justice

That’s Not How It Works

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments


“And he began to speak and taught them, saying: ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.'” – Matthew 5:2-3

By God, you’ve got it so wrong, Jesus.
Do you really not know?
That’s not how it works.

The poor in spirit won’t receive the kingdom of heaven.
The poor in spirit are poor by their own negligence.
They could be rich, you know, if they made the right choice,
invested in the things that bring them gain, ignored the claims
of other obligations, engaged in fraud, then they’d be rich…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

The ones who mourn, will they be comforted?
There’s a whole industry to comfort them.
They’ll pay for it, of course, because who wants
to write insurance for a mental health distress?
If they were rich, they’d comfort themselves…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

The meek? Don’t make me laugh. The earth belongs
to those who take and seize and hold it firm.
The meek are those who follow orders barked
by armed and masked anonymous authorities.
The meek are not entitled to the earth…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

Now how can you assert that anyone is hungering
for righteousness? We have the law (that serves me well)
and isn’t that enough? And if we bend it some
to punish those we’ve in advance condemned, we will
not satisfy this thirst of sentimental saps…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

I see the people who cry, “Mercy!” stand
between the human vultures and their prey,
and hear them ask the victims if they are OK,
and tell the wolves, “That’s fine, dude. I’m not mad
at you,” and they receive the mercy I expect…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

As for the pure in heart, they can be pure
as pure they wish to be. But if they live
where I don’t want them to, and if they live
on land I want, well. They’ll just have to move.
If they resist, they will see God for sure…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

Now if I claim to be a peacemaker
and threaten nations with invasion
after blowing boats to kingdom come
and killing their survivors, you’ll give to me
the prize of Child of God? That’s right…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

Once more I tell you, Jesus, not one soul
is persecuted for their righteousness.
They suffer for their crimes, the crimes that I
decide, the story that I tell, and I alone.
Not heaven theirs, but hell, and hell on earth…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

And tell me, Jesus, who you think has been
oppressed or injured for their loyalty to you?
We pepper spray the ministers who resist us,
not for their faith in you. Do you maintain that they
are marching in the streets on your behalf?

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

By God, you’ve got it so wrong, Jesus.
Do you really not know?
That’s not how it works.

And Jesus wept.

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 5:1-12, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany.

The image is “The Sermon on the Mount,” woodcut by Lucas Cranach the Elder, from his Passion Christ und Antichrist, Herzog Anton Ulrich-Museum, Braunschweig (1582) – Digitised image, Rheinisches Bildarchiv, Köln, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=50665418.

The Fading of Summer Fruit

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

“This is what the Lord GOD showed me: a basket of summer fruit…

“The time is surely coming, says the Lord GOD, when I will send a famine on the land, not a famine of bread or a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the LORD.” – Amos 8:1, 11

Your summer fruit, O God
(and in these islands fruit of winter, fall, and spring),
is filled with flavor, brightly colored,
nourishing to body and to soul.

Your summer fruit, O God,
is not like fruit of human avarice,
which may be rich in flavor,
but when it grows from stems of greed

It rots much quicker in the heart.
It sickens not just those who eat,
but also those who see the way
to grow rapacious wealth

And plant their poisonous seeds as well.
So we have seen, and now we see,
your warning via Amos, God,
against the ones who grow their fruit

by trampling on the needy,
ravishing the poor,
rushing to sell short
and place their thumbs upon the scales.

The poor are sold for silver and
the needy are worth less than shoes.
E’en so the fruit of greed decays
and poisons all who breathe its stench.

A poem/prayer based on Amos 8:1-12, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year C, Proper 11 (16).

Photo by Alan Levine (cogdogblog) – https://www.flickr.com/photos/cogdog/5073842069/, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=57008876.

Caption from the original photo

@dailyshoot: 2010/10/11: Let’s start out the new week by making a photo with a red point of interest. Make sure your subject really stands out. #ds330

Don’t get close to my rotten tomatoes. After all the effort to grow them, being sick, I’ve not had time or energy to cook with them. These two went to the compost, the basket to the trash, and the remaining toms to a neighbor who can use them right away.

Tell Us Another Story

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

[The Sadducees asked,] “Now there were seven brothers; the first married, and died childless; then the second and the third married her, and so in the same way all seven died childless. Finally the woman also died. In the resurrection, therefore, whose wife will the woman be? For the seven had married her.” – Luke 20:29-33

Tell us another story, Jesus.

Tell us a story in which a woman is valued
for what she brings and makes, and not
because she bears a child to be the heir
to one whom death has claimed.

Tell us a story in which a woman is treasured
and housed and clothed and nourished
because she is a child of God, and not
because she is a womb for children.

Tell us a story in which a woman determines
her home, her work, her speech, her course,
and does not submit her careful conclusions
to the random will of a man.

Tell us a story in which those thrust
to the margins in casual cruelty
rise strong in themselves, and claim their due place
as wealth and privilege wane.

Tell us a story of resurrection,
of life beyond these oppressing tears,
of dancing angels, of children of God,
of all who live and love in God’s sight.

Tell us another story, Jesus.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 20:27-38, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 27 (32).

The image is Booz (Boaz) and Ruth Collecting Barley Ears by Kazimierz Alchimowicz – 1. AskArt2. AgraArt, Warsaw, 22.03.2009, lot 12529, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=19724130.

I highly recommend reading Maren Tirabassi’s poem on this text, “A few thoughts on Luke 20:27-38 for Día de los Muertos.” It redirected my thinking.

Search for Your Sheep

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments
Mauna Loa (where some sheep live).

Seek and you will find, O God.
(Who said that? You did, God, in Jesus.)
Seek and you will find, O God, and God:
Pray seek and search and find your sheep, O God.

Oh, we are lost. We are lost in fogs
of falsehood, lies, and gaslit speech.
Yes, we are lost in wealth’s allure
and power’s cravings – and we think we’re fine.

Yes, we are lost in understanding
what is great and what is craven bullying.
Are not the great hearts open to the world,
not walled into imaginary safety?

Yes, we are lost when shepherds seek their gain
and leave the sheep to sicken and to die,
reward the greedy with the choicest grass
and leave the thinner sheep unfed.

So, Holy One, pray save your flock, no more
to be the prey of ravishers. Yes, judge
between the shepherds and the sheep and sheep.
Feed us, one and all, with justice.

A poem/prayer based on Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, Proper 29 (34), Reign of Christ Sunday.

Photo by Eric Anderson.

Two Tambourines

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

I wrote this piece as part of a prayer/poem/song conversation with Maren Tirabassi, reflecting on the crossing of the Red Sea (Sea of Reeds) and Song of Miriam in Exodus 14 and 15. Links to the other pieces in the conversation are below.

They told us to hustle; no time to leaven bread
“Take only one bag or all of us are dead.”
The strap is over my shoulder as I flee from Egypt land
with a tambourine clutched within my hand.

[Chorus]

I will ring my tambourine as I dance along the shore.
I will shout the joy of freedom over welling waves restored
while another tambourine is sinking in the marsh
and the wailing widows of Egypt mourn.

They called out the soldiers, their chariots and spears.
Will we go back to servitude or will our graves be here?
At the hip of a chariot driver a tambourine has room.
He brought it to celebrate our doom.

[Chorus]

The walls of water billowed as slogged through mud and weeds.
Will we lie in murky graves or will we all be free?
The waters took the army in the moment of our need
and left a tambourine fouled in the weeds.

[Chorus]

A live performance by Eric Anderson from September 16, 2020.

Horse and Rider Thrown into the Sea (Eric Anderson)

For World Suicide Prevention Day, September 10, 2020 (Maren Tirabassi)

Drawing of a tambourine by Biblioteca de la Facultad de Derecho y Ciencias del Trabajo Universidad de Sevilla – 1004173. Uploaded by clusternote, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=26967109.

Pentecost 2020

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place.

They were together in their humiliation.
They were together in their grief.
They were together in their rage.
They were together in their humanity.

And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind…

A man bleeding, collapsing on the road.
A woman dying in her own apartment.
A man gasping that he couldn’t breathe.

And at this sound the crowd gathered…

They gathered to grieve.
They gathered to protest.
They gathered to demand.
They gathered to declare their humanity.

Amazed and astonished, [the crowd] asked…

They asked why you deserved this.
They asked for submission to violence.
They asked for time for the process.
They offered… nothing.

…In our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.

God made us children.
God made us adults.
God made us human.
God made us the equal of anyone.

All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?”

Do you have to ask?
If you have to ask,
how can you know?

But others sneered.

Oh, yes. We have heard this before.

But Peter… raised his voice and addressed them, “…This is what was spoken through the prophet Joel: ‘I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy…'”

We will declare the justice of the Creator.
We will declare the injuries of the Created.
We will demand the justice of the order.
We will defy the structures of the racists.

May everyone who calls on the name of the LORD be saved.

A poem/prayer based on Acts 2:1-21, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, Pentecost Sunday.

The image is “Pentecost” by JESUS MAFA. Used by permission under Creative Commons Attribution/Noncommercial/ShareAlike 3.0 license.

Grant to Her

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

She just wants a home without gunfire.
She just wants a home without force.
She just wants a home without war at the door.
She just wants a home without war beneath the roof…

Grant to her justice, O God.
Grant to her justice
with the speed of the unjust judge.
Grant to her justice, O God,
for she waits.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 18:1-8, the Revised Common Lectionary Second reading for Year C, Proper 24.

The image is a section of a 19th century composition “The Parable of the Unjust Judge” found in the Palace of Facets, Moscow. Public Domain.

Mary’s Prayer

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

O Jesus, I can hear
the clatter of the crockery,
the puffing of the bellows,
the swirling of the aprons.

O Jesus, I can hear
the half-resentful voice
my sister raised to you;
I hear her dripping sweat.

And Jesus, I can hear the wailing
children, crying refugees,
groaning sufferers, weeping
hungry seekers after justice.

And Jesus, I can hear the silence:
Silence of the powerful.
Silence of the privileged.
Silence of the unjust judges.

What I strain to hear, sweet Jesus,
is your voice. I long to hear
the words of comfort, words of
challenge, words of love.

I long to hear the words
that will unbreak my heart
and melt it into Martha’s,
love showering in tears.

Hold me, Martha, as we weep
together for these words of hope.
I’ll tune my ears to hear your voice
declare your faith in life renewed.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 10:38-42, the Revised Common Lectionary alternate first reading for Year C, Proper 11.

The image is Russian; I regret that I cannot translate the attribution that follows: By Владимир Шелгунов – фотографии переданы представителем ИППО, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=33504499

Tumbled

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment
The Conversion of Saint Paul by Caravaggio

Strike me down, Jesus.
Strike me from my certainty.
Strike me from my patriarchy.
Strike me from my privilege.

Strike me down.

Strike me down, Jesus.
Strike me from my violence.
Strike me from my power.
Strike me from my rectitude.

Strike me down.

In the dust of the road,
With my eyes full of tears,
With my pride in its ashes:
Demand justice of me.

Strike me down.

A poem/prayer based on Acts 9:1-20, the Revised Common Lectionary first reading for Year C, Third Sunday of Easter.

The image is Conversione de San Paulo by Caravaggio,
Church of Santa Maria del Popolo, Rome. Photo by Alvesgaspar – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=44143233.

Holy Week 2019: Good Friday

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

He was oppressed, and he was afflicted,
yet he did not open his mouth;
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter,
and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth.
By a perversion of justice he was taken away.
– Isaiah 53:7-8a

Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”
– Luke 23:34

Silence, Jesus? Excuses, Jesus?
In truth, I want a louder Savior.
I want a firebrand, I want a chief.
I want a voice that echoes from the hills.

I do not want excuses.
I do not want a suffering servant
satisfied with our perverted justice,
consenting with your silence.

For heaven’s sake, shake the heavens!
For earth’s sake, rattle the earth!
For the oppressed’s sake, break the bonds!
For humanity’s sake, do something!

Don’t – don’t – make excuses.
Not for them. Not for us.
Not even – dare I say it?
Don’t make excuses for me.

I do not need excusing, Jesus.
No, I need forgiving.
Excuses will not change the world:
Repentance and forgiveness might.

Suffering Savior, keep your silence:
but do not keep your peace.
We who witness your great love
weep for your peace.

Photo by Eric Anderson