“Green fields grow dead, white trees” Memorial Day 2013


Green fields grow dead, white trees,
gleaming in the sun, pretending at life.
Fed on blood and manure,
the trees stand still.
Whitewashed tombs.

The beast devours children,
shits them out,
and we feed it more, and more, and more.

It keeps our fields green,
our memories cleaned.

Other fields,
other blood,
other excrement that once breathed,
they’re hidden from our eyes.
rock and dirt and sand.

Death hides behind platitudes,
valor, honor, heroism,
and we stare at the dead white trees,
the green fields,
the mimicry of life.

We feed the beast the hearts of our children,
build meaning from its shit,
and tell ourselves our hands are clean.

Some things I’ve been reading

I lieu of sharing my own thoughts, here are some other people’s writings that have impacted me lately.

Awkward from Carl McColman.

Jesus Walking On The Water: A Sermon Sarcastic and Serious from Nadia Bolz-Weber

Reading Revolution: 14 Marvelous Modern Libraries

Just Another Woman at Michfest from Alice Kalafarski

A Prayer for Humility by William Barclay

Greenbelt Sermon from Nadia Bolz-Weber

Worshipping God Through Our Sorrow from Caleb Wilde

Encountering The Monster That I Am from Peter Rollins

The Trash of the World: Paul And Universalism from Peter Rollins

“What We Need Is Here” by Wendell Berry

Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.

The Wilds

CHAOS NEVER DIED. Primordial uncarved block, sole worshipful monster, inert & spontaneous, more ultraviolet than any mythology (like the shadows before Babylon), the original undifferentiated oneness-of-being still radiates serene as the black pennants of Assassins, random & perpetually intoxicated.T.A.Z. by Hakim Bey

I’ve been slowly, slowly working my way through Catherine Keller’s The Face of the Deep: A Theology of Becoming. Keller takes on the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo, the belief that God created the world from nothing. Working from Genesis 1:1-2 she explores tohu va bohu, formlessness, and tehom, the deep.

When in the beginning Elohim created heaven and earth, the earth was tohu va bohu, darkness was upon the face of tehom, and the ruach elohim vibrating upon the face of the waters…

In Genesis 1, there was something out of which God created. There was a formless void, a deep, and God moved over it. God called out, and from the tehom things arose.

God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light.

God didn’t create from nothing. God called creation from wildness. God didn’t tame the deep, God spoke to her. God called creation from the tehom and called it good, just as God called Abraham out of Abram, and called a great leader from the stuttering fugitive Moses. Creation is an act of transformation, of call and response. The tehom, like Moses and Abraham, responds to God’s call. The ruach elohim gives life to the deep as it did to Adam.

“The original undifferentiated oneness-of-being still radiates.” Its disappearance in the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo leads to fear of the void, the wild. The drive to control the uncontrolled and tame the untamed has driven Western civilization so that we cannot even call out to creation as God called out to the deep. We have to control it, divide it, systematize it. We have to find everything that reminds us of the tehom from which we came and force its chaos into pattern.

But God calls from the wild. God calls the younger son over the elder, the shepherd boy to succeed the king. God calls the homeless peasant in an occupied land to institute his Kingdom against an Empire, a Kingdom that shies away from control and dominion, and instead sees the lowly as great. A Kingdom that inverts and subverts everything we know about control.

God calls into the deep and toward the deep. God moves in the wild.

At Pentecost we again see the ruach elohim.

And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit.

Experienced as a “violent wind” and “tongues, as of fire,” God’s own wildness in the Holy Spirit moved among the apostles as it had on the face of the deep. The Holy Spirit, the ruach elohim, calls into and toward wildness because the wildness reflects and responds to God. The Spirit herself is Wild!

Where the Apostles experienced the Holy Spirit as a violent wind and fire, some early Celtic Christians experienced her as a wild goose. Why?

Wild geese are, well, wild. That is, untamed, uncontrolled. They make a lot of noise, and have a habit of biting those who try to contain or capture them. That has been the Christian experience of the Holy Spirit through two thousand years. Time and again when theology and God have appeared to be firmly in the control of hierarchies and religious establishment, the Spirit of God has broken free – and has often bitten those who tried to prevent it happening.

Or perhaps,

[W]ild geese aren’t controllable. You can’t restrain a wild goose and bend it to your will. They’re raucous and loud. Unlike the sweet and calming cooing of a dove, a goose’s honk is strong, challenging, strident and unnerving – and just a bit scary.
In much the same way the Spirit of God can be, demanding and unsettling. Think about the story of Pentecost, and the impression the disciples made on the crowd. People thought they were drunk and disorderly!Its one thing for a gentle dove to descend peacefully on Jesus – it’s something all together different when the Spirit descends like a wild, noisy goose!

To follow the calling of the Spirit is to risk venturing into the wild, to live outside of one’s own control. It is seeing the sacredness of the untamed.

It was this that I had in mind today when I read Wendell Berry‘s echoing of Matthew 6:25-34, “The Peace of Wild Places” this morning.

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

There is grace in the wild, if we can only let go enough to experience it. I pray that in experiencing that wild grace we each hear our own call.

Walter Bruggeman on poets

It is not clear that life can be construed beyond the Empire… But the poets… have to try. Because they are poets. Because they are poets they never arrive, for poetry would then be a program, and they’re not doing programs. That does not render the poetry as failure or irrelevance.

Poem – “In Sound and Breath”

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In Sound and Breath

In sound and breath are we made.
In words and wind are we formed.
In language before language are we conceived and created,
and in every utterance since we pay tribute to that,
that primordial sound.

Inert we lie until moved by breath.
Life we become when moved by wind.
Spirit set to motion, and we gasp,
and wail!

In sound and breath.
In words and wind.
We move and blow and speak and scream.
What our mouths say, our hands form, our spirits give life.

And we blow, and blow, and blow, and blow
and sing!
A love supreme
A love supreme
A love supreme
A love supreme

And Trane breathes,
and blows notes into prayers.
The reverent resonance from the reeds to the bellows of the bell,
boisterous as any bible.
Language before language,
Coltrane blows,

The first act was action:
to breathe,
to utter,
to create.

In the image of what is before space and time were,
I inhale,
and wail!

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