Two Untitled Poems

POEM 1

It is in the land of the human heart

Are were the greatest battles are fought.

To the depths of the broken being, 

On a Ridgeline of identity,

Searching shards of childhood’s memory.

For the signs of wholeness, which are like the signs of mouse trails.

The landscape of self burned and shattered by words thrown 

As ignited daggers at the image of red pine innocence.

POEM 2

Pry open the souls of men. Their blackened ears

Their broken pain, their dying lives can not hold the tears

Their bodies purchased and sold by deviant cashiers

Who seek will gleeful will to break all hope like plundering buccaneers

Collects for Diversity and Faithfulness

Collect 1

Father of all the Nations, You have sought from the very beginning for mankind to diversify and multiple across the many borders of our world.  Humble your servants that we may see in every tribe tongue and nation your work of sanctification in the Church.  So that we might glorify your Holy name as the creator of and sustainer of all humanity. We pray this through Christ our Lord by the power of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Collect 2

Heavenly Father, You have set the course and boundary of every individual’s life. Give to each man peace and faithful trust, so that each of us may faithfully run the course you have laid out and thus bring you honor and glory by the power of the Holy Ghost and for the name Christ our Lord. Amen.

First Date

         The young man approached the door deliberately, forcing his will to make his body move across the pavers.  He paused a moment to look back at his father sitting in the black sedan, his clerical collar clearly visible through the open window. His father stared at him and smiled.  

        The young man’s ivory colored scarf flopped to one side. He then awkwardly threw it backwards over his shoulder and proceeded to walk under the yawning of the porch. With one hand he opened the screen door. With the opposite hand he rang the door bell.  The knuckle of his index finger pressed the dirty white door bell. His other fingers griped the hastily wrapped gift in he had bought that afternoon. A quick pause and deep breath before the door opened. 

        “Hello Michael, come in. Amber will be down in a moment." The middle aged woman with a pleasant alto voice and neck length auburn hair pulled behind her ears gestured him inside. 

       “Thanks Mrs. Kohlberg.” Amber’s mom gave a motherly but knowing smile at her daughter’s date. Michael seemed oblivious to how much Mrs. Kohlberg could actually sympathize with Michael and understood the first date jitters. 

        “Do you know what movie you’re going to see?” 

        “Amber wants the new Pixar movie. I was hoping to talk her into the latest Marvel movie.” Michael paused, looked down at the wood floor and continued. “However, dad said it is better to watch what the date wants to watch, be a gentlemen, Dad said.” 

        “Father Schiano’s right, Mike.” Amber’s father could be heard entering from the den. His deep baritone had aveneer of good natured teasing to it. 

“Spence, don’t do this to the poor boy.” Amber’s mom light heartedly laughed, tapping her husband on his should before walking up the main stairway. 

“Do not piss off the Jr. Warden, and the date’s dad?” Spencer’s hand firmly planting on Mike’s shoulder before it he moved off and was offered up in a handshake.

The Rebel and The Brown Coat

          Harry placed his craft beer on the table. The dark hewed bottle nearly matching his own darkly colored skin. He adjusted the Rebel Alliance cuff link so that it was parallel with his wrist. He looked up. His two best friends had found the dance floor too enticing not to try. As a consequence Harry was left alone at the four person table with the blush wine and glass of whiskey.  The Aloe Blac slow jam remix  was playing just above the level in which one could have a conversation without the need to yell at the one you were talking to. 
           He looked around at the other 30 somethings who had gathered at Soul Sushi to enjoy their Friday night. Amanda and Frank had a knack for finding the quirkiest food fusion restaurants in the city. His closest white friends since college, Amanda and Frank had never been able to understand that some cultures really were never meant to come together.    Nowhere else could he imagine ordering a Tuna roll with an option of collard greens as an appetizer.  “How did I get myself talked into coming to a place like this?” Harry muttered.      
          “Because we were tired of seeing you mope around your apartment Friday night after Friday night.”
          Harry nodded as his two friends returned.
          “It’s been six weeks since Janel left.” Amanda’s voice high and all of a sudden to loud as the DJ fumbled with turn tables. “She made her choice, a dumb and shitty one, we can all agree. But the two of you were never right for each other.”
          “Just like all the other ex’s.”Harry sneered as the music started up again. “Not enough this, not enough that. If not one thing, another.”
           “You’re different, we all knew that the moment you and I  became dorm mates in Watson Hall. But cheer up, the one you looking for is bound to be out there.”  Desperate to change subjects Harry noticed Frank’s Whiskey was nearly empty. “Do you want another?” pointing to the glass.
           “Yes, but that is my last for now. I don’t want to get to the Restaurant and be tipsy.”
           Harry weaved his way through the crowd to the bar, and waved a hand at the bartender. He placed the empty beer bottle next to the glass, “Jamison on the Rocks.”
          “You want another one?” The bartender pointer gesturing to the bottle.
          “A glass of water this time.” Harry caught the bartender’s momentary frown of disapproval.
          “Nice cuff-links,” said a woman to his left.
          “Thanks.” Harry said flatly, looking in the direction of the woman briefly. He did not intend to give more than a glance toward the women. But he glimpsed just above her left breast at a pin. It was  yellow and orange concentric circles with Chinese characters and the word “Serenity” in the near ground. 
          “Your’s too.” Harry scrambled to say something else, “You aim to misbehave tonight?”
He regretted it the second he heard himself say it. But to his surprise, “Why? Do you want to be bad guys?”
         Both erupted in laughter.
        “Ok, that was admittedly the worst, or at least nerdiest pick up line ever. I apologize.”
         “No I have heard worse, you should hear the ones I got at Comic-Con last year. My name is Samantha.” Samantha extended her hand out in greeting.
         “Hi, um” Harry’s mind stumbled again as he finally really sized up the woman he had just met. She was a few inches shorter than he was and her skin tone was also a few shades lighter, almond colored verses his dark mahogany. She had a oval shaped face with bleached blonde cropped hair. Her lip stick was a mellow pink.
         “Hey, your drink.” The bartender, grabbing his attention, interrupted his train of thought.
        “Oh, yes. Thank you.” He said to the bartender and then turned back to Samantha, “Harry, name’s Harry. My friends are over there, you want to join us?”

In fighting False Idols and What To Do About Them

“If, then, any one reviles us, irritates, stirs us up to violence, tries to make us quarrel; let us keep silence, let us not be ashamed to become dumb. For he who irritates us and does us an injury is committing sin, and wishes us to become like himself.” Ambrose, On the Duties of the Clergy

In the mass shooting at The Pulse nightclub we are witness to an amazing work of cultural deconstruction.  The victims were in large measure gay men, many where young 20 somethings enjoying a night out with friends and partners. The shooter, a young man himself, proclaimed on the 911 call his allegiance to Islam and to ISIS.  His acts were motivated out of a radical religious hatred of these men and the lifestyle they engaged in. 

Regardless of our convictions toward the behavior of these individuals, both victims and shooter, we need to acknowledge the horrific loss. The individuals were each uniquely made in the image of God. Something has been taken from this Earth that can never be replaced. There life was unjustly taken from them before they really had a chance to live it. Even the shooter who is guilty of 50 cold-blooded murder is also victim of a much larger cultural force that has intellectually enslaved a vast  portion of the world’s population. 

One not familiar with the current culture war might be perplexed how the media has chosen to report the story. The larger culture has laid at the church’ doorstep the responsibility for the awful tragedy that was this mass shooting. The media has championed as war heroes men who where brought together because of very private, personal and intimate behavior.  The government and media has silenced, as best as they can, the religious core which sparked this violence.

       What are we to make of this reaction? Our first response, I suggest was what Russel Moore of the Southern Baptist Convention suggested 48 hours after the shooting. We aught to weep with those who weep. And acknowledge the fearful loss to those who were closest to the victims.  

There is a titanic internal struggle happening in the larger culture. Which golden idol must we/do we value more?   On one hand, The Pulse night club represents the most direct threat to the Judeo-Christian foundations of our culture. The gay community represents for many the fullest expression of the sexual revolution. With the shooting, that expression is threatened, and so too our larger culture’s desire for sexual liberty.  On the other hand, is Christianity’s and historically speaking Western Civilization’s “greatest” foe.  Islam has been masterfully portrayed as the ultimate victim of European and American culture. A historic set of slights that date back to 1099 and the first crusade.   We are constantly prodded to treat with kids gloves an entire religion. What we have seen in the media is a scramble to weigh which group takes center stage in our culture’s theater of grievances. 

Even if you disagree with my analysis, one is still left wondering what to do long term? Once the immediate grief, anger and shock has worn off, how must the church respond?  Bishop Ambrose in his book On the Duties of the Clergy suggests one strategy. Remain silent. Remain silent as to avoid falling into sin by saying to much. Remain silent as Christ remained silent at his trial.  What is happening in our culture is a clash of cultural false idols. As their struggle for supremacy continues, they will undercut each other, chopping both of them off at the knees. Neither Islam of the Gay agenda can stand the brutal beating of reality in God’s created universe. Both will fall and be destroyed. 

If action is required let it be inspired by the action of the cross.  It is not without irony and paradox that the most beautiful image in Christianity is also one of the ugliest, the crucification of Christ.  Makato Fujimura, artist, Christian, and director of the Brehm Center states that beauty appeals, delights, invites and refreshes the individual who beholds it. Works of beauty “are worth of scrutiny, rewarding to contemplate, deserving of pursuit.”  In a world filled with broken idols, the soon to broken idols, the cross, and the acts of beauty inspired by it, will be the only things left standing in the rumble.

Note: this Post originally published in the Tractarian a publication of The Anglican Cathedral Church of Ephiphany. 

The Dinner-- A Short Story

Michael sat in a small booth against the wall of the restaurant. The grey flecks of hair sprouting up in the midst of the nightshade black of his head and gotee. The red-wine colored table cloth standing out against the dark oak paneling of the wall, black and white pictures of plump happy people in hand crafted frames above his head. His fingers drummed methodically against the table as his eyes straining to read the wall clock over the barkeeps head. 6:10, she’s late. But she is always late now.

There was a time in their friendship in which Susan would never have been late. She was the time keeper of their little diverse click at Hillsborough High School.  It had never occurred to him how stereotypically even comically diverse their group had been. Korean Kim who was now in her 3^rd year of residency.  The star African-American basket ball player, Conner who got a ride to Vanderbilt. George, who insisted he was the Cuban lady killer. Susan the studios Black girl from the hood, determined to be better then her older sisters. And then there was Michael, the skinny white nerd who loved all things robot and comic book related.  After graduation They all parted ways.  Michael and Kim to University of Florida. Susan to Jacksonville and Bethune Cookman. George spent two years at community college before transferring to Florida State and meeting his partner Benjamin. 

  Susan returned to Tampa with her husband Lebron  after graduating. Lebron was bent on conquering the business world. Susan had her perfectly decorated 2nd grade classroom, she was not about to let slip her demand for temporal precision.  Michael’s return to Tampa was a fate accompli. His degree in robotics and Naval engineering had landed him the job he wanted since middle school. Working on remotely Operated submersible for deep see exploration. 

  If only Lebron had not turned out to be a monster.  Their marriage had seemed to be the perfect paring of warmth and drive. That was until the drive sped out of control. No one really suspect that he was dangerous.  After three years of not climbing the corporate ladder fast enough Lebron had begun taking it out on Susan. 

Michael pulled out his phone, he had sworn he wouldn’t tonight. Maybe I need to call her. He looked to the door and the tin of the old fashion bell rang above the chatter of the room. Susan frantically walked in her eyes on a swivel. 

He got up and brushed his sweaty palms on his pants. “Everything ok?”

“Yes,” Susan nodded.“It was just the baby sitter coming to the house late. She heard 5:30 when I thought I told her 5. Nothing to be concerned about.”

Michael reflexively extended his arm to embrace Susan around her waist. You can touch her like that. He thought, regaining his volitional control and with his other hand prevented the move. He breathed a quite sigh of relief.

“So is he down?” Michael asked as they both took their seat in the booth. 

“Should be, no calls at least, it is a good sign.” The waiter had appeared and ask for Susan’s drink order.  “Diet soda, and a glass of water.”

Turning to Michael, “Do you know what you want?”

“Yes, but I will wait till you make your choice.” His hands would not stop sweeting, he rubbed them again.

“I haven’t been in Antonio’s for a long time, maybe not since graduating.” Susan’s head cocked upward, her eyes followed as if trying to recall the memories.

“How was your class today?”

“Not bad, they behaved themselves today, despite it being a Friday. You alright?”

“Me? Yes.” Michael’s eyes flashed downward to the fork lying on the scarlet cloth napkin.  “I mean I am fine. We have the Deep Submersible Submarine trial on Monday, concerned how that might go. Probably heading into the office tomorrow, run a diagnostic or two.”

“How many of those can you run?”

The door chime rang and Michael again jumped in his seat and looked to his right. 

“Why are you so jumpy?” Susan’s mouth turned up in the corners with a expressive smile. “I am the one supposed to be celebrating recovery. Though I am not really feeling it. His new company moved him back to Jacksonville.” The smile faded and she distracted herself by looking at the menu for the forth time. She had chosen her entree after the first run through the large single legal sized menu. She kept the menu infront of her she realized in oder to hide from Michael’s kind eyes. 

The waiter again appeared, and was standing behind Susan’s left shoulder, bending over to place both glasses on her right side. “Are you ready to order?”

Michael looked at Susan and nodded for her to go ahead. “I will have the creamy sundries pesto Chicken.”

“Soup or salad?”

“Salad”

“And for you sir?”

“The Tuscan Steak, medium well. Italian potatoes, and Minestrone soup.”

“Any thing else for you? I can take those.” The waiter pointed at the menus as she placed the serving tray under her arm.

“No.” Susan replied, reluctantly handing of the menu. 

“You are not dodging the question that easily, its not Mr. Glenn’s  history class.” The smile returning to Susan’s face. “Something is bugging you.”

“Ok, I have realized something about a relationship. And it is making things difficult for me. I have to figure some things out before I can do anything about it.”

“A Love interest perhaps? A young lady caught your fancy?” Michael blushed with uncomfortableness.  Way to close to home Susan. “Maybe it a young man?”

“Cut it out.” Michael and Susan both broke into laughter. “ You know that is the very last way I swing.”

“Hit a nerve, did I?” Susan’s face fully relaxing for the first time that night.  “Yes, but that is George said too back in the day.”

“God, George,” Michael’s voice broke with laughter. “You see him recently?”

“I will see him next week, he wants to take me out to get a new hairdo and get out there, start seeing people.”  Their laughter died awkwardly. Susan recoiled in the booth reflexively. 

“Do you need me to talk to him?” Oh, George please don’t ruin it for me. Yes, but you have to make your mind known to her..

“No.  I don’t think he is really serious.” Both of them straightened themselves up and looked at the table for a way to move forward. 

Bridge of Spies and the Value of Life

What is a human person worth? And in a related question, what is the shape of a human’s personhood? My wife and I sat down this weekend and watched Steven Spielberg’s latest film, Bridge of Spies. The story of a prisoner swap between the Soviet Union and the United States at the height of the cold war. The main character in the movie, James Donovan played by Tom Hanks, struggles to broker the complicated and tense negations between the two parties. Donovan is an insurance lawyer, turned defense lawyer, turned diplomat, turned high stakes negotiator.  Often times Hank’s character is unaware or unsure of both sides real goals and motives. The questions that plague Donovan and the murky political waters he has to navigate are intoned by the darkened settings and lighting in the film. Just as with Schindler’s List  the color palette or lack thereof highlights the difficulty and uncertainty of the film’s protagonist.

What struck me as I watched this film was the way in which the value of human life was front and center in the film. Is an aging spy worth one or two Americans? Is the American serviceman worth more or the same as the American graduate student?  Is the value of a spy in what they know or in something else entirely? Their service? Their uniqueness as a human being? Donovan throughout this film is set in opposition to his own government. The CIA agents handling him constantly press him to compromise his values. The CIA has made up its mind, the graduate student is not worth the trouble of saving, the pilot is.  Donovan disagrees and insists on both Americans. In the end, the film is less about the spies as it is about the man who stands between the opposing parties who value objectives and secrets above and beyond the individual.       

It struck me soon after watching this film, just how much Spielberg wrestles with this question of human value in his other films.  In his latter movies, such as Saving Private Ryan, Amistad, Schindler’s List, and now Bridge of Spies, Spielberg takes this question on in a   myriad of different ways. Can the life of one soldier and his potential value to his family out weigh the lives of his fellow soldiers? Oscar Schindler’s entire character ark starts from using individuals to make him wealthy toward coming to view nothing more valuable then an individual human life.  Bridge of Spies is likely to be Spielberg’s least preachy example concerning the value of human life.  In all three movies mentioned above,the theme is expressed directly.  For example, Oscar Schindler, laments “I could have gotten one more.” And Itzhak Stern (played by Ben Kingsley) holds the list of Jews Oscar is going to absconds with and says, “This list is life.”  

Bridge of Spies on the other hand  plays it oblique. The result is a film that engrosses the viewer, allowing the individual to soak in the film’s message.  Rather then being confronted by a message (such as the girl in the red dress in Schindler’s List) one is left enjoying the character of Donovan, feeling more acutely his struggles to value and promote human life.  In many ways it is one of Spielberg’s  more enjoyable and better films.