Today’s Wordle (from MLMM) challenges us to use these words in a post of whatever kind we want: child, protect, solitude, anger, searching, haven, cost, frustration, why, judge, safety, notice
This is my contribution.
They were trying to protect him.
The crowd was thick. One of the bodyguards leaned in and whispered to another. “You know he needs some solitude, right?”
Another was searching the landscape for a haven to hustle him off to — for his own safety.
Then they began to notice — it wasn’t just people, a bunch of them were bringing their kids. The frustration continued to grow.
“We’re going to have to go elbows up,” one said, raising his elbows in a defensive stance.
“Nah — they aren’t that unruly,” said another.
“Yet,” said a third one. “But I don’t know why he doesn’t say something.”
One in particular was beginning to feel the twinges of anger rising in him. Doesn’t he realize the cost on all of us? he thought judgingly.
Then Jesus looked up at the crowd and his disciples trying to block the children from coming.
“Let the children come,” he said.
You can find the original story three times in the gospels: Matthew 19:13-15, Mark 10:13-16, and Luke 18:15-17
It wasn’t one of those smug sort of weddings. You know the kind, right? Over the top in lavishness. No expense spared. The kind where the bride and groom are ostensibly the center of attention, but really they aren’t, because it’s all about showing off perceived wealth.
No, it wasn’t that kind of wedding.
It was the kind where the whole town turns for the celebration because they’re so happy for the couple. Because they’d watched those kids grow up since they were little. Because both sets of parents were nice hard-working people who probably had, at one time or another, helped every single person in that town.
J’s mother went. She had been invited.
Well, so had J — and he went along with some other people who were with him.
Everyone was having a great time — until the wine ran out.
J’s mother scoured the crowd looking for him. She finally found him sitting in a corner, away from the noise, chatting with some people.
She went to him and gently placed her hand on his arm to get his attention. When he looked at her she whispered, “They have no wine.”
“Woman,” he said — (why DID he call her ‘woman’ like that?? I don’t think it was meant to be unkind) — “what does this have to do with me?”
They looked at each other quietly, each studying the other’s expression. They knew each other so well. She knew things about him that no one else knew. Finally, he spoke again, “It’s not my time.”
His mother thought for a quick second. She had assumed he would take action. Were his words an acknowledgment that he could do something if he felt the time was right? She seized the moment. She turned to the wait-staff. “Do whatever he tells you,” she said.
And the rest, you know, is history. J delivered.
Water became wine. People scratched their heads and marveled, surprised and amazed. Some guests were totally oblivious — as we all are at times — and simply thought that the host had reserved the best wine for the end.
But one day the story would be told and retold and written down, because it was a miracle, and miracles need to be remembered.
This is my contribution to the MLMM Monday Wordle where the challenge is to weave some or all of the prompt words into a bit of writing. I chose to rewrite another well-known story from the Bible. This one appears in John 2. Of course, it may have happened in a way that is nothing like what I have written — but it’s fun to imagine.
The prompt words are: smug, noise, celebration, assumed, gentle, quiet, reserved, delivered, surprised, guest, one, unkind
The Word of the Day is instrument, so, of course, I searched my draft folder. The only thing with that word was this quote which I had copied into a post back in 2015 and never wrote any more.
The Holy Spirit is not a gift for us to use as we like, but a power using us at his good pleasure. Nevertheless our freewill is his instrument, and he does not force it… His action is like the rising waters of the tide, ready to fill every cranny that opens in the reef it engulfs, yet forcing no openings that are not offered.
~~ Austin Farrer, Saving Belief
It is a theme I have been thinking about for years — the way we think that we are the potters and He is the clay, the way we try to manipulate God. I know people who have totally turned their backs on religion because of the way some religious folk use God as a cudgel.
“God in a box” — that’s what I think people do. He’s much safer that way. We control him. Here are two verses of a too-long poem I wrote that also sits unfinished.
I fold up god to fit the box Then put the lid on tightly It’s so much safer – him in there – I go to see him nightly
I say hello, complain a bit Ask for a thing or two Put the lid back on the box Before heading to the loo
The RDP prompt for today is kindness. I searched my draft folder and found this incomplete post that had been written in October 2011.
When I read it this morning, I remembered some of the difficult circumstances of that time. It was years before my brother died, years before I was helping care for my mother, years and years before my father died.
Just because I wasn’t dealing with death, it doesn’t mean life was easy. I had my hands full in other ways. My children at that point ranged in age from 7 to 26. I was homeschooling two, had one in public school, some in college, some working, one married.
Without further ado, here is the unnamed post which I will call “Growing Pains.” If it feels incomplete, maybe it is.
One of the most profound things I heard Andrew Peterson say was not at Hutchmoot, but at a concert in Cortland. He was talking about his books, the Wingfeather Saga. (Note: he was still in the process of writing the series. The final book wasn’t published until 2014.) I didn’t write this down or record it so it may not be verbatim, but I think it’s fairly close. He said,
The main character in these stories is a boy named Janner. When I started writing, I saw the man he would become, but I knew that he would have to go through many trials and difficult situations to become that man. I knew that he would have to suffer some terrible things…
I have been thinking about some of the difficulties my own children have had to endure. They are rather small in comparison to Janner’s battles with Fangs and Gnag the Nameless, but they shape my children nonetheless.
And then I started thinking about that whole idea conversely. If my children didn’t suffer anything, how would they turn out?
For instance, in order to develop perseverance, they need to stick with difficult situations and work them out. If I allow them to quit every time the going was hard or not fun or required something of them, they would become the kind of adults who always take the easy path, who quit, who are unreliable.
In order for them to develop compassion, they need experience some hard times and also experience unwarranted kindness to them. I imagine that the guy in the Good Samaritan story who had been attacked by robbers didn’t later cross to the other side of the road to avoid helping someone who was different from him, although without his experience, he may very well have looked the other way instead of helping.
From the time I was young, I had trouble waiting Always-late-people? So irritating! Delayed planes and buses — very frustrating I wished I could be easygoing!
Yes, I was impatient — but wanted to change So I started to pray (does that sound somewhat strange?) I thought that I knew what God could/would arrange Truth is — I asked without knowing
Well, God sent me teachers — one at a time For a total of eight — tiny, helpless, sublime This slow learner experienced shift paradigm While all of my children were growing
Sereneness is seeing the blue of the sky Feeling the sun, watching bees fly Being in moments ‘stead of letting them by Not going faster, but slowing
So I learned to slow down from my children eight Little knowing, indeed, what was my next fate Aging parents, dementia, at the next gate No regrets — just love overflowing
For eight I witnessed their very first day For two I was present as they passed away Each one a miracle in its own way Listen — do you hear the wind blowing?
Poet of the Week, Nigel Byng, challenged us to “Write a paean about a moment of personal triumph. This can be something from your past, something you are currently experiencing, or something you envision for your future. The moment should feel meaningful—something that changed you, clarified something essential, or marked a quiet or dramatic victory.”
When I read the Stream of Consciousness prompt for today — the word “distance” — this song is the first thing that came to mind.
I have a love-hate relationship with the lyrics. Allow me to — stream-of-consciously — dissect them.
On the surface, yes, it’s all so true:
From a distance, the world looks blue and green And the snow-capped mountains white From a distance, the ocean meets the stream
Yep — those pictures taken of the earth from space show our planet as green and blue. We can see water, land. We have to start zooming in, though, to see ocean meeting stream. We have to really zoom in to see the last line of that verse:
And the eagle takes to flight
If we were to really really zoom in, we would see that eagle swoop down and grab a living creature — a fish, a rabbit, or even someone’s pet. Hmmm…
From a distance, there is harmony And it echoes through the land It’s the voice of hope It’s the voice of peace It’s the voice of every man
Well, not EVERY man. I’m so disturbed by the words of our Secretary of War/Defense this week. He initially acknowledged the fallen troops, but then they became a PR problem to him. He accused the press of trying to make the president look bad. Seriously??
From a distance, we all have enough And no one is in need And there are no guns, no bombs, and no disease No hungry mouths to feed
From a distance, it may look that way, but it’s not true. It’s just not true.
From a distance, we are instruments Marching in a common band Playing songs of hope Playing songs of peace They’re the songs of every man
I actually like this verse. Music is a uniter. I think about the story from WWII of Germans and Americans singing Silent Night together, in their respective languages, on Christmas Eve. (I think that’s how the story goes.)
God is watching us God is watching us God is watching us From a distance
Umm…. the Christmas story is that God was born in a stable. The Lenten story is that after a dusty, dirty itinerant life — walking with us, eating with us, teaching, listening, healing through touch — God in human form died for us. God bridged the distance.
From a distance, you look like my friend Even though we are at war From a distance, I just cannot comprehend What all this fighting’s for
I’ll go back to that Christmas Eve story and I’ll say this, You, Iranian mom, are my sister. In 2017, I went to Bosnia and shared meals with people of a different faith. I learned they were also my friend/family. I’ll also go back to those powerful people in the world who move us around like chess pieces. I just cannot comprehend what all this fighting’s for.
The rest of the song is pretty repetitive of what’s already been sung.
It’s a lovely song. It really is.
I just wish it didn’t lean so heavily on God watching “from a distance”.
Perhaps it’s simply saying that God has the best perspective — “from a distance”. Hmm… I need to ponder that.
It certainly sounds more realistic for people in darkness to dream of God’s day of vengeance, finding satisfaction in the hope that at the Last Judgment all the godless enemies who oppress us here will be cast into hellfire. But what kind of blessedness is it that luxuriates in revenge and needs the groans of the damned as background to its own joy? To us a child is born, not an embittered old man.
Jürgen Moltmann, The Power of the Powerless
Okay, it’s not one, not two, but three lines that I’m using for One-Liner Wednesday. I read these words this morning and they spoke to me.
My faith is a struggle these days, what with all that’s going on with our government and the focus on retribution, and the callousness towards humt
Still, I read every morning, trying to start my day off with the right mindset.
To us a child is born. To us a child is born. To us a child is born.
God didn’t come in wrath, seeing to punish. He came as a helpless baby.
My grandmother was a worrier (Or, some would say, a prayer warrior) She fretted all the time (probably from womb to Easter tomb) Her immigrant family worked hard At menial jobs for which they were hired. They moved up the social ladder. Education, honesty, and faith would lead her To a comfortable American life. You would think she turned over a new leaf! But she worried and worried and worried, Though her faith in God never wearied
This is my submission for the W3 challenge this week — brought by the host with the most, David himself.
Here’s the challenge: Write a poem using pararhyme throughout—where consonant sounds match but the vowels shift (e.g., fill / fell, stone / stain). Let this half-matching quality reflect a theme of incompleteness, near-misses, or strained connection.
Can I say that it’s not even a near miss to be a worrier and a person of faith?! The two stand in stark contradiction to each other, and yet, that was my grandmother.
Knowing something or somebody isn’t the same as knowing about them. More than just information is involved. …When you really know a person or a language or a job, the knowledge becomes part of who you are. It gets into the bloodstream.
Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark
BUT, Mr. Buechner, what if the person that I am learning about and that I am getting to know is me?
It can’t get into my bloodstream, because it is my bloodstream!
I read a piece by Dorothy Day yesterday that said, “‘How can you see Christ in people?’ … It is an act of faith, constantly repeated. It is an act of love, resulting from an act of faith. It is an act of hope…”
How can I see Christ in me? It is an act of faith, constantly repeated. It is an act of love. It is an act of hope.
It has been a rough few weeksmonths years. My divorce is final. The papers came in the mail this week. It makes me question everything. How well did I know this person to whom I was married for over forty years? I knew about him, but did I really know him? Did he really know me?
I realize that I don’t even know me — but I’m working on it.
I realize, though, too, what grounds me. It is faith. It is acts of faith, constantly repeated.
I’m extending the A-to-Z Challenge into May. Maybe even June and July – we’ll see how long this takes.
Justice does not preclude mercy. It makes mercy possible. … Justice is the grammar of things. Mercy is the poetry of things.
Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark
I didn’t see this coming, the way a Buechner book would become a backdrop to commentary on the state of our country — but it has.
If you’ve never read anything by Frederick Buechner, let me tell you a little about him. He is a Presbyterian minister and the author of 39 books. He is witty, funny, insightful, and ultimately so very kind. So kind. One of his last books is titled: The Remarkable Ordinary: How to Stop, Look, and Listen to Life. I haven’t yet read it, but I think it sums him up.
I loved this quote on justice when I read it. I can picture Justice and Mercy sitting on a teeter-totter, balancing each other. Yet here, under Trump 2, Justice has leapt from the see-saw, leaving Mercy to crash to the ground with a teeth-jarring thud.
The news is on in the background as I write — a mistake, I know. I’m semi-addicted these days. I can’t look away, even though I know I should. What’s going on in this country is neither just nor merciful. There’s no sense of poetry in anything that’s going on.
I have to confess that I didn’t see what’s going on in our country coming either. I counted on the balance of power in our government and the work of God in people’s hearts.
Yet, here we are, withholding food, drugs, and aid from people in need. Sending aid workers to Myanmar in the wake of a disaster — and then firing them! Canceling student visas and sending them back to their home country, some of them weeks shy of their graduation. Punishing, punishing, punishing anyone who disagrees or has disagreed with this administration.
Almighty and most merciful God Where are You? The sky is turning black As are the hearts of my countrymen Must we sit in a tomb for three days Before there is a resurrection? Or is insurrection on the horizon? My God, My God — why have You forsaken us?
It’s kind of funny, isn’t it — that 2000 years ago, the Jewish people were looking for an insurrection to free them from Roman rule, and they got a resurrection instead.
