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Psalm 4, a small song of gratitude

Psalm 4
a small song of gratitude

thank you, Lord, and I mean that
this is not hiding or prevaricating

but truth and openness of spirit

I can despair over illnesses and
news broadcasts, matters of
danger at home and away
far away and in myself

leaders cause too much truth
to die, so do other sellers of
our souls—thankfully, not
all who lead or sell

but the world is a twisted
place, and some like that too much

yet, still, I find myself in a
place of paradox with you
for you must teach me how to thank
and then accept my gratitude

as original and honest, and it is

thank you, Lord, and I mean that

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Psalm 3

Psalm 3

The world is broken, Lord of
Hosts, so much so that some

Would think you’re coming soon
With heaven’s military
To smash aggression
And grind indifference into
Dust, establishing a new, just
Place that we will call
A heaven and an earth

The brokenness of our world
Leads us, unjust, toward many
Fallen things further fallen

Those who can, too much, must utter words
Of truth through iron-manacled hands

Others commit to the selling
Of souls: I mean, taking the bodies
Of others and selling them for money
Or the relief of having adversaries gone

We crush our spirits with
What we let go by

Lord, what might lift us, free us
Make us fit for home? Please make me
Readier to act, commit the risk for good

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Jacki K Day Five

A story about a trip with an image from Google to go with.

Once my sister and I drove and rode to Stratford, Ontario. Stratford is a small town west of London (Ontario) and a good ways west of Toronto. During the season, there is a drama festival there. There are several theatres in town, all of which give productions in repertory. So one can see things, many things, in only a few days’ time.

The dramas are world-class. They are reviewed in publications from around the world. Production quality is amazing. Whether in the round or behind a proscenium, set pieces move like magic, becoming places, overall, of many levels for actors’ interactions and actions. I say actions because, when histories or tragedies are given, the staged fighting is visceral and intense.

In addition to after-theatre fare, a reward in Stratford is walking through the town during the day. There are many places to visit. Many stores, of course, some selling products in pewter whose source was Saint Mary’s, the next-door town. But it was the bookstores that really were the treat. There were several and, whether new or used, the variety and quality of inventory was so delightful to ingest.

My sister and I saw a production of The Tempest that we still talk about with wistful fondness. And we talk about our last dinner in Stratford. We were both poor (I’m still poor), but I let Amy talk me into going to an extravagant French-styled restaurant. (Mostly, Stratford has an anglified feel.) She was right about making the investment of money and time. The meal experience was fantastic. Fantastique, I guess.

During this trip, my sister talked with me a great deal about a man she had met and was planning to marry. I didn’t know much about him, since Amy and I were living in different cities; she was busy working after graduate school, while I was busy getting ready to go. But I learned much now and was pleased she was willing to share so much. She also told me how this man reminded her of me. Always something impressive for a brother to hear.

A pre-Raphaelite painting depicting the play The Tempest. The discovery of Bermuda by the English (in a shipwreck-ing storm) was the inspiration for the play.

(www.johnwilliamwaterhouse.com at Google Images)

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Psalm 2 (and a note below)

Psalm 2

Lord, find me a church
One that welcomes me and
No one like me

One that cherishes who I
Am and who I’m not, who
You are and who you’re not

Our ages, occupations, the
Absence of occupation, our
Injured lives, triumphant lives
Our sorrows and our joys

Yes, our genders, too
And all the tones of skin

The differences and sameness

God made us, after all
And first of all
And is making us, still

A place where can give our
Millions and our mites

Our giving is small, but your sight
And your other senses
Make it pleasing, I think

Help me with a church despite
Myself and what’s happened there
The house of God is where your
People live, and I
Should live there, too

C L Couch

Psalms are songs. Psalms require us. And typically they require God.

So psalms are our songs to God. We read or sing them singly or in the community.

We sing psalms and let them move us how they will. How God might be moved we’ll never know while on this side of things. Yet still we sing. We should.

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a psalm

Psalm on Sunday

Lord, make me a better person
It’s up to me, I know, to
Choose the better way
To find what has been
Called the straighter path

Here’s a problem, though: I
Like the path that bends

I like the walking adventure
Of not knowing what’s around
Or behind or under or over
The path that curves

And offers subtle mystery
(Sometimes overt)—I fear that

That’s the path for me

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The Jacki K (5K? 10K? InfinityK?) Challenge, Day Four

Describe the image selected to go with the selected word.

This is a visual symbol in three parts. Someone added a heart, which I liked and used. But the symbol is six arcs from a circle, run through and turned upside-down in each part of three. The circles are connected and rely on the lines that connect each part. The symbol cannot be recognized or used if the three parts are separated. In fact, they can’t be separated.

There is a word for this symbol. It is a variation of something called triskelion. (Yes, I just looked that up. And not too well, so feel free to correct me.) The word sounds anthropological, and I imagine many cultures have a variant of this look. In Celtic Christianity, which dominated English religion until the seventh century, the symbol of three interlocking circle parts renders the Christian Trinity.

I picked this symbol because it represents my foundational belief in God, which is that God lives in relationship with us as God lives in relationship with God. In the traditional Christian worship service, all the senses are selected and employed. We see the Word; we hear the teaching and the music and in our greetings with each other. We smell incense. We touch the Host then taste it with the wine. So our parts in what this symbol means are interlocked as well.

There are many traditions, certainly, and those who follow no tradition. This symbol is for what I think, feel, and believe. I’m sure there are well-made symbols and well-used in many traditions and practices. And for those who follow none.

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The Jacki K Challenge, Day 3

Four. One of my six words. And the image of the Celtic knot with imposed heart. What do they mean, and how do they work together? A paragraph about this is the assignment, I think.

Four

There’s a fancy word for that Celtic sign, which reminds of the fancy word for phobia of the number thirteen. I chose the word because it implies existing through relationship. Four is not one and certainly is not zero. Four is more, and four works because it is in companionship. Four have come together. Four isn’t that important symbolically in religion or folklore. I mean, there are things it can represent, though other numbers do more and are better known. So four can be more personal and intimately appreciated. The Celtic symbol of the Trinity is old and represents a merging of two ways: an ancient world of many gods and the world of the one God come to be known and loved. The Celts themselves had to give way to the Romans regarding religion—I mean the Roman Christian Church that made the Celts give up their Christian understanding—and for a time this symbol went away. Or was hidden. But it’s back, telling us that worlds and understandings deserve their time. And older insights need not be thrown away because something new, even better, comes. After the first day, I chose the symbol with a heart imposed upon it. The heart for me is paradoxical. It is vital for understanding faith and life, I do believe. But my heart is diseased and struggles to function in the center of me.

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All Souls Narrative

All Souls Narrative

Picnics by the graveside, skull candy, many
lights inside the darkness, families
remembering

the dead who live again in heaven always
and with us here just now in our memorial

ways; if

family outings can be sacred, then this
is it.

There was a small cemetery across
the street from where I lived; I would

walk there and once
enjoyed a staring contest with a deer.
We’d look; whoever took a step toward
the other, the other would move back:

an hour of this, and we were done.

On another night and once a year, respectful
people would show up to place a candle
on each stone; this was

unofficial yet quietly and happily done—a
day of the dead
for the living.

There was music, too.

The deer would object, I’m sure, the
flames, the crowd, the noise
however small, and all; but

Deer has all the forest behind
and, I’m sure, its own way
of remembering, as I

remember her
in the days I have until remembrance
will be for someone else.

C L Couch

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All Souls, a Poem

All Souls, a Poem

A remembrance of those who are far on
And yet, like Patrick’s breastplate, who
Are over and around us
Above, below, on either side

We are not alone this day; we are
Accompanied
By those whose earthly, counted time
Is done, who
Live in kairos now
Kairotic time, the time of God

Souls, the spirits
of un-never-lived, live
On, live now, live well
Until unmeasured time
Without measure
Ends

C L Couch

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