. He lives in an intentional community in the poor part of town called The Simple Way where possessions and money are shared equally among the community following the Acts 2 model.

Irresistible Revolution is a call on Christians to take off the blinders of wealth and comfort that American Christianity has too easily donned. It's a radical and fresh approach to following Jesus who in fact was homeless. Clayborne teases out the myriad implications of following this Jew named "Joshua" in today's modern world. From giving to those who need to fighting social and political change that will further contribute to systems of oppression, he convicts readers to stand for justice on almost every page.

Clayborne is not out to convert his readers to Christianity, rather he compells Christians to look at the world through the lenses of a first century Jesus who stood agains oppressive government, injustice in the religious structure, violence, and practiced radical equality towards social outcasts (women, unclean, leppers, homosexuals, poor). Each from a fresh perspective he tackles social issues such as zoning laws as well as politics regarding healthcare and the Iraq War.

In keeping with my last post on this book (before I had finished), here are some quotes from the book to give you an idea of his writting and passion for justice.

“Everytime our government chooses to use military force to bring about change in the world, it once again teaches our children the myth of redemptive violence, the myth that violence can be an instrument for good…Violence infects us. We begin to believe that violence can bring peace in our world, in our neighborhoods, in our homes, in our hearts.”

“Essentially, I went to Iraq [with a peacekeeping group] because I believe in a God of scandalous grace. I have pledged allegiance to a King who loved evildoers so much he died for them, teaching us that there is something worth dying for but nothing worth killing for."

“While the ghettos may have their share of violence and crime, the suburbs are the home of the more subtle demonic forces—numbness, complacency, comfort—and it is these that can eat away at our souls.”

“The gospel is good news for sick people and is disturbing for those who think they’ve got it all together."

“When we have new eyes, we can look into the eyes of those we don’t even like and see the One we love.”

“If we were to set out to establish a religion in polar opposition to the Beatitudes Jesus taught, it would look strikingly similar to the pop Christianity that has taken over the airwaves of North America” -Tony Campolo

“The only thing harder than hatred is love. The only thing harder than war is peace. The only thing that takes more work, tears, and sweat than division is reconciliation. But what more beautiful things could we devote our lives to?”

“I always say that if we believe terrorists are beyond redemption, we can rip out half of our New Testament, since it was written by a converted terrorist who became an extremist for grace."

Sorry for so many quotes, but there are so many great ones in the book. Christian or non-Christian, this book is worth picking up and giving some time to let it mold a new worldview in your heart.

Horrible Honor

The intensive care room was particularly dark as I entered to find two ladies, teary eyed, sniffling, barely holding things together. A small sign of relief shown on their faces as I entered. "Perhaps he is someone to lean on, because I can barely stand." I hope I can be a leaning post.

Their dearly loved father and husband lies motionless save the occasional rising and lowering of the chest as each breath comes a little farther apart. "It won't be long now..." says his wife in perhaps the most pitiful and vulnerable moment of her life.

We stood together, watching the monitor screen, holding daddy's and hubby's hands, praying silently, breaking inside, saying very little, waiting for the moment when both peace and pain would arrive.

There was no observable, punctiliar moment when this man passed from life through death into what comes next. Rather, he percievably faded away like the the sun going down during the summer when it becomes dark but you never really know how it got that way. His life passed like a ship sailing out to sea becoming smaller and smaller until it's no longer visible but not out of sight either.

It's a horrible feeling sometimes, to be in a room with tangible grief, painful emotions so thick I can feel it weighing on my shoulders. I can only hope to grieve with them, carrying on my shoulders, which may be just a little bit stronger, some of their hurt so these two can find the strength to say goodbye. But it's an honor to be able to stand in such a sacred moment as an intimate stranger while they stare into my eyes looking for hope.


I hope to never forget these moments, as I know I will never be forgetten. I hope to let these moments change me, affect who I am and develop in me a deeper sense of compassion. Death is horribly difficult for most people; I can only hope to honor that pain by standing with them in the mire and murky space between this life and the next.

Through the Glass

Through the car winshield I see road, for miles stretching, leading me as I swerve for miles up and down the mountain each day. I see other cars, marching together between the road lines carrying precious cargo.

Through the glass payne in Behavioral Health I see patients, some wandering, some questioning, all needing a caring face to come from behind the glass and speak as if to a beloved friend.

There is a space between the trauma bays also separated by glass through which I look, pray, worry, hope. I see brokenness from accidents and crimes, people literally 'dying' to recieve urgent medical attention. I see injustice role through the doors on a stretcher bludied, tearful and with a tube down the throat. I see life hanging in the balance, precious life which was recently winding down the roads and talking with beloved friends. I see doctors and nurses with their blessed hands responding to the body, listening to it's needs, dialoging about whether it's time has yet come.

Through the glass I see God's children helping God's children. "Why has God put my loved one through the glass?" I often hear. There's no good answer to this age old question. Just more questions.

I recently read an anology of the Bible as being like a window, glass if you will, through which we look to see the divine. Is this window perfectly clear? Does it allow us to see everything on the other side? Or is it clouded, showing us only part of the whole picture. Are the scratches, scuffs and bugs on the glass obstructing our view of certain divine thoughts? Perhaps.

Perhaps the act of dying, which I have seen through the glass, is a passing from one side of the murkey window to the other, giving us a full picture of God. And these are the saddist times when I gaze through the trauma bay glass watching another beloved soul say goodbye to loved ones with tears and sobs, finally meeting God after passing 'through the glass.'

"A Thinker"

Whatever you happen to think about the morality of homosexuality, this paragraph from a book I've recently perused should make you think. It did for me.


"The heterosexual community needs to see and experience homosexual unions that are marked by integrity and caring and are filled with grace and beauty. The heterosexual majority seems to assume that the only form homosexual love making takes is the promiscuous life of gay bars, pornography, and one-night stands. They are ever ready to condemn that behavior pattern as morally unacceptable--and so it is. But two things seem to have been overlooked by those who make these judgments.


First, promiscuity, pick-up bars, pornography, and one-night stands are not unknown in the heterosexual world. That kind of behavior is destructive no matter what the sexual orientation of thse who live out that style of life.


Second, heterosexual people have the publicly accepted, blessed, and affirmed alternative of marriage that has as yet not been available to the homosexual population. If there is no such positive alternative for homosexual persons, then what is the church's expectation for them? If the church or society refuses to reconize or promote any positive alternative in which love and intimacy can sustain a gay or lesbian couple, then those institutions are guilty of contributing to the very pormiscuity that they condemn."


Spong, John Shelby. Living In Sin: A Bishop Rethinks Human Sexuality. (Harper Collins Pub.: San Fransisco, 1988) p. 202.


The intent of this post is not to convert anyone to any side of any 'argument' concerning the morality of homosexuality. It simply made me think, and I like thinking so I thought you should think about it too. What do you think?


I happen to not truly know what God thinks about homosexuality. I know what I was taught growing up by church/family/society. And I've heard the Bible used in support for and in condemnation of gay/lesbian persons. But I can't say I know what God thinks, just as Paul said, "Who can know the mind of God?" (Rom. 11:34)


I do think God loves more than he hates, and we should too. I think Jesus was in the business of breaking down the walls of prejudice and social ostracism, and we should too. (Reconciliation anyone?) I think no matter what we think about right or wrong, sin or holiness, we should treat every person we come across with love and respect (Golden Rule anyone?).


Comments?