his Bible,
Scotch tape, and notes from phone calls never returned.
He Tweeted and emailed until his fingers floated off the home keys,
his hair beginning to lift with static electricity,
his feet rising from the blue carpet, his whole body feeling
as if it would soon press against the ceiling fan and hot lights,
his whole life a series of sneaked Wonka Fizzy Lifting Drinks
leaving him too light, lacking substance,
eventually he would float off to the cirrostratus clouds and disappear
beyond the exosphere and Neptune and unnamed constellations
and the event horizon, he would evaporate from memory
not even his dog would miss him.
And then the phone rings and the girl with the unexpected pregnancy
and the ninety-eight year old woman dying alone
and the light bulbs need replacing
before the hungry come to shop the pantry shelves
and the assembling again in the sanctuary where life
once more becomes humble, heavy enough with the holiness
required for there to be visible glory, the thick abiding presence
that holds us beloved on the sun-lit earth.
Chef
Lectionary 5 A
Matthew 5:13–20
You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot. (Matt 5:13)
There is white onion chopping to be done and crying with it
and juliennes of jicama to slice and a slip and a cut and
the vinaigrette must be whisked and emulsified and tested,
balancing of sweet and vinegar to please the palate,
the steak is seared in the black iron pan and peppered
the potatoes roasted in rosemary and garlic browned.
Then the chef does his effortless enchanted toss with salt
delights the tongue and the soul,
taking us back when salt is what we swam in and breathed and sang
so much us that we did not know or taste until we left it.
So it is with God and each other and the love we walked away from.
Now with generous offering we are salted and relished,
offered a taste of love in a bland and hungry world
needing a mere amuse-bouche of the holy we are swimming in.
Outside Inside Out
Lectionary 6 A
Matthew 5:21–37
You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire. (Matt 5:21–22)
Outside even God he would entreat
with his shirt pressed and untucked
dark jeans carefully faded on the thigh
vanity glasses rightly matching his square face
cheerful humor at the right social moment
generous to friends and strangers with and without
breaking only the smallest of commandments
and rules of engagement on the street and at work.
Inside he knew the heft of carrying like sacked concrete
his own lonesome soul, wretched and loathsome,
a prisoner yoked to his rage and anger,
the deep cavernous drip, drip of fear on stalagmites of terror
now outside God entreating him with compassion untucked,
inside peace rightly matching his wounded heart.
Edges
Lectionary 7 A
Leviticus 19:1–2, 9–18
When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap to the very edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest. You shall not strip your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen grapes of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the alien: I am the LORD your God. (Lev 19:9–10)
He farmed the borrowed land like an artisan
caring for nematodes and seedlings and
the soil itself, the nurse of all life.
He harvested with a jeweler’s eye each gem of food
feeding family and strangers in village mud cottages
except at the edges he left a row or two along the fence
by the road where wayfarers and immigrants
could pluck and eat and praise
just as he and all do to glorify the soil’s maker.
One night he dreamed of the future:
mechanized efficiency, vast acres of
monocultured crops and infertile soil
and he woke with a night terror when he saw
the edges were culled clean and nothing left,
no rough meal for anyone walking by needful.
Sweat and scream filled the bed at the thought,
a godless day and place where no one remembered
edges
