Thursday, May 29, 2014

A Load of Bull

 My husband picked me up and we went to Wendy's after work.  Saw a guy lying down on the sidewalk with his bike and I didn't see the dog at first.  I jumped out of the car to go check on the guy and apparently I was the dogs "type" because he started passionately humping my leg before I got to the guy.   He was about an 80 lb Pitt Bull who didn't seem to appreciate me pushing him away.  I realized my rescuer would have to be the owner who I couldn't wake.  I limped over to the owner as Mr. Bull had his way with my leg. 

"Excuse me sir, could you please get your dog to stop humping my leg? It's really freaking me out."

The owner (who was obviously strung out on heroin) was kind enough to rescue me by grabbing the leash.   :p  Another reason to be thankful for junkies.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Luckless

Lost Story by Rev. G. Earnest Lynch (April 1965 Star Tribune)

April 11, 2014 at 12:35pm
 
Here I stand like a sweating statue, Adrian the unlucky.  Every man in my company draws a 12 hour pass except me-I draw guard duty.  And not just ordinary guard duty in a place with some shade, but crucifixion guard duty on this stinking hill, Golgotha, they call it.  The place of the skull and well named.  It's not my idea of a picnic spot. 

I could be stuck here until midnight.  Who knows how long it's going to take before these three give up the ghost?  The last time I had this duty it went on for 10 hours.  That's the trouble with this soldiering business-endless boredom at low pay. 

I guess I'm just luckless.  I sign up in Rome because my girlfriend likes uniforms and the next thing you know I'm in Jerusalem, where a decent girl won't look at a Roman Legionnaire. Then I draw a top-sergeant who hates big-city Romans because he's a country boy.  So he gives me the wrong end of every stick.  Even today, when we threw dice for that fellow's cloak; I lost, Damn.  I could have sold that for a pretty penny.  Not a seam on it.  

Oh well, born to lose, that's me.  I'm never in the right place at the right time.  At least there's a little something happening here.  I've never seen such a crowd at a crucifixion and they're an ugly mob too.  Shouting and spitting, jeering and mocking.  I wonder what's got their blood up?

There's one punk who thinks he's a comedian, standing on tiptoe with his arms stretched out and a silly smirk on his face, pretending he's being crucified.  I wish he'd step out of line.  I'd love to give him a little taste of my fist.  But he won't.  That kind doesn't like rough boys. 

What's that fool yelling?  Oh, "Come down from the cross," he says. "If Thou be the Christ, save thyself."  Very funny.  And look at those half-wits with him, screeching with laughter at his wit.  I'd like to see how funny he'd be on a cross.  

That man on the middle cross looks different from the other two.  I wonder why he's up there.  Doesn't look like a criminal and isn't scared. Usually they either scream about how innocent they are or go out swearing.  He sounds more like a physician comforting sick people.  

Listen to that: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do".  Does HE mean me or just those Jews? 

Now what's HE saying? Oh, HE's talking to that thief, Dismas.  "Today shalt though be with me in paradise." What could that mean?  I never heard any one die like this.  I hope I do as well when my time comes. 

God, it's getting dark!  Hell's own storm must be heading this way. 

I wonder who those weeping women are.  One of them looks familiar.  Could hat be...? Damn, it is.  Mary Magdalene, the whore.  How did she get into this mess?

But the other is older, and there is a young man comforting her.  What a beautiful face she has, even in sorrow. She makes me think of my own mother.   I'd better change my thoughts or I'll start weeping too.  Could she be this poor fellow's mother?  God, I hope not.  This is no place for her.  

She is! He called her "Mother," and said to the young man, "Behold thy mother." Does that mean HE thinks her love is great enough to enfold more than her natural sons? What a strange thought.  And yet, if love is of God and God is everywhere, then one who truly loves God could become the Holy Mother of us all.  And that would include even me. 

It's nearly over, Soon we'll be breaking their legs to hasten the smothering.  

He thirsts.  I'll offer this sponge of vinegar.  It may deaden the pain.  I can't do much for HIM, poor fellow, but what I can I will.  The man has style, so I'm on HIS side, even when HE's losing.  We losers must stick together. 

That fool called him "Christ"? I'll by that. This man surely was the son of God.


Sunday, March 2, 2014

CNN and Guitars

He plays guitar while he listens to CNN.  When he plays there is no war, no death, no country invasions for me.  There are only notes and rhythms-relief from the chaos.  I sink my soul into the opinion of the strings which returns me to a place of peace and escape.


Thursday, February 27, 2014

Like Ants

I remember as a child, sitting on the sidewalk and watching ants and thinking how grateful that I was that we weren't like them.  We couldn't be stepped on or sucked into a lawnmower.  But then I remembered a clip from the news where someone had died in a horrible way and I questioned myself, "Am I like an ant?" I didn't have the answer at the time and I kind of wanted it to stay that way.  With each passing year it became harder to leave that as an unanswered question.  Every news broadcast brought me more pictures of hurricanes, tornadoes, floods, now tsunamis and sinkholes (which I never knew to be afraid of as a child). We are so much like ants-we are so busy doing what we are doing all the time and we distract ourselves from knowing that a day of death comes to us all.  Hopefully it isn't in any circumstance I've mentioned-ideally it will be quick and painless, but it comes. 

This thought makes me uncomfortable.  My daughter is 18 next month and I may not have more children.  Raising her may my biggest contribution to the world-and my part feels like it's over.  If it's time to go soon-have I finished everything that I have to finish? No.  Have I said all that I have to say? No.  Have I lived the way I wanted to have lived?  Sometimes yes, sometimes no. All I can do is live that as a yes today.  I want to live the way I want to be remembered as having lived-today. 

Sunday, October 20, 2013

Apples and Change


Our household consists of the taboo
All we speak of is religion and politics
Each to our own
Agreeing on little
But motives are good
Mutually acknowledged

Yesterday reeked of our first Thai recipe
Chocolate chip cookies
Cuddled on the couch
Taboo subjects taboo
And rest, rested on us
All arguments forgotten
In the comforts of home

Today is the first snow
We move in 9 days
Into the city
Of traffic and sirens
Nations amix in one neighborhood
And blacks will no longer be the minority
Both of us return to comfort
In unlikely circumstance
Closer to history and pain
Memories and relatives.

We leave our olive and chocolate walls
To those happy to find them
Our caretaking responsibility
To one better equipt
And our lonely city
Will fade quickly in our memory
As we trade it for
Welcoming pagans and artists

We become we,
in a way more than
He joining me
Mine becomes ours
As we set our feet on level ground
Trust marks the way
As apples and change
Hold us in the sweet smell
Of tomorrow

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Sex abuse and the Church

 What becomes of a child's perspective on God when the one who is meant to lead and protect, when the one who is meant to teach about purity violates that child's purity at a young age?  It is distorted.  Trust is broken between the child and the creator-due to the misdeeds of a created being.  A person, a man. A priest maybe.   These things are received on the gut level and repel children from the God who is capable of healing the destruction caused by a broken/wicked man. Christ suffered as we suffered.  Did he get molested? I don't know.  But he felt forsaken by God and he felt the undeserved guilt. The guilt of the whole world was laid on him.   This is a song I was singing tonight as I thought about this suffering of the children and of Christ:


You cried out,
You cried out,
God you've forsaken me,
You've forsaken me

You cried out,
You cried out
You've forsaken me
You've forsaken me

But you didn't waste your blood on me
You didn't waste your blood on me
You didn't waste your pain on me
Why should I live blind if you help me see?

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Christians considering divorce

So...at church this morning the pastor talked about a church that suffered.  First they had a leader fall from grace and then had a shooting in their sanctuary.  Following this the musicians wrote a song focused on overcoming.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJvqQjaz87I In the past I have thought of Christ overcoming as him being risen from the dead.  For whatever reason, this morning it struck me different.  Christ allowed himself to suffer.  He allowed his hands to be nailed to a tree.  He allowed himself to be mocked.  He allowed his side to be pierced.  He had power to stop all of this with a word and he chose not to.  He had the ability to escape the pain and he overcame by staying in the uncomfortable situation (understatement).  Just wanted to share the thought. 

http://aloysiusmenulis.files.wordpress.com/2012/02/crucifiction.jpg