benediction for an extraordinary day

..."help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get back, when brown can stick around -- (laughter) -- when yellow will be mellow -- (laughter) -- when the red man can get ahead, man -- (laughter) -- and when white will embrace what is right."

rev lowery's riff on ''black brown and white" by big bill broonzy was a bit of humor to remind us how far we've come down the road from racism to to ''embrace-ism''...in fact, i learned that for a long time, back in the '50's, this song was not allowed to be played in the U.S.

unfortunately, from reading some of the blogs today, there are a lot of people just flat silly with infuriation about rev lowery including these words at the end of his prayer...they didn't get it that this was humor about racism, and were most especially not racist remarks.

'tell you what... i'm going to work for the day when we don't have to explain this stuff.

and especially will i not only pray but also work for a day when everyone, all over the world, can live just such an extraordinary day, and laugh

miracle on the hudson

...you know, something about calling an extraordinary event a 'miracle' makes people think it was by the Grace of God that all 155 survived ...as if to imply that, had any perished, it would have been a case of Divine Abandonment. Why would we think that?

Why would we not believe that God is with everyone, all of the time? do we really think that God still kills some and spares others, old testament style? where does the new covenant apply? or are there only certain times when God is Love? why ever would we think the Eternal Mind would dumb down to embrace some human notion of 'divine justice' ....divine 'grace' for some and divine 'too bad' for others?

Perhaps the only miraculous aspect to this life is our spiritual stubbornness....our refusal to celebrate the presence of the unseen-but-felt--the presence of angels, or sudden insight or intuition, and always that still, small voice--in ordinary everyday things until all of life is experienced as sacred. Until all of life is an ongoing, intimately accessible experience of God...and if this should not be our experience of God--or Tao, or Presence, or whatever is our spiritual tonality--then what is our little human explanation for that?

but breathing

forty people, a few straight, all of us christian, filled this living room last saturday with an intensity of well-articulated disappointment, observations and mystifications where lately had been sleighbells ring, the holly and the ivy, silent night and a 10' tree...

some spoke with historical perspective, some religious, some political--all were relieved to be together to talk and listen with others of like mind and soul on what obama meant by choosing ''pastor'' warren...but mostly, it was just good to be in the same room...comforting even, with the common issues of frustration spilled out all over the floor...it took the better part of the evening to mop that up with the episcopal lexicon of uncommon understanding, if not actual forgiveness...

my take-away was that i don't need to focus on mr obama any more on this issue...i believe in hope, and i believe that, given enough time, he will get there as a leader....

instead, my task is to educate mr warren, perhaps first by loving him--always the hardest part of any communication, even with those who are like me...and sometimes especially with those who are like me

so i'm going to write an old fashioned letter to the pastor of saddleback church -- the presupposed altar ego of brokeback mountain -- to start a conversation...and to do so in such a way that i cannot be mistaken for anyone other than a member of the body of Christ, perhaps asking him to celebrate L0VE-is-the-purpose-driven-Eucharist at my table, where we are all God-made humans in the presence of the Holy Spirit...

because when i look at you with my soul's eyes,
i see the Love in you, rick warren,
because It is in me too

after that the rest is up to you
to see the Love in me,
with Her help, of course

xiii.
paperwhites,
wistful with grace
in a glass dish
in a sunny window,
faces turned up
looking over the trees
seeking the sweet
northwest grasses which
nod heavily, feeling the distant
tiny warmth, but bowed
under the weight of too much
sadness in the rain...
and so it is that
the hours are shared
and simply held
in the quiet ways
of winter, fading

vi.
the sun warms up the bugs
in the scraggly elm out front
and now a chickadee
lands on a branch
to score some breakfast
in the ball moss

and here i sit
near slack with dread
since you did not call
or ewrite last night

huh

i could do better
scratching up
a warm bug to eat

v.
two tiny paper boats
are set softly on the water
one resists the wind
the other catches on fire

ashes and shreds
scatter into the air
then lightly fall back
like snow

melting together
into the warm
serenity
of the pond

and so we learned
what is unnecessary
to love