I myself will judge between the fat sheep and the lean sheep.
                  —Ezekiel 34.20

God notices our injustice,
and despises it.
God sees our systems that favor some
and exclude others;
it is God whom we exclude.

The Realm over which Christ reigns
is no heaven in the clouds,
but this trodden earth,
this very place where we foul the water
of our companion sheep,
this world which Christ will dismantle
and rebuild, re-make like the potter and her clay.

To be loyal subject of this Sovereign
it will not be enough to doff our hats
and hurt each other. Piety will not suffice.
The divine passion for the others
will rule our hearts and actions,
lead us from prayer to justice,
enlist us in the royal work of the new Realm.

The fat sheep like it as it is.
The lean sheep are remaking the world.

   —November 22, 2017

         [Ezekiel 34.15-16]

The diagnosis, the procedure,
the boss’ memo, the suicide,
the lonely corridor.
         I will shepherd you.

The God who vanished into a question,
the way you can’t find,
the path through the tangled thorns.
         I will seek the lost.

Addicted, shamed, incarcerated,
unforgiven, violent,
over-busy, despairing.
         I will bring back the strayed.

Memory of abuse, ache of loss,
heart a cracked empty jar,
forty pound bag of fear.
         I will bind up the injured.

The difficult meeting,
the ones who wound,
your daughter’s treatment.
         I will strengthen the weak.

How much longer can you do this?
How will it end?
How do you know?
         I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep.

         I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep.

   —November 21, 2017

When you are in a dark place
and you want to get out of it,
remember that life is not somewhere else,

but where you are.
The story may or may not be
that you quickly escape.
But the story surely is that God is with you
where you are.
Before you leap toward the escape hatch,
be where you are.
Notice. Look around, even in a dark room,
and see God there
before you leave.
 

               
—November 20, 2017

         “I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground.”
                  —Matthew 25.25

Whoever you meet
probably has treasure
hidden within,

riches from God
they have buried
in fear.

Those of whom you disapprove—
you notice their annoying,
self-serving behavior,

but do you notice
the treasure? Do you
notice the fear?

Fear of what is demanded,
fear of being inadequate,
of being judged, of being used?

Everyone you meet
is a nervous treasure chest
searching for their own key.

What can you do
to treasure the treasure,
to steady their hand?
             

   —November 17, 2017

         “I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground.”
                  —Matthew 25.25

God, what coin of you
         is buried in me?
What gifts have you given me
         that I have interred,
         rolled a stone over?
What skill or passion, grace or yearning,
         have I hidden away in fear?
What is the breath of your Spirit in me
         that I neglect?

What is the fear that binds me?
         What am I afraid of?

Is it real?

What if I were to spend myself for you,
         to put your treasure in me to use?
         What would that be like?

Would you, the Giver of My Life,
         not be pleased?

Beloved,
         lend me your shovel.
 

   —November 16, 2017

         To one the merchant gave five talents, to another two,
         to another one, to each according to their ability.
                  —Matthew 25.15

Maybe this is a story about investing
your God-given gifts in the world,
no matter how small, for the sake of God’s desires.

And since a talent is like a million dollars,
there is no such thing
as a small amount in this story.

Maybe it’s about the power of fear,
power that makes us hide our gifts,
thinking them small, though they aren’t,

and about how a story may be about generosity and joy
until fear enters the picture, when the tale suddenly turns
to lies and selfishness and punishment.

Maybe it’s about how fear makes us judge others,
like the fearful servant saying awful things
about the merchant who just gave away 8 million bucks.

Maybe it’s about how we fret about our “stuff,”
and whether it’s enough, and what may be demanded of us,
forgetting it’s not ours. It’s God’s.

Maybe it’s about how the rich get richer
and expect people on the bottom
to comply, to play along, to feed the machine.

Maybe it’s about parables, and how
the more you open yourself to them the more you receive,
but you have to give the meaning away to get it,

and if you try to get it right,
and bury the meaning safe and sound,
you will be weeping and gnashing your teeth

because the meaning is not yours
but if you share the riches
the joy will be.
 

   —November 15, 2017

Sunrise and its gold,
a single kiss,

the sea that never tires
throwing its beauty at you,

trees scattering jewels,
stars saying their prayers

by candlelight
in their little houses—

such loveliness,
such precious coins.

You can’t say what they’re worth,
there is no measuring them

any more than the one you are,
little star among millions,

generous, infinite Talent
unburied,

mere single radiant
sun.
 

   —November 14, 2017

Why long
for that other place

suffused with with music
and beauty,

that God-soaked world,
when we haven’t begun

and hardly know how
to endure

this
one?

   —November 13, 2017

I sit and pray,
yearning to see
and I ponder
earnest thoughts,

while outside the window
an autumn tree sings lauds,
its leaves intoning light,
sun streaming through them.

Can any thoughts,
earnest creeds,
devout prayers
mean more

than this,
hold my heart
more firmly,
matter more

than

yellow?

   —November 10, 2017

First, when you were wanting,
it was beautiful.
Now you are attached,
and it’s necessary.
This will have you wasting your life,
tying and untying knots.

You can become a bird
without a path
but a sure knowledge of home.

The sky spreads its arms wide.

   —November 9, 2017