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Christ for the Celts

Christ for the Celts

 

At Whitby, they were quieted

We were told to keep it Roman

None of that wildness in

Worship, thank you very much

No more statues with odd lumps

No more the branches and

The flowers and the bonfires

Stop the dancing, too

The music we don’t recognize

 

Romans one, Celts zero

 

The Celts respond

You say

But in a thousand years, you will

Be asleep

And it will turn out we’ve only been

Resting, waiting for the time

To waken and resume

The merging of our styles

And traditions

 

Sorry, Augustine

(first Canterbury)

We want to respect you

But we were hoping for a little back

Before the final gavel

So we’ve taken to the trees

Under earth and over skies

 

We believe

And we believe

Maybe you’ll find out how much

And how thoroughly

God and creation

Christ who bought us from the devil

The Spirit that transpires

 

Who is the better negotiator

And keeper

Of us all

 

C L Couch

 

 

Iron Age Castro culture triskele, reused in a barn. Airavella, Allariz, Galicia

José Antonio Gil Martínez from Vigo, Spain – Trisquel de AiravellaUploaded by Igrexas, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=20104869

 

I saw the title Christ of the Celts (from my list) and thought for a moment it was Christ for the Celts.  I imagine Christ is for the Celts.

(Synod of Whitby in 664)

 

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Again with the Sunday-Thinking

Again with the Sunday-Thinking

 

It’s Sunday, and

I should say something spiritual

But there’s Hamlet’s rub

(not a small town’s)

About mortality or, I should

Say, the end of it,

Which is what the Dane’s discussing

One side of the coin, as

It were, the other side

Well, spirituality

Who’d have thought?

 

So here we are

The coin I have,

The choice I have

Heads or tails

Or stand it on the edge,

Which I can do

 

Do you?

This is where we are

Where angels could dance

As slender as the pin

Though it goes around

Another way

Both things, the circle and the sphere,

Are endless

One comes back

And if a mark isn’t made

We’ll fool ourselves

In the illusion

A belief that we are always going

Somewhere

Somewhere else

 

So we need another metaphor

Metaphors as analogies

Always fail somewhere

Along the way

But we have the vine

The true vine and the faulty

And would that we graft ourselves

To the stronger,

Greener branch

And so grow

Like a magic beanstalk

Toward heaven

Though here’s where plants no longer

Serve analogy

For heaven’s not up

Where Claudius would send his prayers

Not forward, backward

Interior, exterior

Exit, arriving

I think you know

Where heaven is

Open the window of the soul

The air is good, at last

No teaching no longer necessary

Breathe the good and lasting

Air of heaven in

I wonder if in heaven

All we do is inhale

 

Better than direction

Better than metaphors

Better than Christmas morning

Or a birthday

(not analogies but real

remembrances I trust, I hope)

Heaven is an invitation

Please respond

r.s.v.p.

a.s.a.p.

I want to meet there

And maybe you

Will help me

Though there’s one who

Will bring us, both

 

C L Couch

 

 

Image by Thanks. All my pics are free! from Pixabay

church war syria civil war devastation devastated

 

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Shabbat

Shabbat

 

Something wonderful about Shabbat

Is that it’s usually a meal

The empty chair is for the prophet

Otherwise, the seats are full

Sullen children, indifferent older

Everyone has an agenda outside the room

But here the plates are full

There are prayers,

And we drink some wine

 

Where the holy rests

Inside the food or in the human heart

Isn’t clear,

And that’s intention

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo of 6-braid whole-wheat challah in the process of being shaped for baking.

Yoninah, CC BY 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=772292

 

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Unburied Life

Unburied Life

 

He wrote about armies

Fighting at midnight

Unable to tell friend from foe

Because of darkness

Sound familiar?

It might as well

When we fight, we own new

Ignorance of combatants

One human to another

Well, we can tell, someone will say

We have technology

But protocols and fail-safes fail

And that’s not what I mean

I speak to you and me

Wondering about our chances

When we go up

Against each other

 

C L Couch

 

 

“Dover Beach” and “The Buried Life” are poems by Matthew Arnold, British social critic of the nineteenth century.

 

Image by Marei Sellin from Pixabay

 

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Recollect

Recollect

 

Sometimes the spirit isn’t there

The pressure of zeitgeist,

Although, maintaining

Sometimes it’s just a mortal day

With bread that burns and

Coffee spills,

Liquid things that stain

It’s a day for paying money that

Might or might not exist

(such is the way of penury

to make us all impoverished

mischiefs), though we have to

Try something

 

But then

The spirit’s always there

Always here

God is inclined to stay

Underneath the window sill

Or in the corner where

We pushed the table

(insert a cartoon image)

Ready to intrude

But staying everything

For reason and for love

Until we scrape the bread

And remember that in many places

Still

We can always raise the sash

Or make space in the corner

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Nadia Valko on Unsplash

 

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Cool Runnings

Cool Runnings

 

It’s another dark day

Outside not inside

Inside the lamps are lit

Casting glows that make

Me think of a winter day

Someone should be telling

Stories next to the

Fire (there is no fireplace)

At least it will be a day

For imagination

Summer is a few days away

The forecast calls for

Temperatures in the eighties

But inside I will think

Of cold

Of wanderers across a frozen

Waste of buried land, aiming for

A rescue so that there

Might be a chance of home

After the questing’s done

It’s a day for a lengthy

Story

Maybe you will join me

Tell me yours

 

C L Couch

 

 

Image of Diana Wall

By Byron Adams – Portrait, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=48699119

 

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Settle Down

Settle Down

 

I feel the presence

Noun without a pronoun

Deserving all descriptors

Even ones that might not

Sound so nice

Remembering that while God

Is a friend, God is

Worthy of all fear and respect

It’s Sunday, but it could be Monday

Any day

I guess maybe I slowed up a little

As Christians in the USA sometimes

Do, the day made even

Quieter by the promise of rain

Darkening the sky and

Limiting light on the street

So nature helps

With something we might find

Inconvenient,

Waiting for the rain

And then the rain

 

I’m stretching out my lower back

A little

While I think

While looking at the darkened sky

The leaves a darker color, too

Second verse, I think

No coded needed or repeat

Let’s enjoy this moment

As a present thing

And as something given

(two-parts gift)

By everything that’s come before with

Some attuning to new day

 

C L Couch

 

 

The Beethoven monument at the Donauinsel remembers Beethoven’s symphony No. 5.

Herzi Pinki – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=41427679

 

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Giveth

Giveth

 

I’d rather write about how

The gift of God is

Given on this day in the first

Moment

It is the day itself and more

Opportunities in time

In a culture of newness

So that good things might grow

I know we think of cultures

(the kind in Petri dishes)

For disease

But we might also harvest and

Turn (as on a potter’s wheel)

Cures,

Once everything is studied

And we prudently co-try

Many things

 

C L Couch

 

 

Image by PDPics from Pixabay

 

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Day 181

Day 181

 

It’s Friday afternoon

Day 180’s passing

And so the children should be

Out of school for summer

Last rides in yellow buses

For a while

 

They can populate the stores

For a time

And visit in each residence

Pets should be happier

For the company

And lemonade or something like

Becomes a commodity

 

I don’t mean to say

It’s all sugary

Some will need work,

Too many will go hungry

There will be

Pain from separations of all kinds

 

But some will take trips

They will enjoy

And though not expressed,

Wear a new kind of gratitude

 

As a child,

My summers weren’t idyllic

But I couldn’t help from time to time

First relief, then

Reveling in freedom

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Luiz Guimaraes on Unsplash

 

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