freedom?

Anger rages noisily like a loose sail flapping in the gusty wind

Pulling and tearing and finally breaking free

Floating, gloating and looking back at her former captor

The torn remains holding helplessly on to the mast

Watching in pain as

Anger greedily surges away on the wind

Floating high in the empty sky

With freedom in her eyes

Thrashing in her heart

And a tear across the face of her soul.  

truth of the world

It is easy to rub our hands in glee. It is easy to join in the (somewhat hypocritical) recriminations that our politicians are engaging in. It is easy to speak words of hate or of vengeance. It is easy to jump on a bandwagon.

But our news of the world is good news and we are meant to be good news. That good news is love. Deep love. That affects and infects everything we do and every thing we are.

When the Hebrews wanted to get something across that was deep-felt and passionate, they didn’t write treatises and systematic theologies. Or letters to newspapers. They blogged poetry. They poured forth. I do too sometimes – it’s not all good, it wouldn’t win awards, but that’s not the point.

…………………………………………….

I see you and I notice you
I see you and I notice you

and I see that you feel angry
and I see that you feel frightened
and I see that you feel entitled
and I see that you feel rights

and I love you
and I love you
and I love you

I see that you see other people getting more than you
I see that you see other people paying less than you
I see that you see other people served quicker than you
I see that you see people from a different place than you

standing where you want to be standing
living where you want to be living
receiving what you want to be receiving

and I see that I love you and I see that I love you
and I see that I love you and I see that I love you

and I see that you see no-one understanding
and I see that you see no-one caring
and I see that you see that it always was this way
and I see that you see that always it will be

and I see that you hear that I love you
and I see that you hear that I love you

and I want you to feel that I love you
and I want you to taste that I love you
and I want you to breathe that I love you

breathe in
…and love
breathe out
…and love

breathe love to change us
breathe love to mould us to break us to bend us
breathe love to move us
breathe love become part of us
breathe love in to breathe love out
breathe a generous love
breathe a hopeful love

and your love and my love can rub together
and explode into a beautiful and terrifying and awesome
explosion of love
that we will never be the same again
because the smile on your face will be so big
and the weight will be lifted
and the fear will be ended
and you will be transformed…

…and even so, and anyway, and because, and forever,
I love you.

…………………………………………………….

This poem first appeared in on paranoid tabloids in February 2010

a gentle clearing of the throat

prayer is so often like a careful excuse me
bravely ignoring the ‘do not disturb’ sign
but only to quietly slip a note under the door…

or it’s like a gentle clearing of the throat
to draw attention
without causing tension
or making a scene

shout.pray.listen

prayer feels like it ought to involve
more SHOUTING
some shoving and
some flouting of the rules
some yelling because we should be telling it like it is
not quietly murmuring
but loudly stirring
earnestly yearning for God to hear
to act
to reach from his pedestal
to change all that is cruel and heartless and human
inhuman
inhumane

because his name means God with us
because prayers mean God help us
our cry is say something to us

yet in this moment of tension
aggression
shouting and pleading
we pause…

and in faith are conceding, of course,
to hear
we must listen.

….

this is an edited version of a poem that first featured in rants in your pants

turn my back

I turn my back on you
The Lord Almighty
I turn my back.

I turn my back because I can hear the pain
yelling from behind the closed front door.
I turn my back because the sadness seeps out of the cracks in the driveway
spreading from under the abandoned car
and trembles in people’s eyes behind every prolonged blink.

I turn my back because though I know you are not here to make us feel better
you could at least make a goodwill gesture.
Perhaps just a cough.

A cough from you could change our world.

I turn my back on you
The Lord Almighty
I turn my back.

I turn my back because people are to be cherished
and I see little evidence of cherishing.
I turn my back because a family should be together
and I see togetherness fractured by brokenness.
I turn my back because I talk of you changing the world
and I want to see it
and yet I can’t even let you change me.

Because that is too hard.

You should do it without my help.

I turn my back because I am angry.
I am sad.
I am clutching at straws.
I turn my back because everywhere circles the enemy in
fear
loss
mistrust
deceit
in giving up.

I turn my back on you
The Lord Almighty
I turn my back.

scaling the monster

Scaling the monster
Staring at his teeth
Pulling at his nose hairs
And swinging underneath

Climbing over God with a blindfold and a hammer
Because I don’t want him to see me and
I’m not much of a planner so
Maybe I’d be better with a notebook
Or some glasses
But a hammer seemed appropriate
In case God got nasty
or I need to crack his shell

or wake him
shake him
break him

Staring at the monster
Looking in his eyes
Fiddling with his tail
Jumping on his thighs

I’m seeing what he really is
This monster the world fears
Holding tightly to my hammer
I’m unsettled by his tears
So I swing nimbly through the air
And land upon his face
Where I’m perturbed
Disturbed
Unnerved
To see the likeness of our race
Embedded in the wrinkles
And the wisdom of his age
Reflected in the newborn skin
The freshness of a white blank page

The timeless
The ageless
The weakness
The braveness
The fearless
But not, it would appear, the tearless.

Scaling the monster
With a hammer in my hand
I can’t describe the feeling
But it wasn’t what I’d planned
I can poke him prod him ride him
And I won’t end up as food
Because although he certainly isn’t safe
I’ll take the risk that he is good*

(*and just in case I’m wrong
I’ve still got the hammer)

© 2011 Kevin Lewis

Some sort of explanation…

I haven’t written much poetry for ages, it tends to happen when I make time to sit and rest and think… anyway, I wrote this on the first night at Spring Harvest, thinking about approaching God and wanting him to meet with me deeply and profoundly as he did a few years ago in that place, whilst at the same time being scared to let him close enough. Because when he looks me in the eye, I tend to look away first. And he likes to play, especially when we get all serious… 

arms

arms
how wide are yours
and what are they full of
how far are you prepared to s  t  r  e  t  c   h   t  h  e  m
fill them
arms
so often used to clutch
to grab
to hold
then god asks us to use our arms
arms to embrace
arms to open wide
arms to give love and to s  t  r  e   t   c   h
arms that discover they can even stretch w  i  d  e  r
further
wider?
further?
fit more people in
give more love out
arms
thank you Jesus for your arms
workman’s arms
tender arms
open arms
reminding me that
I can’t embrace the kingdom when my arms are full of me
(that last line belongs to Rick McKinley)
(but i thought it was quite good)

brick

reclaimed:before

There is a brick.
Old, used, dirty.
From a bathroom, a house, a wall,
Inside, outside, who knows.
But what was once solid, stable, full of purpose
Now, discarded, broken, useless.
Separated.
Forgotten.

Until today.
Today the brick was rediscovered,
Uncovered,
Recovered.

Reclaimed.

Rescued from the skip
From the pile, from the ground.

Reclaimed.

Bricks:reclaiming

Reclaimed and chiselled and cleaned and reshaped.
Reclaimed and re-made.
Reclaimed and chosen and saved and tenderly loved.
A brick?
A humble old brick.

Reclaimed:after

A new brick, for a new wall.
Mis-shapen, chipped, scarred.
A wall with reclaimed old bricks
Is patchy, odd, shabby.
Wonky.
Beautiful.

Reclaimed,
Redeemed,
and re-made.
The old made new.
The old made new.

Bricks:reclaimed (I didn't build this one!)

……………………………..
Share this post:

when

sitting, listening, waiting
for the almighty, the holy.
come bend your head towards me
speak, for I am listening.

and so I listen.
and so you speak.
and so I hear… nothing.

the almighty does not speak here.
the
almighty
does
not
speak.

here.

I look and see you with your open arms,
your open hearts.
I hear you with your happy songs,
your joyful smiles,

I listen.
I do.

when, almighty god I hear about
when, almighty god I sing about
when, almighty god I read about
when, almighty god I love and defend and give my everything for
when, almighty god I long to hear from

when will I hear from you?

……………………………………………………………………………
If you like it, share it! Click on the links below

religion-fatigue and the imposition of haberdashery

The rare, the unburdened, the care-free;
the mysterious, the unravelling, the beautifully poetic;
the passionate, the heart-breaking, the tortuous, the erotic;
the outrageous, the outraged, the bloodied and the torn

Telling me stories, singing me songs, writing me poems that make me cry,
dancing me to the beginning of your love
this is the mystery of you
deep calling out to deep in the roar of your waterfalls…

Ooh, calm down a bit. Well, it all sounds good but turn any of that good old fashioned creative spirit over to humans, and we are likely to codify it, label it, disect it, put it in a cabinet and stare at it. At certain times. And only certain people can stare. Most cannot be trusted not to touch, and probably won’t understand, so can read the explanatory note in the guidebook.

That is what religion so often does to the power and mystery of God. Answers our biggest questions with rules about haberdashery, and explores our deepest emotions by restricting us to yesterday’s ideas.

I love the mystery of Jesus because although he seems to have inspired one of the most codified religions, and was himself part of one, what he himself lived and taught and breathed was freedom. Codes can give us freedom; rules can give us freedom. Of course. But what Ash Wednesday reminds us is that although he likes it, like I like it when someone else washes the car or loads the dishwasher, it is not essential. I can live without it. By it, I mean ‘religion’. Religious things. Surplus to requirements. Not necessarily bad. But if they are all there is, Ash Wednesday tells us to ditch them.

The readings include Joel 2.1-2, 12-17, Isaiah 58.1-12, and Matthew 6.1-6. They are great. This is some of Isaiah 58:

³ ‘Why have we fasted,’ they say,
‘and you have not seen it?
Why have we humbled ourselves,
and you have not noticed?’
“Yet on the day of your fasting, you do as you please
and exploit all your workers.

⁴ Your fasting ends in quarrelling and strife,
and in striking each other with wicked fists.
You cannot fast as you do today
and expect your voice to be heard on high.

⁵ Is this the kind of fast I have chosen,
only a day for a man to humble himself?
Is it only for bowing one’s head like a reed
and for lying on sackcloth and ashes?
Is that what you call a fast,
a day acceptable to the LORD ?

⁶ “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?

⁷ Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe him,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

⁸ Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.

Love it. God tells it like it is. This is some of Matthew 6:

¹“Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.

²“So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. ³But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, ⁴so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

⁵“And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. ⁶But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. ⁷And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. ⁸Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.

Jesus – what a way with words. Can you imagine followers of Jesus babbling?!

ashen-faced

The primary action on Ash Wednesday for Anglicans is the imposition of ashes. We have a ritual about not having rituals! Love it. Why? Because rituals aren’t bad in themselves. Because the ashes represent all that is broken and lost in the world, the burnt cross of the execution stake. Because they are smeared and spread on our foreheads, imposed on the most viewed part of us, smudged across our make-up, spoiling our fringe, and sometimes forgotten about until someone says ‘when did you last wash?’

God always wants to remind us to do decent service, not to do a decent service. To serve, not to do a good Sunday service. Not to fast whilst we are still slagging off our colleagues; not to worship whilst we are stealing money from our investors; not to pray in public lest we forget to clothe the naked.

This can be imposition for us. So easily we – and I include me – slip into the kingdom of comfort, feel we’ve done our time in the kingdom of pain. We become desensitised, we get compassion-fatigue or whatever else we call it. We forget to be human and humane and close our eyes to the suffering of those around us. To remember is an imposition. To be reminded is an inconvenience.

Well, says God, allow me to impose. Allow me to inconvenience you. Because any sort of faith that doesn’t have at its heart God’s care for the exiled, the pained, the tortured, the bereaved and the hurting is no faith I recognise. Any faith that speaks of caring for the poor as if that is a hobby and not a lifestyle or a giving choice along with buying free-range eggs is not a faith I recognise. Any faith that talks solely about sin and death and salvation to the next life isn’t a faith I recognise. Any faith that doesn’t welcome and truly welcome the strange and the stranger and the strangest is not a faith I recognise.

Allow me to impose, says God. Because I get religion-fatigue. I can’t be bothered any more. Your religion interests me; I would love to study it sometime. Your religion may help you; but I would love to help you sometime. Please, for goodness sake get back to basics, strip it down and see what you really need. I think you’ll find it’s me. And I’m naked.

on paranoid tabloids

Paranoid tabloids. Immigration, race, rights, Muslims,  fear… so many things that are so easy to write about, that seep into the conciousness,  and are so hard to diffuse. They feed our tribalism, our worry and our paranoia. It’s lazy journalism to always say everything is going to pot, and to dig up extreme examples.

I think we need to counter this. And I think that the way to counter this is not by trying to shout louder, not to fight with a fightier fight. But to love. Love. Love. Love. Patient, kind, gentle, love.

When the Hebrews wanted to get something across that was deep-felt and passionate, they didn’t write treatises and systematic theologies. Or letters to newspapers. They blogged poetry. They poured forth. I do too sometimes – it’s not all good, it wouldn’t win awards, but that’s not the point.

…………………………………………….

I see you and I notice you
I see you and I notice you

and I see that you feel angry
and I see that you feel frightened
and I see that you feel entitled
and I see that you feel rights

and I love you
and I love you
and I love you

I see that you see other people getting more than you
I see that you see other people paying less than you
I see that you see other people served quicker than you
I see that you see people from a different place than you

standing where you want to be standing
living where you want to be living
receiving what you want to be receiving

and I see that I love you and I see that I love you
and I see that I love you and I see that I love you

and I see that you see no-one understanding
and I see that you see no-one caring
and I see that you see that it always was this way
and I see that you see that always it will be

and I see that you hear that I love you
and I see that you hear that I love you

and I want you to feel that I love you
and I want you to taste that I love you
and I want you to breathe that I love you

breathe in
…and love
breathe out
…and love

breathe love to change us
breathe love to mould us to break us to bend us
breathe love to move us
breathe love become part of us
breathe love in to breathe love out
breathe a generous love
breathe a hopeful love

and your love and my love can rub together
and explode into a beautiful and terrifying and awesome
explosion of love
that we will never be the same again
because the smile on your face will be so big
and the weight will be lifted
and the fear will be ended
and you will be transformed…

…and even so, and anyway, and because, and forever,
I love you.

…………………………………………..

After I wrote that, I read this, and it resonated. May we be full of mercy, not hate:

Paul writes, ” We also lived angry and and envious, being hated and hating one another. But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared,  he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy....” (Titus 3.3b-4)