I Wish…

IMG_1082I wish I had words to express my sorrow.
I do not.

I wish I had words to express my anger.
I do not.

I wish I had words to persuade the world.
I do not.

Only tears gathering at the corners of my eyes,
Tears insufficient to cleanse the bloodied shirts
Which could not shield the ebon bodies
Desecrated by lead.

I wish I had words to speak the bullets back to the chamber,
The fingers off of the triggers,
The guns back into the holsters,
The fear out of the hearts,
The aggression out of the speech.
I do not.

I wish I had words so all the world would know
And act as if it knew
That #blacklivesmatter.

But I do not.

In anger and in sorrow at the deaths of Alton Sterling and Philandro Castile.

‘Apapane Pride – And Hubris

‘Apapane_and_Nestlings

An ‘Apapane and nestlings, courtesy National Park Service

If you were very lucky, and found the right tree, and if you stood in the right place where the branches weren’t too think, and if you looked at the right place, you might see the ‘Apapane nest high in an ohi’a tree.

There were three chicks in the nest, about 2 weeks old, they were hungry all the time, and they had grown feathers – so they were starting to think about flying.

Birds grow up faster than people.

One of them, who might have been the oldest but they all hatched at the same time so who knows?, was sure that he was ready to fly. So when his mother had flown off to get some food – did I mention that they were hungry pretty much all the time? – he hopped up on the side of the nest, spread his wings, and launched himself into the air.

Well, I’m afraid he didn’t get far. Those new feathers weren’t quite grown out, or his wing muscles weren’t quite strong enough, or some combination of the two, and he was lucky to find himself grasping a branch not far below with his wings all a-flutter and his heart racing.

And that was before his mother got back and hounded him along the branch he’d landed on to the tree trunk and then some hopping and frantic fluttering to bring him back to the nest at the top of the tree.

Quite aside from all the air she blew at him with her wings, she gave him The Look.

You know The Look, right? It’s the one your mother gives you when she’s Just Had Enough?

I know The Look.

And likewise this little bird got to know The Look.

Two days later, though, all their wings were stronger and now the mother thought they were ready to fly – did I mention that birds grow up faster than people? So the mother nudged them onto the edge of the nest one by one. Our proud chick went first, and sure enough, his wings were ready and he flew off. But I’m afraid he still had more pride than wing strength, so when he tried to fly farther than the next tree he found himself on the ground a little ways past it. It took some time before he was rested enough to come back to his home tree.

The second chick, I’m afraid, let his fears get the best of him. He’d watched his brother do badly, of course, but even without that, he wouldn’t believe he could do it. His mother nudged him up on the edge of the nest, and there he stayed, even when his mother gave him The Look.

You now The Look, right?

I know The Look.

And this little bird got to know The Look.

When he still wouldn’t take off, his mother finally resorted to pushing him right off the nest. He frantically sawed the air with his wings, and to his surprise, found himself flying right over to the next tree, where he perched with his heart pounding and his mind soaring.

Then came the last one. He stepped up, and looked at his mother, who nodded. He spread his wings, and looked at them carefully, to see all the feathers were in place. He thought they were, but he looked at his mother, and she nodded again. He flapped his wings a couple of times, just to feel how the air pressed against them, and one last time, looked at his mother. She nodded once again.

So he stepped off into space, let his wings descend and rise again…

And he flew.

Say Their Names

Say their names.

It was Saturday night in Orlando.
The night was filled with dancing,
Music whirling bodies merrily about the floor,
Laughing with loved ones
In common sanctuary,
When Death arrived, spinning bullets
Striking spinning dancers to the stone.
Rainbow festival yielded to one color, crimson.
Their names, accented with the Spanish
Of Caribbean islands or of South
American towns, spill haltingly
From my awkward tongue,
Because my voice is choked
With tears.

Stanley Almodovar III, 23
Amanda Alvear, 25
Oscar A Aracena-Montero, 26
Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33
Antonio Davon Brown, 29
Darryl Roman Burt II, 29
Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28
Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25
Luis Daniel Conde, 39
Cory James Connell, 21
Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25
Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32
Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31
Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25
Mercedez Marisol Flores, 26
Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22
Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22
Paul Terrell Henry, 41
Frank Hernandez, 27
Miguel Angel Honorato, 30
Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40
Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19
Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30
Anthony Luis Laureanodisla, 25
Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32
Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21
Brenda Lee Marquez McCool, 49
Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25
Kimberly Morris, 37
Akyra Monet Murray, 18
Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20
Geraldo A. Ortiz-Jimenez, 25
Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36
Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32
Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35
Enrique L. Rios, Jr., 25
Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, 27
Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35
Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz, 24
Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, 24
Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34
Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33
Martin Benitez Torres, 33
Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega, 24
Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37
Luis S. Vielma, 22
Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50
Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37
Jerald Arthur Wright, 31

As their friends and families mourn their murders,
Say their names.

IMG_1066

Root and Branch

Kilauea Iki

 

An ‘ohi’a seed fell into the soil, and it found good soil, soil it liked immediately. So it did what seeds do: it sprouted. Two shoots emerged and began to grow.

One said, “I’m going up to see if I can touch the sky!”

The other said, “I’m going down to explore the rich earth.”

And so the two shoots separated. The lower shoot indeed explored that rich soil (and even some hard rocks it found). It became the root, and it spread smaller roots through the soil and around the rocks. 

It had little notion of what had happened to the shoot rising up, but the root would collect water and minerals from the soil, and send them up that rising shoot, which called for them. The root was glad to have food and energy come back down from above, but that was all it knew.

Sometimes everything would shudder, and the root wondered what was happening above even as it gripped more tightly to the earth to keep everything from falling.

One day, a heavy rain came through, and rushing winds, and suddenly the root found that a portion of itself was no longer sheltered in the earth. The flowing water had washed its soil covering away. It looked around in wonder at the surface world that it had never seen, and then it looked up. 

Soaring high above, it found that the upper shoot had become a grand tree, festooned with branches, bearing upon some of their tips the scarlet flowers of the ‘ohi’a. It was nothing like the tiny shoot that it remembered.

“You look wonderful,” said the root. “Did you find the sun?”

“It shines on me almost every day,” said the tree.

“I’m sure you’ve forgotten me,” said the root, “as grand as you’ve become.”

“Not for a moment,” said the tree above. “I’ve grown and changed, but you’re my root. You hold me fast when the winds would blow me down. You send me food and water from the ground that I could never find. You’re where I’ve come from, and where I am, and together we approach the sun.”

That’s what our families, our ancestors, do for us. They are the root. We grow and change, and they sustain us through the high winds of life’s troubles. They feed us as we stretch toward the people we’ll become. They give us what we need so we can grow.

We will blossom and flower because we have our roots.

I Guess it Needs to be Said

Liliuokalani Park, Hilo, HI

I guess it needs to be said: 

You don’t get to kill someone because they’re different. God made LGBTQ folks. Muslim folks. Black folks. Brown folks. You don’t get to kill them because of any of that.

You don’t get to kill people because you’re angry, or scared, or offended, or embarrassed. You don’t get to kill them out of resentment or a sense of betrayal. You don’t get to kill them out of privilege or pride. You don’t get to kill them. 

When the sword flashed in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus said, “Enough of this.” 

Two thousand years and millions of dead later, haven’t we had enough?

Windswept

IMG_1033In shock and horror,
outrage at the murder of so many
(one would have been too many)
targeted
(is there a more appalling word
to use for people?)
because they loved another human being
whose gender was their own,
I joined companions in a search for peace
atop the mountain summit,
Mauna Kea, snowy peak amidst the tropics,
holy summit for a thousand years.

I searched for peace, but found a mountain grieving.
The howling wind re-echoed with the cries of loss.
The streaming clouds wept hail upon the slopes.
The broken peace so far away
will not be mended from a mountaintop.

No, we must mend it from the valleys;
we must heal it in the plains;
we must nurture peace wherever human beings
hate each other for their skin, their past,
their faith, their loves.

Only then, perhaps, may we return
to Mauna Kea,
lay our peace upon the ahu,
giving thanks to God that we
have finally
attended to the prophets,
to the Christ,
to the truth-tellers and the songs,
and now can come to worship.

The Ocean Comforted

IMG_0859

Ala Moana Beach – Photo by Eric Anderson

This story begins with a little girl and a big ocean.

This little girl loved to play on the beach. She loved to watch the waves roll in, and the changing colors of the water. She loved to see the waves leap up from the rocks in great fountains of spray, and she loved to see them slide up on the sand. She loved to build sand castles, and watch the rising tide fill her moats with water. She loved to see the waves wash up over her creations, and slide back into the sea leaving the sand smooth and bare, as if nothing had ever been there at all. She’d laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

She’d swim, and dive, and watch fish. She even tried to surf.

The ocean made her joyful, and the ocean smiled to do it. But the ocean never really believed she’d do anything for it. Oceans are big, and compared to an ocean, this little girl really was quite small.

One day, while running along the beach, she noticed a plastic cup floating in the surf. Not far away, she saw a plastic bag. Then she spotted a lost pair of sunglasses. And it went on and on.

To the ocean, these bits of trash feel a little like something stuck under your fingernails. It didn’t like the feeling, but it was kind of used to it. Certainly there’s a lot of it about.

The little girl didn’t leave the cup where it was, or the bag, or the sunglasses. She picked up all of them, and everything else she could see, and took them away.

Every time the ocean saw her after that, she brought a bag with her, and filled it with those bits of flotsam trash she found. And she’d swim, and run, and build sand castles, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh. And she’d clear away all the trash she’d collected.

It’s a big world, and a big ocean. She paid it a favor that was small in some ways – but you’d better believe that the ocean was as grateful for her gift to it as she was for all its gifts to her.

This Man Demands

Bernardo_Strozzi_-_Prophet_Elijah_and_the_Widow_of_Sarepta_-_WGA21919One meal remains, just one
To comfort us, my son and I.
I search the barren ground,
Aching for rain,
To find the fuel to bake
That last pathetic cake
For our memorial feast.

And, of course, he comes to me
Asserting hospitality’s demands.
Some water (in a drought, no less!):
All right, the well provides
(How long, I ask, how long?).
But then, another call
For bread, that he may eat.

I have no bread, demanding man.
I am a corpse too stupid to stop walking.
I have the makings of one meal
To bring brief comfort
To my son and I
Before the pangs of hunger
Take our lives.

What matter if I feed this man?
Our fate is written; we are bound for death.
So, I suspect, is he,
Fool foreigner demanding bread.
One meal alone I’ll share.
Perhaps he’ll linger long enough
To watch me die.

Hospitality demands.
Our straight poverty demands.
Time of drought demands.
Arrogance demands.
Death’s imminence demands.
This man demands.
This man’s God…
Gives.

Based on 1 Kings 17:8-16

 

Hidden Healing

I Feel Down by Lisa Brank

“I Fell Down” by Lisa Brank

This story begins with some children playing. All was as it should be, that is: just a bit exuberant, just a bit frenetic, just a bit noisy.

OK, maybe it really exuberant, really frenetic, and really noisy. But that’s as it should be.

The ball they were tossing about and chasing sailed right over the head of one boy, who went pelting along after it. He ran so fast that his feet started to run away with him, or perhaps he ran faster than his feet. You know how it is: you suddenly realize that you can’t step out far enough ahead of yourself to stay on your feet.

And sure enough, down he went, splat on the ground.

And of course, the place his knee came down was the place where the rock was. Of course. It always is, isn’t it?

So he got up with some sounds that might have been sobs, and looked down at the dirt and the leaves and the red liquid oozing there. He walked off home with a limp and a groan, and there might have been a tear or three on his face.

When he got home, he found Mom and Dad there, and they did the things that parents do for a child with a skinned knee. They washed it off (and that stung), and they put ointment on it (and that stung), and they put a bandage on it, which didn’t sting, but didn’t actually make him feel a lot better.

What really concerned him was the thought that it might not get better. Even though he’d seen it washed off, and even though he’d seen it the ointment go on, he was sure that underneath the bandage it was dirty and ugly and bleeding. So he’d try to look under the bandage, lifting up just a little, but all he could see underneath was in shadow. It was just dark.

Until the day when the bandage came off. Imagine his surprise when he saw that it wasn’t all dirty and bleeding. New skin was growing where the scrapes had been, there was no sign of bleeding, and the redness was fading away. Over the next days he watched in wonder as the new skin grew, until there was no sign his knee had ever hit that rock.

Sometimes, healing happens where we just can’t see it. Sometimes, it happens where we can. God made us so that things do get better, most of the time. And even then, I think God heals us in ways we just won’t see until God’s finger points it out.

Sun Astonished

St_Peter's_church_-_stained_glass_window_-_geograph.org.uk_-_488217

Photo from St. Peter’s Church, Strumpshaw, UK. By Evelyn Simak, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=13011751

Note: I’m now posting my sermons each week on the Church of the Holy Cross’s website. That’s the place to subscribe to see them.

However, I also prepare a story each week “for the children” — knowing perfectly well that it’s for everyone present. I’ll be posting those here.

Today’s story is an adaptation of the use of water in three forms as an image of the Trinity. I’m well aware of its limitations as a theological illustration, but I began picturing the relationship of water with the Sun and… Well, here’s the story.

 When Water and the Sun first met, the Sun spent most of its time being astonished.

There was plenty of reason. As the Sun gazed down from the sky, Water spilled across nearly everything it could see. There were oceans and oceans of Water, sparkling blue, reflecting the Sun’s rays. What a sight!

So the Sun beamed down on the Water (well, that’s what the Sun does to everyone and everything), and the Sun was astonished again. Because clouds began to form between the Sun and the Water, and the Sun didn’t know where they’d come from. They glowed silver in its radiance (except at the edges of the world, where they broke light up into these amazing oranges and reds), and the Sun asked, “Who are you, and where do you come from?”

The clouds replied, “I’m your friend Water, sailing on the air!”

The Sun was astonished.

Soon the Sun had more cause for wonder, because the clouds began to shrink away as water fell from them in streams (they’d come to Hilo, of course). When the clouds cleared, the Sun looked down upon a carpet of white so bright the Sun itself blinked to see it: snow atop the summit of Mauna Kea.

“Who are you,” the Sun asked, “and where do you come from?”

The snow replied, “I’m your friend Water, in solid crystals resting on the mountain!”

The Sun was astonished.

The Sun watched Water melt from the snows, and run glittering down the mountainside. The Sun watched Water leaping and dancing down the falls, turning its sunbeams into rainbows. The Sun watched Water return to the oceans, and leap invisibly once again into the air until it whirled up in clouds.

The Sun was astonished.

But God — God the Creator, God the Begotten One who would be born of Mary, God the Holy Spirit moving over the waters —

God smiled.