His burden is light. We can only bear the amount of light given to each of us. That is our range of constellation or what St Paul calls our radiance. We are responsible for developing that radiance however. Spirituality is not passive in that way. And He will not give us more than we can bear—that amount meant to form us properly if we let those trials become His Victories in us. Thinking about the bearable light. That amount of light we are meant to collaborate with God in. That level of understanding, insight and ability to live well. That’s our part of the garden to tend. The pleasant lines of our inheritance. As we get older we start to sense the parameters of our labor. The circumference of our domains. We stop trying to move in other’s fields, but tend our own in order to bless others. It is part of knowing the pleasant lines of our particular domains in life. What part of the situation we are meant to bless, and when to defer to others. So we don’s “soul” effort it into place. When young, we are searching for our fields. We are learning to possess them, to become them; then, we move on into seasons of cultivation so the fruits of our lives can bless others. Each of us have unique paths in this sense, which are somehow mysteriously networked in God. Life is beautiful in that way, and His burden is Light!

The nighttime sky-scape has been moving me this week….

  The barefoot risk of seeing the  moon this week, was worth it! It’s been a pleasure just watching the drama in the skies above us all this season, in the midst of the turbulence of the days. Enjoy watching the skies wherever you are friends! The skies continue to contextualize us. Thankful for the little big things this week—the domes of glory we are encapsulated in.

A bit more on overcoming racism, as i ran into my friend’s older sister today and hung out talking what the role of the church is in all this. She felt they were too divided to speak well now, but needed to address the issues directly in Love, unlike after 911. I agreed.

  I told her the story of how my uncles, who lived in the deep south and were famous for serving “blacks” in the bbq joint they ran on Interstate 29—back in the day, it was the main highway up the east coast before 85 and 95 were added-so the african american musicians used to travel south on it to do shows down in Georgia and Florida. They feared the journey, but needed safe havens along the way, and my uncles would even keep open after hours so they could have some good NC bbq.

 My uncles were famous in that little region of North Carolina, for serving others. And one time ended up serving Louis Armstrong, the famous jazz musician who was already well known in Europe, but at that time, was just getting known in the deep south. And it was still hard for a black man to travel north to south, even then. The word got out, that there where white people in the south, even back then, who would serve anyone food. Plus the barbecue was amazing!

 Anyway, my friend and I talked today about people who made morally pioneering decisions in their times under their current cultural prejudices to do what was right. Each of us is responsible to aligning with Kingdom values in our time, and moving against the darker currents of morality.

 At that time in America’s history, there were “colored” and “white” churches in the deep south, and there were literally train tracks between the two. And once again barbecue was the place of reconciliation! But it did require those willing to cross the lines! It’s a good part of my own family heritage-that we welcomed those at that time perceived as “other”, realizing in some ways we are all children of God, and all “other”. All fallen short of the glory….all in need of a forgiveness. All in desperate need of Love.

 There are choices to make each generation, regardless of our cultural situations or moral milieus, or even strongholds of thought, and they chose to do that right because of their Christian beliefs, or maybe because they knew the Spirit of Christ in them, not just cultural religion. They thought Jesus turned out to be an inter-racial lover.

 I remember one of them telling me before he died, “Jesus was an outsider even in his own culture, and so are we all—even christians are only grafted in to another religion, and their way is the way of blessing the stranger. Jesus was and is The Stranger. So be kind to those who see themselves as strangers. There are specific blessings for those who go out of their way to welcome the foreigner, or those who see themselves as the loser in the Game of life.” I wrote that down, and still recall it.

 Lots of my uncles, weren’t so sure about traditional church, even way back then, but they all knew Jesus and wanted to walk that way out practically.

 Anyway, my friend and I today, went on to talk of which parts of her family were forgiving towards whites and others, and which held bitterness for years against those who had oppressed them. I told her, I had apologized for any of my family line who had done wrong towards her line. Then we started talking about the church as a model of the human family reconciled.

 There have been people in every generation who have been cultural advocates for not just the poor, but those who saw themselves as “low class” (class systems are also a statement of racism, but based on resources—materialism) or not included in the dominant culture. The Ebed Melech’s, the story of Jeremiah the prophet (the african who helped Jeremiah the Jewish prophet out of the pit he was thrown in), advocates to the Voice of God,  who have gone against the grain in loving people of other colors, races or those who were considered trash in their society. Gandi is another example which comes to mind, who worked for the “outcast”. It was an active choice, and one of high risk. And it is like God to do so.

  Watching a documentary last night about a German man who anonymously saved over 10,000 Jews and others, during the wars. And ended up himself with no grave.

 Time to be those type of unsung heroes in daily practical ways. Let’s all become trees of righteousness for having gone out of our way to bless those who were being persecuted in our days.

 Challenged this week, by those who chose well under pressures before us to love especially those who see themselves as discarded in the human family. Going out of way to bless them—at risk to themselves. That seems to me the way of Christ.

Thinking of the moon and sun (most basic symbols above us) this week, after so many signs in the skies during these turbulent days and nights! Time to read the skies as well as the daily news! I told you I’d be singing this week!

Moon and Sun…how God speaks through them….one is self radiating penetrative, the other receptive reflective (the masculine and feminine of God)

God set up the moon to govern the night—the unconscious the place where the police have to govern on earth, and there is often fright. the place where suicide and death happen, where we stupidly misperceive one another in un-founded ways, where bricks are thrown in cowardice, and make visible fissures seen the next day;

where we spray paint hate on one another’s bodies; but also night is where lovers meet, and children sleep. when the moon has a rainbow, as it did this week, there is colored hope, astute rayed splendor statements made from Above, even in the unseen parts of our days and selves of love. Hope between races, men and women, generations! Kind conversations in the silence of Love’s tone-in moon shadow.

The Sun brings overt hope daily-sheer life, but the moon is steadfast in what is “night”. That right but softer light, continues, and will return at dawn for the moon reflects the Sun, it does not generate it, but receives it well-and that is her type of authority. So when you have a rainbow around the moon, you have hope in the unseen parts of the inner room, the un-obvious responsive part of God in us. Perhaps the place where we receive The Voice!  The place where people are sleeping is also a place of choice. Rainbows there matter even more, than the overt symbols of day.

God set up the two symbols to govern in both ways. They still tell His stories daily. And perhaps we should be listening to the night of the soul around now?

The day blares so loudly now, i can barely hear you.

The night brings it’s own rainbow-mooned comforts

which seep into our sleep like dreams do.

Dream on God. We still need you. Dream through us in moon rainbows if you must,

until we hear, whether through day or night,

whichever medium or metaphor You choose we know will be right,

We are listening again. You got our attention.

Speak as Sun or Moon, and we will be wet with Your Words

by morning, as dew, as we heard the dawn is already breaking in our hearts somewhere.

And God is always speaking even when we are presumably asleep!

Thinking again today how the psalms were the best way to express things in times of grief, loss, uncertainty, disorientation etc. How art does more to hold the content of times of trauma and change, and give room for the dialogue of healing. How poetic prayer art seems required and healing in times like ours, as they always have been. So writing some more poetic pieces this week, as we continue to process so much globally together….

subversive spirituality:

To love my neighbor is my act of protest

to sit with my african friend yesterday and prophecy together

to the birds overhead—bluejays heading south…

to walk my dogs well is subversive now

to wash the dishes well before God, and as a service to my wife.

To stay in Peace at the market while waiting in the endless line,

dog marked by consumerism, materialism and every other ism there is.

Today I will compost the garden bringing my hands towards gravity

for to listen well to dirt, is to find God. And we are all compost wanting to become trees.

to enjoy eating with friends changes everything

to cry also when there are available tears

to give away my extra pecans this year

to the man with no teeth who walked by

who has known all this for a long while.

to still live well and recognize the voice of silence around us

to listen to everything which needed to come out anyway

she said, it’s always been this way for us

now we all know-to cross the road alone

when the lights flash, we have been practicing overcoming fear

for years. i have a beer and touch my friend’s hand lightly

while looking at Life in the eyes. This girl is ukranian today i think,

yesterday she was from africa, and we all sit as a family leaning into one another to hear….and bricks are flying again next door, and people are writing the word hate

in every tongue, over and over on everything…demonic graffiti

and no one seems to know towards whom, she continues

“and we can’t talk between men and women, races or generations well now

and that must change, for we must know

 we cannot tear down enough buildings, or crash our way into eternity, to end this

we have to find that house not built with hands, and begin building there.”

and we come to know this, as war jets fly too low over this cafe just now

(and everyone glances inside themselves for a second-a safety check)

and rattles the cutlery at our table.

and, then a dog wanders in (A German shepherd who remembers all the wars)

and licks the child’s face next to me with the kindness of his world

mimicking whatever world he has learned to live in and from, as creatures still do.

But us, we make up their own versions now, our own realities

each with their own reality tv show of which they are the star.

but another film is being shown in the sky  tonight,

something older than us-

an ancient cinema made of stars, constellations telling clear stories still-

it appears there is an undisturbable narrative above us,

while we can’t figure our’s out. While, bodies are still falling like shrieking treble clefts in mid air

in some quickly forgotten chamber of our towering hearts where we should’ve turned long ago.

So today, i will love my neighbor, and catch the children when they fall

 like Holden Caulfield in “Catcher in the Rye”; and try to build the next story with gold and silver and sky, for our work will be revealed later through fire; the lines we added

will be tested into relief, made readable through grief;

and i will ask the boy next door how his scouting for butterflies is going today,

and join in on chasing a Monarch to the mexican fire point plants behind our barn;

and I will to write love on my forehead with pollen, until i know her better,

that is, until i can lay down my life for you inside myself-become a seed well planted..

and write other graffiti on the walls of my heart until it is an unstained harbor

of kindness towards all,

and until I can hear/ steer you better into healing. So, today i will garden well

and take another bucket of pecans to my neighbors

and end the day thanking them for picking up my mail last week.

And watch the squirrels do their tricky tight-wire work, and think of Philipe Petite,

walking between the towers before they fell….

and try to find the Day of the Lord within my day. For proactive love is

a subversive spirituality now.

 My wife asked me a great question yesterday: Where are the wailers-those called to openly grieve? And is there ritual room for them in this society? Not protestors but public lamentor’s like Jeremiah? To publically grieve is an act of service and healing (thinking of this today on Veteran’s day in this country).

The late priest Henri Nouwen said to mourn until you sense the kingdom is right at your fingertips.

 Thinking of the role of lamentation in healing people and societies. Isn’t it a sign of health when we openly mourn well together?! To mend divisions, we must wail well at certain times. “Humble ourselves together into the heart of God.”

 Reading the book of lamentations today. The book of lamentations is not a protest song, it is a song of grief. There is a time to protest, and a time to grieve. Lamentations, a poetic lament, was one of those moments when public grief was needed—that type which leads to repentance, and true change of heart. Lamentations is an expression of the heart of God.

 It has been said that the book of Ecclesiastes is a critic of what humanity looks like apart from God. But Lamentations is more how it feels for God the way it is. It expresses the heart of God. It is fellowship with His Suffering! Thinking today of the proper role of grieving in our lives and societies. Wailer may not be a great job title, and probably doesn’t pay well, yet, it’s needed now.

 “It’s easier to critique and protest, than to grieve, to dissect than to care for from the heart of God.” But that type of care, and willingness to wail with others, ends up having more authority to change things.

And Lamentations, interestingly, doesn’t lead to cynicism or bitterness, but into Hope. That’s where you want to head, and maybe good grieving is the path there. So, Wail on—howl-whoever is called to do so! We need it now globally.

The earth also is groaning (Romans 8:22-the basis of Christian ecology), perhaps we need some folks called forth to groan along! The global poetic grievers and sustainers are needed now, alongside the peace makers.

Where are those who are wailing? Prayer closets perhaps; but Jeremiah went public on his grief! He didn’t care what people thought about it either. Great question, anyway! Wail well, my friends!

Love’s call

to care about

Love’s call to be with

Love’s call to see and be effected by what we encounter;

that mutually transformational daily bodily dialogue we are in with one another!

Trash becoming compost becoming trees, we! Us all becoming tall in Silence.

That beautiful mutual becoming.

For love knows that people, when encountered properly, transform us.

Love’s call to care about how it is with everyone, not just us.

Love’ call to be con-joined, in confluence and caring, and becoming.

Love’s call is clear. A clarion Voice. Stellar and particular. A clearing in the forest. But do we have an open ear. Is the clamor too loud to bare.

Can we hear, love’s calling, that seeding sonance, in the midst of this cacophony, this clamor for attention; for

sometimes she whispers rather than yells, especially in trauma,

until that’s all we hear is the voice, the intonations of Love,

the cadences of being in the Beloved-the dearly loved us, eventually become.

And the sentimental words have to come alive again regardless.

And, we together, enter in again

to Love’s calling. The caress of her voice. The contouring of that voice.

Less a bird, than light, or, maybe, how the sea itself speaks at night, when no one is listening. That unheard silence.

Yet, when deaf, the volume actually goes down, until we tune it in again, and

 seek the inner tone of hearing. The ashes at the foot of fallen towers, or bullets still in the ground, both maybe echo. Or better yet, the whale’s song beneath us maybe (the ancient murmuring of lumbering souls), the healing

through groaning—what the earth is already doing, and what’s churning in us all

until we become the sons and daughters of God.

And we will to join in eventually-like a chorus of reluctant participants, for we are shocked by the melody of kindness, care, relentless graciousness towards us, despite ourselves.

Or falling leaves in winter snow (something as basic as the older seasons), turned to scripted paper with healing for nations. Something which crunches in silence, turning  to colors in mid air, declaring itself in humility. Or maybe a girl’s hand in sunset light, leaned particularly open, exposed, waiting to be held.

Or, somewhere hot steam is rising from rock on stone and bone and skin, and we are brother and sisters again—in starlight wonder, she speaks also like that—in sparkles and glisten, glimmer and our listening.

There are so many ways we can hear love.

Sometimes she whispers, sometimes she yells

for, the same Voice has many volumes but One Tone, applied everywhere.

The tone itself is Love, and we hunt for that tone in our hearts

and the hearts of one another—the good soil is where love is planted.

And I hear Love calling us all, constantly to come

home, be ourselves and bless be patient with one another as we become who we are meant to be and somehow already are in Love-

Love’s stars in perfectly set constellations of this Other Glory

Love’s poem keeps pronouncing itself through us.

And a love poem is the thing to be at the end.

From my journal today: a prayer for this nation! Just felt like sharing it….(got to process all this somehow; sorry it’s long, but, these are long times!)

Ugly days for this particular nation!

 First, Sorry everyone! Terrible days for America—sort of a slow motion horror film, this election. I’m not talking about who got elected (I don’t talk politics but with close friends), but rather the whole process.

Sorry too all my friends globally for visually and phychologically traumatizing you this year! We suck today, lack dignity, and I’m sorry, it’s our worst hour of confusion.   We forgot who we were. And this election process revealed our state of internal heart confusion. Welcome to our wounds. It turns out, we aren’t whole yet.

 Now you see them, and have a choice whether to love us or not. Sorry it came to this. And I apologize for my nation’s behavior. We have acted like teenage brats.

 And I often feel like a father who comes home and his kids are chaotic. He stops thinks about each one and what they need, after bringing them into Peace. That’s my orientation today. How to love people back into place, so we can at least think together (“Come let us reason together!”).

 But let me assure you, we have many good people-women men people of all colors- here still, and many great humble servant leaders as well. I know them. I talked to one of my african friends today, who said, watch out for fear, that’s what comes next.

 For some reason, as my friend said, “God is lowering the flag here for a bit.” She needs to heal. Her stripes are overextended. She needs to remember all her resources are to serve others. She needs humility again. Leaders get humbled so they learn to serve.

 And this could take time. She needs to be delivered from materialism, consumerism and racism and some other things, some of which were inherited sins and ways. This could take some time. Be patient.

 But also please pray for her, if you love her at all, or if she ever gave you something from her true heart of generosity, which she does still have. I know you must not like her now. But today, she is freaking out. So, on another note, the necessary healing…peacemakers and Jeremiah like prophets are being called into place.

 I’ve held three people in tears in my arms today. Those who are in a higher Peace, be praying. “In the world you will have increasing trouble, but I give you Peace (abundant Peace, which is the place to interpret from).” We know that God is bigger than politics and is into people. And there is a great opportunity before us to bless one another now. To move in kindness and love and tangible comfort.

 Today, we have near riots or very loud protest at the least, in our neighborhood, and people are very confused and beyond bewildered how this happened. It’s an identity crisis of course. So let’s find something True to ground our identities in. To recall core values is a decent starting point. Just as Europe was trying to do, when writing their new constitution, but didn’t quite get there either.

 In the meantime, we need healing. So pray for those who are trying to help people feel some comfort and peace today. Bless the peacemakers now, so they can bring Peace. It’s uglier than it looks even on the media. It’s a heart problem not a political one. Perhaps these elections just made that visible-our unhealed areas are now exposed. So what is your response, when someone’s wounds are finally out in the open? If your hopes were in America, you’re as lost as she is. Our hope has to have a higher gravity line than one nation, or one passing leader.

 Hard to watch a teenager nation struggle with sanity though. It’s not pretty. That’s how it’s felt today on the ground. Hard times, as promised. But “I give you My Peace.”

 So, if you pray, please do. This is not good art. But there are things to be learned from this, and discerned through it. And great potential for true formation and transformation, especially in His People. And the story isn’t over. The fat lady has not sung yet!!!

 And now, we have many more people who are more open to true healing and true spiritual grounding, and useful interpretation of the times. There is a great opportunity for those who want to serve and be bringers of peace reconciliation and healing, gentleness and kindness. Sometime a train has to crash to understand its destination. We just did.

 This is one way to wake up- a crash landing. A sudden heart explosion. A cacophony of being. A nightmare you can feel coming before you fall asleep. Not my favorite way to wake up but-sort of like waking up to the sound of bombs instead of birds. Yet, this could be what it takes to stir the conscience of a nation (which as MLK said, is meant to be her church; and if you are religious, please pray for her as well-for unity and ecumenism!) into Life!

  Well, so your wake up call has come, time to drink coffee and consider where you are, and what’s next, now time to roll up your sleeves, put on the clothes of service, and go help some people. Many are manic now even in your own streets. If you really love the human family, time to get down to the business of the heart.

Thankfully, America is not the Kingdom of God. The promised land turns out to be a bit higher! But it is made up still of humans, people in need like everywhere else. And today, for some reason, she needs more than usual.

  I was born here, so had to learn to love her. Many of her ways i don’t love, but I do love her herself. I do even in full view of her naked self. I love some other nations as much, and maybe more, but have never been willing to stop loving her once i saw who she really was, and was meant to be. Once you get a glimpse of a person’s (or nation’s) true identity, you never really stop loving them.

I suppose it is good when you see the overt weaknesses of someone you thought might be a hero. Then you have to think about trying to be heroic yourself (even daily). Or about the Source of heroism or true values.

 Thankfully our God is not a nation, but rather nations are meant to be under God. So hopefully this will lead to a sort of global discipleship, to the degree He allows America to still be some sort of example or fable, parable or tale-a symbol that is (for she is symbolic).

 Europe has been lost for some time in terms of identity (more of an amnesia), now America—perhaps that puts us in a useful insecurity, one which guides us to a higher “ground of Being” than ourselves and our gifts, technology and resources, “good looks and shiny teeth”, as one brother put it.. In the meantime, lots of people are hurting, confused and in need of healing here.

  Good time to move in the Spirit and ways of Christ!

 Fortunately, our identities are not grounded in our nation, but something higher. In fact, this election has revealed to what extent our security is grounded in externals rather than something spiritual.

 Still, once grounded we want to bless and serve the lands we are given, and to plant good seeds in good soil. So we will be searching for that good soil over these next years, where we can plant seeds of righteousness (morality) wisdom (counsel) and love. If you truly care, pray for this silly country until she shines again, and can harvest stars, and understand the stripes of suffering necessary to help one another.

 We need it. And thank you in advance.