Day's End

This morning, I was going to post a “Better late than never” prediction of who would win the Oscars.  So, in that spirit, why not?  I predict —Birdman!  But at the end of the day, a long day even before the four hour Oscar show began, I have something else to share.  After turning the television off and finding Andrew asleep on the couch —and it was an especially long day for him —I decided not to herd him out of the living room and instead tucked him in, turned off the light and said good night.  Yoshi was curled up at his feet, and that seemed the best way for Andrew’s day to end.

It was sixteen hours earlier that we had left the house for another fencing tournament, and Andrew fought hard for seven hours, losing to a nemesis teammate in the first foil event but persevering and earning a third place medal in the afternoon epee event.  He barely missed a chance to advance to the finals, and Andrew felt sure he would have won the whole thing if one director’s call had gone his way in the last bout.  So we drove home, feeling a little proud but also a little frustrated, quiet and tired.  And when we got home, Andrew went into his room without a word, but then, almost immediately he called out in a hushed tone , “Dad. Come here. I think Lana is dead.”

Hedgehogs, they told us, were expected to live no more than two or three years, but Lana was only seven months old.  We had some premonition, as she hadn’t touched her food from the day before, but before that, as recently as a day earlier, I had joked with Andrew about how she had no personality, always burrowing under the wood chips and saving her wheel exercise routine for the middle of the night.  Andrew had taken this from me for months, and often quietly defended Lana, but the other day he had answered, “Yeah, Dad, you’re right.  She doesn’t do much.”  And yet this afternoon, finding Lana unresponsive and no longer burrowed into the chips really hit Andrew hard.  

I texted his sister and asked her to call him with a cheer up call, and that helped a little. Meanwhile, I proceeded to make some dinner and wash the dishes.  On most days I would have called Andrew in to help with the chores, but I decided to let him be.  Later I told him we could replace Lana with another pet, maybe a less prickly, more friendly animal.  “You mean a second dog?” he asked.  He had been working this angle for months in fact.  No, I told him, that was not what I meant.

It is good, though, to have a dog in the house.  I still remember 1989, when Bruiser laid his muzzle on my knee after I had heard Dad had died.  Or 1987 when I watched Duncan breathe his last while the rest of the family was in Hawaii and I was home, tied to work and school.  Or 1980, when Walter Dog had run away from his transplanted farm home back to our house, reclaiming his spot on our front steps.  And now, 2015, I can add this: Yoshi curled up at Andrew’s feet, just when he needed him most.

Empathy

or, alternatively—a purple patch that Emily,

perhaps, with reams at her disposal, or naked

Thomas Stearns, with academic robes to set

the staging right, or Plath, with daily ways to

cut the quicksand with a knife, or brother Jon,

with bus-stop mallards that resonate, or any

soul who may not suffer, necessarily, outright,

still the same, imbues this canon after-flame.

And so, and so, I mole into your ranks. There’s

little here to martial me or any purple patch

pretender to inchoate or incandescent heights

when art is most at stake. I solely empathize

that parenting is taking place—our kids, their

queries outer space, our mutual meeting place

in ‘how was your day’ and ‘love you anyway,’

which qualify as art. Yon mallards fly with me.

Another Happy Birthday

Yes, Mom, happy birthday!

I don't have a new poem to offer, but I did recently brush up another old one, previously posted here last summer, that is timely I think.  Please, follow the link, or go to the reworked posting from July 16.

We are so often led to think of holding our faith in God the Father, which cause us to dutifully reflect on how our own father helped to shape our faith, but not enough is said about the image of God the mother - and if you think about it, the shepherd of straying lambs and the God who arrays the lilies and feeds the sparrows may be more motherly than fatherly.  Even as Dan’s poem restates that old Irish blessing, our faith rests not only in the God who holds us in the palm of his hands but also in the God who places what we need in the palm of our own hands.

So here’s to you, mom!  You have shaped and continue to shape our faith, from the days you held us close to the days we moved beyond the mother's hold, reminding us in so many everyday ways how God is with us.

February grace

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone, and Happy Birthday, Mom! We're enjoying 'Masopust' here in Roztoky, the tolerably pagan launch to Lent, but more than that we're making ornate lego castles and reading and playing games and instruments. It's ski holiday for Katerina, Em and me; the boys get that the first week of March. While I organize the 6th annual IBICUS workshop for visiting teachers--this year a record 180), I'll still enjoy days off on Monday and Tuesday. And tomorrow's Sabbath, now that Masopust has run its glut!

On the eve of your 76th, Mom, and countless years your progeny will enjoy, here's a birthday poem for you:

            Birthdays and Baptisms

That summer of ninety-two we went to plays:

Faust in Addison Trail, Mid-Summer’s Night

at Northwestern, The Grand Inquisitor within

a Frank Lloyd Wright; Jon and I travelled north

to Stratford—The Tempest and As You Like It,

as I recall—a venue you and Don drove us to

a decade earlier, while exploring the continent.

We added Ireland and England (Les Misérables),

relatives in Germany, the ghosts of Helsingør,

the mermaid Anne embraced. Family more

in Norway, and winding roads from Smom to

Trondheim; sunny skies for Førde’s folkdance,

romantic rains in Bergen, moose medallions

on Oslo’s wharf satisfied a long-lost hunger.

We had become young again. The tumult all

our friends had prayed us through had found

this season of grace, a promise of married life

for all of us anew. We walked and ran with

Bruiser, dear pup that Josh picked out (or up),

the patron saint for novels incomplete: maybe

someday he’ll still narrate End of My Leash.

More than twenty years had passed, Mother,

since you had taught English class, yet always

you evoked a need in us to rest and recreate

faith, hope, charity: these three. They neatly

fit the palm of any baby’s hand and guide the

going forth, eternally. We’ve been baptized—

even twice!—in the divinity you’ve raised.

Starry Night, Revisited

Another river view, and another reach back to an earlier poem - and another link to my daily blog effort of sweeping my past poetry into one place this year.  This one’s sentimental, sparked perhaps by what may be, this month or next, an imminent ending to my four year divorce.


Vincent Van Gogh’s most famous Starry Night painting shows a wild sky with swirling, pyrotechnic stars that cast a blue-gray glow on the town below it. It must be late at night, as there are no house lights and no people. This is the Starry, Starry Night of Don McLean’s song Vincent, reflecting how the artist “suffered for [his] sanity.” 

It is a powerful moment, but I prefer Van Gogh’s earlier astral painting: Starry Night over the Rhone.  The night is calmer, the stars are more balanced and the city is still awake with its own lights; a river flows across the canvas and there are exactly two people on the riverside, standing together and inviting us to take it all in.

Years ago, when I was one of two people, we bought a copy of this painting for our living room. My other is no longer with me; she is somewhere else, suffering for her own sanity now, and my days with her are forever in the past, but I still like keeping that painting on my wall...

Starry Night, Revisited

(enhanced, and with a borrowed refrain from 
Widow's Grove, by Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan)


The sky above, the earth below
The city it stirs, the river it flows.
We walk at night that we may see
The stars and know we’re not alone,
  
That we may breathe a different air
And walk along a quiet shore,
Stand silent where the river laps
Up to our feet, 

Wondering where 
We were before.

   I followed you to the river
   That washes out to the sea.
   Between city lights and stars at night,
   That's where I'll be.

    ---

The earth is black, the sky is blue.
The river bends a mirrored view
Of city lights and stars familiar,
Heaven down and shore to shore.
  
We meet the night. We take the time
To be together, you and I,
Across the river, in between
The city and a giant sky.

   I followed you to the river
   That washes out to the sea.
   Between city lights and stars at night,
   That's where I'll be.
  
    ---
  
We breathe the sky and feel the earth
And find our place beneath the stars,
Your arm in mine and mine in yours.
The world is right and the night is ours.

   I followed you to the river
   That washes out to the sea.
   Between city lights and stars at night,
   That's where I'll be.
  
   Between city lights and stars at night,
   That's where I'll be.


also published in Confluence; originally from Calendrums, 2011; Starry Night over the Rhone by Vincent Van Gogh, 1888; Widow's Grove by Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan, 2006

fully in 2015

Happy birthmonth, Mom! Good to Skype and get emails--keep 'em coming.

A couple routines have been happy features of my weekends: dog-walking, of course, running with fellow coaches around the neighboring village Unetice, taking in hockey games with the gamins, jamming with the new piano, and trying to pen a poem--partly to supply at least one for Lost Menagerie each month, partly because at 97 I'm upon that three-digit threshold of deciding which to revise and compile, partly because it's fun to make connections and share.

In class a couple weeks ago I played a clip of MLK's "street sweeper" speech--hopefully you'll be able to see it from your YouTube provider: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NlV_ODrEL0k

So that was on my mind when I thought about a launch to February poems. Also on my mind were fugues--somehow songs from Led Zeppelin's only double album begged the question if they were such, and, browsing for definition and stumbling upon fuga for flight, fugere to flee, fugare to chase. It was a delightful 'rabbit hole' to dive into: listening and reading and jotting some notes...

            Fugues

in my head and yours,

in Physical Graffiti that

hearkens back to Bach,

in ephemerality and

rather infinite hours

in this curtailed month

that feels like Fargo,

in the marches that lie

behind, fleeing or some-

times chasing. Once

in a while the artform

needs to chance new

rabbit holes, frozen they

may be; enter you and

me, faithfully forsworn.

Falling in takes no time.

Dr King, calling sweepers

to be like Michelangelo,

tethers pride to gravity:

the beatific low and high

are sides of the common

coin (God guide the life-

long flip). It’s a far way

to go—perhaps Dakota

miles—to fathom Man

and Woman and random

hosts in this menagerie,

to tap into a harmony,

in Feb     .        .                     .  

Reflective Study of Howard Nemerov's Blue Swallows

This is a rewritten poem, inspired by Kirsten’s retake of W.C. Williams' This Is Just To Say but also following an old Symposian post of mine from December 31, 2011.  I tried this line by line reflection once before, in another place, with Wallace Stevens’ Man and Bottle, but I’ve always been more intrigued by this poem.  I will not be offended if any of you prefer Nemerov's original (the unindented lines), and in fact I hope I haven’t spoiled it.





O sister, brothers, water is not

the point.  Watching it flow, that

is the point, and celebrating

truth at every shore...
                                (12/31/11)

Across the millstream below the bridge
     from where I work and where we cross
Seven blue swallows divide the air
     into big patterns all their own
In shapes invisible and evanescent,
     as if to thwart the witnessing:
Kaleidoscopic beyond the mind’s
     imaginative stagnancies
Or memory’s power to keep them there
     but there they are.

“History is where tensions were,”
     giving stages to society, and
“Form is the diagram of forces,”
     seeing patterns in biology:
Thus, helplessly, there on the bridge,
     between birth and forgetfulness
While gazing down upon those birds—
     having the time and taking it
How strange, to be above the birds!—
     to end up here, so out of place!
Thus helplessly the mind in its brain
     wanting to make some sense of it
Weaves up relation’s spindrift web
     trying to trace the winds of waves
Seeing the swallows’ tails as nibs
     in nature, begging imitation,
Dipped in invisible ink, writing . . .
     an ever-changing rhyme.

Poor mind, what would you have them write?
     Poor poet, sticking out your chest,
Some cabalistic history
     of old traditions being reclaimed
Whose authorship you might ascribe
     to fit your backward preference
To God? to Nature? Ah, poor ghost,
     leading the living to their unrest,
You’ve capitalized your Self enough
     and overscored the trinity.
That villainous William of Occam
     trimming off inelegance
Cut out the feet from under that dream
     in search of more simplicity
Some seven centuries ago
     out of the dust of time.

It’s taken that long for the mind
     collectively, immortally
To waken, yawn and stretch, to see
     beyond its unreality
With opened eyes emptied of speech
     and turned to continuity,
The real world where the spelling mind
     in a state of higher consciousness
Imposes with its grammar book

     of meaning being read into
Unreal relations on the blue
     brushstrokes over stream and sky,

Swallows. Perhaps when you will have 

     time to gaze awhile,

Fully awakened, I shall show you
     what you have not seen before,

A new thing: even the water

     sharing colors with the sky
Flowing away beneath those birds

     dancing above the moving stream
Will fail to reflect their flying forms,

     can't capture what they seem to be
And the eyes that see become as stones

     bewildered in the river bed
Whence never tears shall fall gain
     nor add life to the stream.

O swallows, swallows, poems are not

     O sister, brothers, water is not
The point. Finding again the world,

     the point.  Watching it flow, that
That is the point, where loveliness

     is the point, and celebrating
Adorns intelligible things
     truth at every shore...
Because the mind’s eye lit the sun.

     to become the fire.

also posted on Confluence, 1/19/15

our new arrival!

August Forster (late 1930s), maintained well: keys perfect, sounds great. Happy!

the wiles and wherefores of Saboath

Sport is art is necessary, beyond what pundits say.

Aaron Rodgers remains the ambassador of 'chillax', a potent reminder to... well, chillax. I won't go so far as to say he secularizes the 3rd Commandment (especially as the NFL robs many of its fans the Christian sabbath), but part of 'chillax', if I may conjecture, is to rest and take stock of what is God-given good. The Packers are good. They don't necessarily attend to the more-than-good imperative of John 21, a reason why we're Christians more than bandwagon humanists.

Pete Carroll is a brilliant coach. His tactical patience, his trust of Wilson's Badger instincts, his tolerance of locker room hip-hop-over-the-top-ness must not be underestimated. You've seen my concern about Marshawn Lynch, who brought sufficient game--I won't say 'beast mode'--today. Richard Sherman and other crew did what they could do. The Packers weren't the inferior team, and probably in Lambeau Field they would have won (hearken back to Week 1).

Sport is art is necessary. Now for the greater need for the Sabbath, the Monday-morning-after that the NFL can never muster, win or lose.

Eager to see you all and celebrate this summer!

Jukebox Music Project

Hi All-

After considerable reflection in 2014, I have selected a set of bands and songs for the Jukebox music project.  As I talked with Josh this last week, I realized how much we have shared musically from our youth to now.  Music has enhanced every car trip up to the beloved farm, every road trip and every get together.  Its easy to pick many songs and much more challenging to narrow down to a short list.  Ultimately I decided to follow the approach to pick bands and their songs that had special meaning in 2014, ones that had long lasting impact and narrowed down to the ones I listened to most over the fully year 2014.   

The music lists shared in the Stillwater Symposia have also opened new group and song avenues for me to explore and enjoy.  I found I'm very aligned with Joe and Andrew's bands/songs and they mentioned a few that I haven't listened to and adding those to my playlist for 2015.

In that light I'm adding a second list of new songs/bands from 2014 that really stood out for me and like Jon said, we'll see if they stand the test of time.

2014 Jukebox (all time list)

1) Just Breath by Pearl Jam

Eddie Vedder and Pearl Jam have always been one of my absolute favorite bands.  The first time I saw Pearl Jam play live was at Lollapalooza in 1992.  It was a stunning display of raw energy, musicality and soul mixed with grit and interesting lyrics.  Just Breath is from Backspacer in 2009, it captured me the first time I heard it.  Each time I hear it, there are different things I think about, but overall it makes me think about being thankful and joyful for your friendships and loved ones.  Eddie puts so much soul into this song.

2) Gravity by John Mayer

Both the live versions and the the studio are stunning, great guitar and even better lyrics;  In 2013 a group of friends at church introduced me to this song, I proceeded to listen to this non-stop in 2014.  "keep me where the light is..."

3) Rise by Eddie Vedder

I finally saw the movie "Into the Wild" this year on a trip to Asia.  Into the wild was released in 2007, with a soundtrack by Eddie Vedder.  The soundtrack has been one of my favorites for years, the movie is quite a story as well.  Lots of mandolin style sound and Eddie's distinctive voice telling the story.  I could pick a number of songs from this soundtrack, but I listened to this one the most in 2014.  A song with hope in his voice;  "Gonna rise up... Burning black holes in dark memories.. Gonna rise up..Turning mistakes into gold"

4) Nightswimming by REM

REM and Stipe's voice and the musically inventive band captured me from their early music and they continued to alter their sounds and instruments.  They were considerably alternative in their early music.  Life's Rich Pageant has great songs start to finish (I believe, superman, these days), later there was "out of time" with losing my religion.  Nightswimming is an amazing track from "Automatic for the people", distinct with an arrangement of orchestra strings and recognizable from the first piano chord.  Sugarland later did a cover of this song, very unique take with her very powerful voice.  This one paints a picture musically and lyrically for me.  

5) Deepest Blues are Black by Foo Fighters

Foo Fighters are one of my favorite bands by far.  Many songs are in my top played for 2014, many are of my favorite of all time.  Everlong was the song that started my love of their music, instantly recognizable and energizing.  In 2014 I spent the most time with the album "In your honor" with its 2 groups of music loud and quiet;  Every song is excellent and its great to see both musical sides of the band.  This song is so hard driving from the start, very musical even with its power.  Its loud, raw energy and I love it.  Foo fighters new album sonic highways is really good too, worth a listen.

6) Snow - Red Hot Chili Peppers

Red Hot Chili peppers are another of my favorite bands.  I saw this band live multiple times, the latest with Josh, Tilo and Cathy.  They put on a high energy show that is good start to finish.  For those who haven't seen them, they play interludes between band songs with 1 or 2 of the band members that are displays of their musical talent;  Jams with the Flea the bass player are the ones that amaze me the most, he has talent and completely moves me when I see him play.  The band has great songs across many albums and evolved their sound.  Give it away, Under the bridge, Knock me down, Dani California, Can't stop, Tell me baby... its a great list.   Snow is one that I can listen to repeatably and I am listening to today.  The latest album "I'm with you" is great, and I'm hearing they might be making a new album soon, can't wait!

7) Going to California - Led Zeppelin

Cathy, my sister Sue and I saw Robert Plant sing this song in Norway in 2014.  Its one of my favorite and all time best songs.  The original song is instantly recognizable, Robert still sings it well.  Each person in Led Zeppelin was a legendary talent.  This song stands out among the best of all time for me.

8) Love reign Over me - the Who

Another band like Led Zeppelin with each person being a legendary talent and volumes of great songs.  I saw this song covered by Pearl Jam at their Pearl Jam 20 anniversary concert tour in 2011;  Eddie Vedder and Chris Cornell from Soundgarden absolutely belted this song out, I'll never forget it.  They made it feel like a tribute to the Who and reminded me why this song and the who are one of my favorites.  Great musicians, song lyrics that have meaning, passion and tell a story.  This song always feels like an Epic adventure.

9) My Iron Lung - Radiohead

Josh and Jon are bigger radiohead fans most likely, but for me this song is one of their best.  Haunting, dissonant and a driving pace throughout mixed with lyrics that evoke strong images.  People have different views on the lyrics, but one things for certain for me is it is great start to finish.  Radiohead did an acoustic version of this song that is equally unique.  Awesome song.

10) Burden in my hand - Soundgarden

This song has been around since 1996, I didn't really listen to it until 2014.  Simply an amazing song.  Chris Cornell's voice drives it, the band is powerful throughout, heavy yet musical.  One of my favorite songs of 2014, just took me a long time to find it.  I also hope all of you listen to Chris Cornell's solo live acoustic album "Songbook"... it has some great moments including a cover of "Imagine" that is a great match with his voice.

11) See a little light - Bob Mould

Bob came out with a new album in 2014 "Beauty and ruin", that is worth a listen too.  His new album spurred me to go back to listen to his workbook album, which is really good.  "See a little light" is a song I always stop and listen to when it comes on, and I play it often.  Crisp guitar mixed Bob's distinct voice and lyrics, I feel like this song has always been on my favorites list since it came out.

12) Simple song - Shins

I first heard this on XRT, then proceeded to play this song and the entire XRT Volume 14 almost non-stop.  One great song after another, introduced me to great versions of songs by Heartless bastards, Head and the heart, Delta Rae, Civil wars.  The Simple song stood out as heartfelt and honest.  I like the live version best... tells a story in such a personal way.  Countless times I would play this in the car or while working on a project and it always lifted.

Thats my 12 for 2014 - many great bands/songs that I wanted to add - I'll have to see what inspires and transpires in 2015.

My 2nd list of 2014 new songs/bands...

1) Fever - Black Keys

2) Something from nothing - Foo Fighters

3) Cigarettes and daydreams, Come a little closer - Cage the elephant (actually end of 2013)

4) Peace - O.A.R.

5) Riptide - Vance Joy

6) I wanna get better - Bleachers

7) Come with me now - Kongos

8) Budapest - George Ezra

9) Take me to Church - Hozier

10) Love don't die - Fray

11) Make you better - Decembrists

12) Left hand free - Alt - j

13) Stolen Dance - Milky chance (actually 2013)

And I shall broadcast, saying nothing, the starry echoes of the wave...

Taking Joey's lead to be timely, happy birthday to Dan today!
I am recycling a poem for you, part of my daily Confluence journal:

Y yo transmitiré sin decir nada

los ecos estrellados de la ola...

  - Pablo Neruda, from Deber del Poeta

Social creatures of the neighborhood gather,
one by one, to sit and watch the waves roll in.
There will be another time to jump into the water,
to splash, to play,
to catch fish and work the waves.
There will be a time, too, for leaving this place,
riding the winds and
finding inland treasures.
But for now, and here, they are content
to gather, to pause,
to gaze and ponder.
They take their place on the sand,
a few yards away from the water’s edge,
a few feet one from another,
And quietly converse without words:

There will be a time, soon enough,
to engage in raucous
playground laughter,
And there will be a time as well
to broadcast complaints
and call neighborhoods together,
But for now, and here, they are satisfied
to stop, to compose,
to start to consider.
They take their place under the sun,
pulling up one leg
in restful balance,
This is their moment of peace;
this is their poem to remember.

And there will be a time for recitations,
as there will be places without peace,
But it is enough,
here and now,
to sit and watch the waves roll in.

from Thirty Birds; photo from Thirty Birds

Taizé Prague

Hey guys!!! We just had a European Taizé young adult meeting here in Prague!!! Taizé is a monk community in the village of Taizé in central France that invites young Christians (Catholic and Protestant) to share and discuss their faith. Every year Taizé organizes a European meeting at the end of the year (the next one is in Valencia). This year about 30 000 young adults came to Prague and lived in families across the city. We hosted 12 people, one of which made a video on his iPhone of his memories during the meeting and with our family. You can see him and Richard (another guy that we hosted) in the video at 1:40 (he looks like Ronaldo). Anyway, enjoy it, I can't wait to see you all this summer! BTW: happy birthday Kirsten!

Bête et Méchant

Hobbes was necessarily right:

our lives are solitary, poor, nasty,

brutish, short. Beyond that plight,

we’re dead meat, and ecstasy

in some abstraction, like adumbrating

realms of re-lig tendrils of

–ions not prone to easy connecting,

cannot mask itself for love.

We’re caricaturists all, we mostly draw

to denigrate—what we will—

to circulate whatever shock and awe:

reap regardless what we till.

There’s nothing civilized in what we’ve seen.

I’d satirize everything

to prove the woman at the well pristine:

her questions and reckoning,

her draught of water, sight unseen, her need

for more than what she’d relieve.

No life can thrive alone, says Hobbes indeed,

despite what lone wolves believe.

Bête et méchant, the day dissolved. What would

make a god-damned difference?

Any prophet might weigh in, could and should

administrate… common sense.

This very verse is subject to your take

or leave (fickle in the end);

I drew it in austerity. My stake

is in praying all faiths mend.

Beginning

The voice of the Lord is over the waters

                               - Psalm 29:3




I begin with the premise that there is a God.

In the beginning: we start all over,
Where every good book must begin,
Not “at” or “from” or “once upon,” but IN.

This is the story, the truth of God,
And here is the first thing we ought to know:
There is no moment where God did not exist.

God is the beginning, the action, the whole creation;
There can be no single point at which or from which
God the great I AM began to be.  

God is in the beginning, and God is 
In the present and in the ever after, 
Not “to,” “until” or “of a time,” but IN.

And notice: as it was in the beginning
Is in our premise now, as it was
In the days of Adam and in the days of Jesus,

Now is the spark of our creation,
And now the start of our salvation: 
God is in our birth and in our redemption,

The beginning of being and the stretch of eternity,
The breath of our formation and our resurrection,
All at once, our first day and our seventh day.

Evolutionists may stumble over the number of days,
Skeptics might question the progression of things,
But believers believe in the beginning,

And those who believe will know
The same beginning can continue
From chapter to chapter, can be on every page:

God, who is, can be in our every hour,
Can breathe and beat with us forever,
Part of the conversation and in our endless prayer.

This is the premise I begin with:
And God said, and God saw what God created, 
And it was good.  Another day.

May God be in your days 
In the beginning of 2015 and 
Throughout the year, every day.


simul-posted on my running blog for 2015: Confluence

New Year's blessings

Dear family,

This New Year has been extraordinary, positively 'beyond the beyond' (a phrase I used in the final paragraphs of the final Stara Evropa story, entitled 'Tipping Point'). We've enjoyed a dozen Taize participants in our home the past couple nights, from France, Croatia, Portugal and England, and Joey has been a wonderful anchor in the Matins and other aspects of this event. Photos to come. Meanwhile, enjoy our turn of years and God's mercy that has attended 2014.

I don't pull this verse out too often, but: "a bruised reed he does not break" (Isaiah 42:3)...
love,
Dan

Feast of the Holy Family

The sermon today reminded us of the family Jesus grew from, starting from the stables (and, worth watching again: Zefferelli's Jesus of Nazareth, which highlights Abigail on the night of the Nativity) and extending to the lonesome (poor or rich) in need of a reintegration with God's family. With that in mind and also the wild boar who forage through our local forests, this poem is entitled "Cohabitants":

Running through our woods,

haphazard, semi-free, are wild boars.

They skirt the slopes leading up to our plateau

and nuzzle into the underbrush.

Joe saw them and thought on his feet:

throw the dog’s stick as far the opposite way,

and it worked: the big pigs and squeakers

(demographically unseen, underhoof)

took a thin ridge to scurry north,

as the river bends, then west,

where less run-ins meet,

not counting deer, which must throw

their own kind of stick.

Hunters appear now and then,

usually on Saturdays, full camouflage,

except for their hounds in orange neckerchiefs

who banner the whole escapade.

We met them as runners—not fellows

or foes—as we trained on the hills cohabited

by mammals and birds, insects and worms

and more kinds of flora to blanket us all.

Where were the boars? The chief

hunter’s grunt said we scared

them away: this Saturday

would be spare, the squeakers could

rest assured to run free.

That result leaves you and me,

today on this Feast of the Holy Family,

where Joseph and Mary and Jesus are guests of

the horses, chickens and sheep,

the farmhands indeed their guests too.

The Magi need more weeks to travel this far,

the GPS star remains faithful—millennially

so—and to this end we go. The boy grew

to spend time with various boors,

mob-possessed men, women

caught in adultery, more

prodigals than could litter a landfill:

a holy family, complete.

Festivus, Revisited (2014)

Four days past the winter solstice, when
the sunlight hours are at their shortest and
the drive home's darker than it's ever been,
it's good to know that Christ is born, again,

and if that's more than you can comprehend,
imagine those first Christmas moments when
the angels broke the shepherds' darkness and
declared the day and what it meant to them.

God meets us in our fields of fear and sin
and brings joy to the world we're living in
and gives us peace, such peace that even when
the nights seem endless we're assured again

of good news worth repeating now and then:
to us, this day, the son is born, again.


    Merry Christmas from the Volds

Christmas wishes

As we all need the grace of our Lord Jesus, every day beyond the dominoes that befall and (by happenstance, it seems) exult particular turns of the calendar: blessings to you this Christmas. It's been a 2014 to remember well, and we pray for more interventions of the Holy Spirit to come.

In Prague we're anticipating a Taize communion that will bring in thousands (a dozen, perhaps, to our futons and floors). We're praying for Ukraine--Docyia, our best friend from there, prays in kind. We're praying for North Korea--no multi-media flap can veil what justice demands, especially in light of the myriad South Korean Christians praying in kind. We're praying for sellers of 'loose cigarettes' and their families, black or white, who may or may not be praying in kind. We're praying for Syria, the destination of the Apostle Paul as he was en route to destroy and to reckon with our Divine Savior, who continues to intervene for us, in kind,  in groans too deep for words (Romans 8:26). We're praying for West Africa, the nations around 'Liberia', which require enslaving nations to answer better for those enslaved, by ebola or whatever else inevitably comes 'our'--really 'their'--way. We pray rather abstractly in this regard, in kind.

Eager to see all of you in July!

Devotions

But he answered and said to them, 
“You give them something to eat.”  
            Mark 6:37 (NKJV)

1

You, one and all of you,

nameless counselors,
collective observers
adding little to the sentence,
barely part of the plot,

yet there you are, pronounced
in every translation,
prompting response and
preceding the action.

Feed my sheep;
as the day begins to wear,
give them something to eat.


2

You, second person,

the emphasized imperative,
God’s audience specifically
commissioned and directed
to a singular assignment:

having first observed,
be ready to serve;
as the Lord has called you,
hear that holy word:

feed my sheep; 
they do not need to go away,
give them something to eat.


3

You, Christ companion,

one of the twelve 
on a failed retreat
and a broken rest,
your Sabbath overtaken
by a hungry crowd:

having seen the need
but unsure of the logistics,
you’ve been firmly turned 
around to see the deed:

feed my sheep;
 lie them down in these green pastures,
give them something to eat.


4

You, fellow traveler,

being stirred one morning to the life of follow,
pulled by a pulse to leave hearth and hold,
drawn to the shepherd’s call and still
at the shepherd’s feet as the day grows old:

here in the hungry gather,
observing the surround,
with an echo in your stomach
and the journey on your shoulders,

feed my sheep;
all these sheep without a shepherd,
give them something to eat.


5

You, faithful follower,

making your way from practical to miracle,
turning attention from mortal to divine,
being taught to pray, to teach, to heal,
now learn your greater discipline:

take these five loaves, these couple of fish
let them first be blessed and broken, then
give thanks for what you’re given
and let the people have their fill:

feed my sheep;
with all of your devotion,
give them something to eat.


6

You, just as you are,

one of the sheep
having come this far,
knowing the hunger
and needing the rest,

you give it all to Jesus
and Jesus answers
with a bit of a challenge,
a bit of a test

putting you front and center
to be God’s hands,
to show God’s love,
to prepare the feast:

feed my sheep;
for the love of God, they’re hungry,
give them something to eat.