It's All Part of the Adventure!

(continued from...)

Once I had said my goodbyes to Jan at the airport in Memingen, my motto became, “It’s all part of the adventure!” Not enough leg room on cheapo Ryan Air? “It’s part of the adventure!” A long, expensive cab ride to my first B&B? “It’s part of the adventure!” At home I live at points “A” and “B,” and “C” etc, and the transit times between them, I regard as annoying interludes to be kept as short, uneventful and expeditious as possible. In Ireland, I overruled this attitude, and allowed even these intervals to carry their own import and become a rich part of my experience. Have to get up at 4 am, take a cab to a bus to take me from Belfast to the airport in Dublin and then wait two hours? No worries, “It’s all part of the adventure!”

Hopefully, elaborating on my pledge will illuminate how I happened upon the most significant experience of my time in Ireland and stumbled upon the words that have haunted me ever since.

The full day of sessions held out at the School of Ecumenics was over, and the Re-Emergence conference was relocating to the Black Box downtown for an evening concert with Vince Anderson and then Foy Vance. I had started chatting with a delightful couple from Northern Ireland, and by the time we had come up for air, everyone else had gone to find something to eat. The Irish emergent couple had a date with their son, who was studying in Belfast, so they generously offered to drop me off near the Black Box. At first I was disappointed that I would be on my own until 8 pm, having enjoyed meeting and conversing with several other participants, but I decided that I would savor some time alone to have a good meal and reflect on the abundance of words I had already heard that day.

To this end I slipped into the Four Corners restaurant, one of the few which was not overcrowded with St. Patrick’s Day revelers, and was waiting to be seated after the two women who had come in just before me. Having been led to a table not far from theirs, I had hardly laid my little pink notebook on the table, when one of these women, who had obviously been celebrating St. Paddy’s herself, approached me with an invitation to join them and the two male companions who would be meeting them shortly. Taken aback, I scanned my brain for a tactful way to decline: maybe that “I needed to go over my notes from the day and was glad for some alone time, before I met up with others later in the evening.” Or that “I had the H1N1 virus, and would instantly self destruct, if I came into contact with drunk people, whom I’d never met before.”

But just as I was about to say all of that, my pledge intervened, “Lee, you’re in Ireland! It’s part of the adventure!. Do something you’ve never done before, and who knows, maybe something will happen that has never happened before.” It seemed apparent from her friends reaction, that inviting strangers in a restaurant to join her was something this well dressed woman, about ten years my senior with short but styled reddish brown hair and high heels, had never done before either. We were all quite surprised that I said yes, as was our waiter, who admitted, when we asked for a new and larger table for all of us together, that he had never had that happen before. The men that joined my host and her blond Finish sister-in-law were equally quizzical about my presence at the table, when they arrived a few minutes later.

Introductions were made, and you know, I can’t remember a single one of their names! So, I will call my intrepid, tipsy new Irish friend, Maggie, if for no other reason than I have grown to love that name and have been looking for “Maggie” ever since I’d gotten to Ireland. Maggie’s brother and a Scottish man, who was not her husband (silly me for asking) had also obviously been honoring St. Paddy that day. Of course they wanted to know what an American, living in Germany was doing in Belfast without her family. When I told them about the conference, and tried to explain what “The Emergent Church” was, Maggie had a vague idea of what I was talking about. She told me about growing up pentecostal, and that their parents were actually pastors. She also told me that unanswered pleas for divine intervention during a long, unsuccessful battle to save her marriage with an unfaithful husband had robbed her of her faith in a “happy-ending God.” But recently she had seen a speech by someone on tv about this “emerging way of faith,” which really caught her attention.

I couldn’t help myself, but had to ask them about the conflict. Had they been touched by it personally? Maggie’s brother jumped on that question, “You don’t want to hear about that do you? Do you really want to hear about my friend getting shot in his own home by an IRA dressed up as a Postman? No, you don’t want to hear about me standing shoe deep in his blood in the entrance of his home. Or about me going upstairs to fetch his father, who was shakin’ like leaf all over his body. You don’t want to hear about me laying him in my bed next to me, just to keep him warm and to get him to stop shaking. You don’t want to hear any of those stories. Of having to choose which bar you can go to by whether you’re catholic or Protestant.” I smiled, “No, at least we didn’t have that problem between our denominations in the states!”

How were things now? “Things are better now. For about the last ten years, with each year, things get better. Every year is better than the last.” Why do you think that is? What has helped to bring peace? I asked, wondering if he might mention grassroots efforts for reconciliation. Then Maggie’s brother looked at me with his clouded over, red eyes, making sure he had my full attention and said, “Imagine Al-Qaida, who have bombed and killed American citizens. Now imagine putting one of the head leaders of Al-Qaida in a top position of your government. That’s what we did. We put a terrorist in a top position of our government. That’s how we started to make it better.”

Seeing that I was drawing a total blank, Maggie took over, “We took one of the main leaders of the IRA and made him Minister of Education.” And after waiting for that to sink in, she added, “and you know what? He was the best damn Minister of Education we ever had!”

And though I don’t think I have grasped their full implication even now, these words have stalked me ever since that night. What Maggie and her brother tried to convey has only gained in significance, as I have sought to fill out my embarrassing lack of knowledge about The Troubles in Northern Ireland. Maggie’s brother was talking about the implementation of a power-sharing executive as part of the devolution of Britain’s control. Maggie, I believe, was referring to Martin McGuinness, who was a leading member of Sinn Fein and had been a noxious and seditious IRA thug, as the title of a biography about him might suggest, “From Guns to Government,” and who became Minister of Education in December 1999 and deputy First Minister on May 8, 2007. More amazing is that Ian Paisley, co-founder of the DUP, who called Pope John Paul II the Anti-Christ and who in 2006 said, "[Sinn Fein] are not fit to be in partnership with decent people. They are not fit to be in the government of Northern Ireland and it will be over our dead bodies if they ever get there," became the First Minister. The two of them represent the most extreme and aggressive positions on their respective sides of the conflict! On 8 December 2007, while they both were visiting President Bush in the White House, McGuinness said to the press "Up until the 26 March this year, Ian Paisley and I never had a conversation about anything – not even about the weather – and now we have worked very closely together over the last seven months and there's been no angry words between us. ... This shows we are set for a new course." Indeed, “Paisley and McGuinness subsequently established a good working relationship and were dubbed by the Northern Irish media as the "Chuckle Brothers."

When eight o’clock drew near, I excused myself, thanked them for inviting me to join in their lives for a couple of hours, and went to pay for my dinner, only to find that the two gentlemen had already taken care of the bill. I left the Four Corners Restaurant with a fond admiration for these strangers who had shared a meal with me, a deepening respect for the people of Northern Ireland, and in awe of the courageous steps they had taken to pursue peace. And I find myself still amazed at the mystery, as if it were the first time I had encountered it, that within the very souls that exert a horrifying propensity toward violence and destruction, it is also possible to find a divine potential to self-sacrifice for peace.

What better gift could I have asked for from the Irish? I must look no further for my Irish inheritance, Maggie’s mit-gift to her American descendants, something I can salvage from a family that has not survived the rough storms at sea. This is why it is so bloody good to be Irish! They have given me words; ancient words (Thomas Cahill, How the Irish Saved Civilization), written, spoken, recited words; words sung; words in a quiet, powerful, chance conversation; words that can challenge me, change me, and words that can guide me home. They have given us all a treasure of language, a language with which to embrace each other.

Ireland: Who Said That?

They are everywhere. All around me. Every where I go, restaurants, along the roads, airports, trains and train stations, stores, bathrooms, cafes, taxis, B&B and buses. And they are all English! Blessed, beautiful English. Blessed, beautiful English WORDS. (Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.) And the best ones have an Irish accent!!

I can’t help but notice that the Irish seem to celebrate their writers and give homage to the written word. Little rhymes or quotes from literature kept winking at me from unlikely places. Above the seats on trains, at train stations, on the doors to restaurants. Some made me wonder if Dr. Seuss was Irish: “The seats are not for feet.” Or “Going to the game? Take the train!” But mostly the quotes caught me off guard and were in places I didn’t expect with no apparent context. Wrapped around a kiosk in Drogehda I read:

“You’ll never see the man again, who sat across from you,

better to look away.”*

and in the train:

“There was really nothing else to say

it was an awkward silence

I read the back of someone’s paper

I stared out the window.*

At first I thought it was just in Dublin, to attract tourists to the Writers Museum (exhibits @ Jonathan Swift, Oscar Wilde, Yeats, and Brendan Behan), the James Joyce Museum or the birthplace of George Bernard Shaw. But even as I left Dublin, I kept noticing these little epigraphs. As if Ireland was calling out, “have you read the works of our sons yet?” Upon hearing that C.S. Lewis, who was Irish, has been one of the most significant authors to me personally, an endearing Irish couple, during one of the breaks at the conference in Belfast, emphatically recommended that I read the Irish poet John O’Donoghue (which I intend to do, once I’ve finished the ten other books I’m in the middle of!). There are many more Irish writers that will join that list.

The Re-Emergent conference afforded another onslaught of words:

From Phyllis Tickle, a living religious encyclopedia, who used no notes and whose words went from her brain, through her larynx, and gushed out of her mouth at a freakish speed, I heard more than just the live rendition of her book, The Great Emergence. Words to put things into perspective, place ourselves in history and paint the grand scheme of things. Some disturbing words, some mind-boggling ones:

“There are over 39,600 distinguishable denominations (not religions, but Christian denominations!).”

“We still have to answer the question, “What is a human being?”

“A big part of this new spirituality is happening in virtual space...with about 70 million people whose only religious experience is on the net in one of the 800 virtual churches.”

and bingo: “If you reduce God to a proposition that you can articulate, you just lost God!”

Samir Selmonovic’s words drew water, when he illustrated Miroslav Wolf’s stages of Embrace (Exclusion and Embrace) through a story of the exclusion and embrace from his own Muslim family, after his spiritual journey led him to follow Christ. That story can be found in his book, It’s Really All About God. Some of his words that stuck:

“When I left Islam to become a Jesus follower, I had many adjustments to make.. I started to become bitter, because the “Christians” made no adjustments from their culture to become Jesus followers.”

“The Emperor might be naked, but he has a very nice body...”

“Bible study is like a marriage: sometimes you are angry at the text, sometimes you don’t want to talk to it for a while, sometimes you make up again.”

Dave Tomlinson had an English accent when he said, “If you don’t have doubt, you don’t have faith; you have certainty and fundamentalism.”

Beki Bateson, who I’ve quoted the most since I’ve been back:

“The kingdom of God is where Faith, Art and Justice intersect.”

As Christ followers, we should be “creating just spaces.”

“How do we move from injustice to justice? Exactly where we stand!”

“Art can help people imagine an alternative future and inspire them to actively move toward it.”

Kester Brewen’s words would also make a good lecture for the tv series “Lost.”

“the world is exploding in strangeness and it is causing us stress!”

conflict is “the failure to properly engage the other...”

...”God is much stranger than that.”

“...penetrated by the marvelous....”

“You are not a gadget”

That evening at the Black Box, IKON wove words together around the theme of choice... recited homespun words, gave us words to say in unison:

“We have been caught between

one thing and another

We have had to choose

between sister doubt

and her uncertain brother.”

And then the words exploded with melody and rhythm and voltage, when first Vince Anderson and then Foy Vance took the stage. Foy Vance’s words were funny, melancholic, perceptive, personal and Irish. Being transported by his phenomenal music, they were often deeply affecting. By the end of his concert, he, like a pied piper, had corralled us all into the much smaller foyer singing these words over and over again as one big unpracticed choir,

“When I need to get home, you’re my guiding light, you’re my guiding light.”

The next day after the closing session and some time eating and conversing at Common Grounds cafe, I had the unexpected opportunity to hear words from the first and only female Justice on Britain’s supreme court, The Lady Hale of Richmond at the MacDermott lecture in the Great Hall at Queen’s University. Her words were about the pursuit of justice and the complexity of applying the law in discrimination cases.

“I’m here to talk about the neglected virtue: Equality.”

“At the current pace, it will take 75 years to close the gender pay gap.”

“...the Human Rights model is better than Anti-discrimination laws...”

As rich and delicious, moving and challenging, informative and thought provoking all of these words were, the words that left a truly indelible impression on me were spoken outside of the context of the Re-Emergent conference altogether. The words that, though I never wrote them down, keep grabbing my attention, purring their way into my stream of thought, like a cat who wants to be stroked, were spoken in what at first seemed to be a parenthetical adventure, a detour from the charted route. Words born out of a truly Irish experience, which I would like to tell you about in my next blog entry.

*(Can anyone tell me who the above quotes are from?)

Open Letter to Jonathan for His Confirmation

Dear Jonathan,

Because you didn’t want me to give a long sermon during the confirmation celebration, I had to leave out some of what has been stirring in me in regards to this momentous step you’ve taken, but I would like to share those thoughts with you none the less.

We just celebrated Easter exactly one week before you confirmed your baptism this past Sunday, so the timing for our theme verse is just perfect. After Jesus rose from the dead he appeared to the still disbelieving disciples, Mark 16:15 and told them, “Go into all the world and preach the Good News to all creation.” A lot could be said about the verses that follow this one, but actually, this one short verse captures well what my deepest longings for you are.

“Preach” is the very center of the verse- the verb, without it the whole sentence falls apart. I think for too long I was made to think that, “to Preach the Gospel (Good News) meant to tell people the 4 spiritual laws and get them to sign a religious document, and swear them into our “group.” But that is not what Jesus did when he was on earth. Some might think, that “preaching” is something that only pastors or youth pastors, or only men can do, but that is not true. I don’t think Jesus is talking about giving a well crafted monologue to a group of passive listeners. I believe if we follow Jesus’ example, then “preaching” means that our whole being becomes a message of life, liberation and creation. “Preaching” means choosing to become a Channel of God’s Shalom as we live dialectically in this beautiful but often gruesome world. And that is what I deeply long for your life to be, Jonathan: a channel of God’s, creative, nurturing, protecting and liberating power, which offers others an alternative to enmity, abandonment, greed and violence.

Much more than just an excuse to use the colors Mint and Chocolate-brown as a decorating theme (which was more fun than anyone can possibly imagine:-), the pillars of this verse couldn’t be more relevant or more necessary to our present day if they had first appeared in the news paper yesterday. “Into all the world.... to all creation.” This is very simple, but immensely profound: There are no boundary markers, which delineate that God’s love and goodness has gone far enough! (“if I go to the far side of the sea, even there your love will find me. Ps.). There are no borders that can deny God’s death defying power passage. No one, no country, no ethnic group, no religion and no race has any claim to a monopoly on either God’s alternative to enmity and death or to God’s benevolent nurture and protection from oppression. My deep longing for you Jonathan, is that to the extent that you experience freedom and nurture, forgiveness and grace that those things never end at your borders, never end at your comfort zone, but spill over to your family, your street, your neighborhood, your school, your city. That you not only bring God’s love across the border of your city to your country, but that you break through the boundaries of your culture and have eyes of compassion for the “other” that seems so foreign and distant. God’s love is even not limited to our species! The good news is for all of creation, for every living thing. We are intrinsically connected, not only to each other, but to all of creation. If one part suffers, we all suffer. So, my prayer for you, Jonathan, is that God’s offer to live free of condemnation, alienation and destitution never runs up against any constraints in your life, but instead finds a free passage “into all the world... and to all creation”, because no one should be excluded from the goodness of God.

Only one teeny-tiny word I still want to chew on!

“Go!”

Unfortunately, too much of the message last weekend was “stay!” “Find a comfortable niche in our church, serve here, stay with us!” Jesus does sometimes say stay... but always only for a short time, to pray, to wait for direction, marching orders. Here he is saying a very clear GO! The Good News is not a group we invite people to, but something we bring with us everywhere we Go! Jonathan, you chose this year to “confirm”, reaffirm your child baptism. Baptism is an initiation right, it marks an entrance into something. Not an entrance into faith, faith in Christ is what led to the decision to be baptised/confirmed. But it is also not an entrance into a “group”! Not the “group” LKG (our local church), not the group “Christians,” and certainly not the group with the “stars upon thars!”

You have been confirmed into a MOVEMENT not a club! A movement that is scheming and plotting creative and alternative ways of spreading God’s freeing, nurturing and protecting love to everyone and every living thing everywhere! It is not something that we do as a hobby in our spare time, on Sundays or one night a week at band practice. It is a mighty, rushing river, and once we have put our foot into it, it grabs us with its full force and takes us on a white water adventure that will never bring us back to the same river bank from where we started. There is no “in part.” God doesn’t just toss us His spare change as He is passing by. He identifies Himself in solidarity with all of humanity; He invites us into deep communion with himself; and He invites us to share in all of His wealth! Your baptism was with water from this rushing river, and symbolizes your entrance into a Movement of people who have chosen to channel and translate God’s solidarity, His offer of communion and His divine wealth through every aspect of their being toward the whole world and all of creation without exception!

So what about the subject of this sentence? Gospel: Good News? That is a question I want to leave you with. As you watch this presentation, as you later move through our world, ask yourself, “What is good news for this world?”

Most of the information in this video is taken from the book "Everything Must Change," by Brian Mclaren.

Music is from Ben Harper ; Ben Harper and Jack Johnson

pictures are mostly stolen off the net, but many are from our time in PNG

Redemption is A Pink Chair with a Floral Seat Cover.

I guess she was only doing the natural thing. How many times had she been in the car, when we stopped at a pile of junk in front of some building to look for something that seemed “interesting?” The three old wardrobes (two of which we have passed on to friends or family), tables, fold up chairs, old wood, stools and even picture frames are now a part of our home ensemble thanks to a habit both Jan and I have picked up from our parents: scavenging! Don’t anybody get grossed out, we don’t go through people’s garbage cans, just the bulky furniture and old “stuff” that people don’t want or need anymore. What in the states would probably be a sure sign someone had been evicted, is called “Sperrmüll” here in Germany. We clean out our basement about once a year, call the city’s waste management department and make an appointment for our stuff to be picked up. We then organize it into very tidy piles of metal, wood, and plastic the night before. The pile usually inspires the neighbors to do a bit of spring cleaning themselves, and so the pile grows (and then inevitably shrinks a little again) by morning.

One day this past spring, Christa, my then 7 year old, still 2nd grader, comes home to tell me that she passed by one of these piles on her way home from school. “There are some chairs.” I “should go check them out.” I guess I was really busy that afternoon, because I didn’t squeeze in even a few minutes for my compulsive hobby, wasn’t swept away by the usual fantasy flow, that maybe someone, unbeknownst to them, was throwing away a valuable retro-designer piece. Next afternoon my then 7 year old, still in 2nd grade, with a heavy school bag on her back, on an unusually warm day, comes home carrying one of these chairs!

If I had fallen in love with the chair, I would have rushed out and retrieved the other three, but I didn’t. Realizing what Christa had done, however, I knew that I was going to have to get creative with this chair. My little dumpstering daughter was just too adorable. Of course I took my time getting around to the project, so it wasn’t until months later, once we got back from our summer vacation in England and still had lots of good weather for working outside, that I got to work filling out the dents, sanding, spray painting, removing the nasty layers of fabric and then covering the seat with a fresh new, but retro floral fabric from Ikea. The neighbors were intrigued. I love the chair now, and regret that I didn’t go back to get the other three when I had the chance.

What took one sentence to describe, tho, took hours and hours to actually do. Our “new,” “free” chair wasn’t free at all. The swath of new fabric wasn’t costly, but the two cans of spray paint weren’t cheap, and if I would charge a decent hourly rate (a local charges 30€ an hour), few could afford to buy the chair for the amount I would feel obliged to write on a price tag. One could say, that a chair which had lost all of what value it might have once had for its original or previous owner, has become priceless to its new owner (me) primarily because of her own attitude and actions toward the afore mentioned furniture. This activity of making a renewed, creative and significant investment in an object, a system or a person, so as to reclaim its lost or inherent value, or uncover its possible/potential value is what I call Redemption. It is one of the most beautiful words in the English language, an immensely profound reality, a “deep magic” existing since even before the foundations of the world. Redemption is the ultimate joker; it’s the ace up a sleeve. I feel mischievous, almost cunning, when I have succeeded in turning something found on a garbage pile into something beautiful and functional, like I’ve circumvented some ubiquitous consumer principle; outwitted the odious constricting tentacles of decay, deterioration, and yes, even death itself.

The Redemption Reality offers us a way to view not only broken and unwanted things, but broken and unwanted people, broken relationships, dysfunctional systems and miserable circumstances. For a Redeemer, each is a challenge to be creative, make a significant and personal investment and cheekily break the rules of death and decay in order to make something beautiful and of immeasurable value. In this vein, beauty truly is in the eye of the Redeemer. I am immensely pleased that my daughter seems to already be infected with this kind of foresight.

Jonathan's Confirmation

April 19th we celebrated Jonathan’s confirmation (Lutheran version of Bar Mitzvah, without any of the really challenging parts!) with close friends and family from out of town. I’m posting this only now, because I waited for the photo’s from the “official” photographer, who is to thank for documenting the ceremony for the families. After the church ceremony, we celebrated with a lunch and afternoon tea in a newly renovated old school house, which has been converted to a neighborhood, multi generational community center. Among many other events/programs, they encourage the performing arts by hosting Sunday matinée concerts. Jan and I have performed one of our “story concerts” there several weeks ago, getting a positive review in our local paper. In addition to the great location for our party of about 40, we had the opportunity of engaging a catering service of which I have become a huge fan. I will write more about it in my next blog, because I am so impressed with it and with the man who started it. Fitting to our “into all the world,” international theme, we had a buffet with hot and cold dishes from a myriad of countries mostly in the southern hemisphere, the recipes of which stemmed from the home countries of the women who cooked them.

We kicked off the party with a champagne reception and game. Upon arrival everyone got a paper with a country and pertinent information about that country taped to their back. Then everyone had to ask yes or no questions to try and find out what country they had, asking no one person more than two questions. When everyone was let into the main dining hall, they found their table by looking for the one labeled with the continent of their country and got a “grab bag” of table mates. We also had a large, blank map posted to one wall, in which guests where asked to write in any and all of the countries they were able to name - we, as a group, filled in almost all of them- and then they could also use the post-it arrows to mark all the countries they had already been to or lived in. As you can see from the pictures, our World theme was carried thru the entire decoration as well.

Through the afternoon, however, Jonathan was the center of attention, and not only was he (and we even more so) overwhelmed with an abundance of very generous gifts, but he was also the subject of a fun quiz show, was serenaded by little Alex singing, “He’s got the whole world in His hands,” and was featured in a back drop of a running slide presentation with accompanying background music. Also his very creative God-parents, who are long time friends and have been very engaged in both Jonathan’s and Charis’ lives since their baptism, staged a couple of gigs. Stephen performed a song on guitar, and Hella peddled a sundry of costume hats and accessories for guests to choose from for their big photo debut behind a large antique frame, thus giving Jonathan a comical documentation of every guest.

Below are pictures of the day, and HERE is an open letter from me to Jonathan and a presentation (here the extended english version) which was shown as the climax of our theme that afternoon.

We are very thankful for the presence and participation of all of our friends and family at this celebration, and are even more touched and grateful for the involvement of so many in the lives of our children! We are truly blessed.

Good Friday

The streets are crowded with pointed fingers,

open windows, scornful sneers

self-righteousness breathing past every

curtain sheer

Heads tossed back, noses high, 

lips are tightly curled and wry

Eyes are squinted, scornful, wild,

darting, dancing like a lusty fire

Under shade of shadow, 

dark and night

my heart is pounding, racing, aching, 

slipping hastily out of sight

Endless are the alleys- cursed this

wretched winding maze

No safe place for me – no where to 

escape their dreadful, daunting gaze

Down and down,

 swept out through the city gates

by their stinging jeers, “how dare you

stain our Holy place.”

One against a vast universe

One in an endless void

One roaming in a haunted silence

thoughts scoring a reckless noise

One tired of straining, reaching out 

for something to hold

awkwardly stumbling through this

blackened cold

Ascending rough and jagged 

steep incline

Hope for friendly years long poured out

like bitter wine

Shameful memories taunt,

painful pictures flash

as knees against these craggy rocks 

are dashed

The climb is over as the ruthless sun

begins its rule

breathless I stare at the city 

set and shimmering like a jewel

How fair and admirable you seem

taken at a far off glance

With veil of masked perfection, silence, and 

denial, you weave a master dance

But underneath the lying silken cover

lurks controlling, condemning an 

unappeasable, moody lover

How I strived to curt you, 

paying much too dear a cost

I played my hand at your game 

but like a fool have lost

And now from limb and geist 

Have gone the fight

And fitful, tardy sleep relieves 

this early hour of its deceitful sight

All at once my every sinew, 

muscle bound

wrenched from rest by a 

nightmarish sound 

The sharp and blood-thirsty cracking 

of a whip

mean and menacing shouts 

from a battery of mocking lips

fueled to a frenzy by their 

righteous cause

slandering the heretic

for breaking their laws

Fear fraught and horror stricken

I lie low and frozen to the ground

Panic struck and heart sickened

to have so soon been found

Cringing, shrinking, wishing every past wrong 

would disappear

all the while the shouting mob

draws near

Knowing all is lost

I hold my breath and wait

for the scourging blow

the culmination of their hate

❈

But what is this?

One man alone so bold

stands with outstretched arms

to bid this band of fury hold?

And what such a man is he?

My wet and wishful eyes can barely see

this foolish act which may 

yet set me free

Beyond belief he stands exposed

and stays an army in its path

Suspending comprehension,

he remains composed 

as he consumes their awful wrath

Bruised and battered his skin in tatters

and soaked in blood red

Taunted and tired his honor mired

 a cruel and caustic crown upon his head

Solemn and sober he endures

their morbid glee

Sovereign and serene as they 

nail him to a tree

 Such noble assembly

does not stop to rest

they hurl their insults and abuse

they jeer and jest

hang a wooden sign 

as a last assault

 King of The Jews

they credit to his  fault

But naked outstretched limbs

withstand the fury of disgrace

and low and tortured whisper

   commands his final case. 

Arms open wide

 invite an enemy’s embrace

as stolen breath

 requites this ignorant, lynching mob

 with amazing grace,

Winding back up through 

the city’s malevolent maze

I will never forget the tears,

 the blood, his benevolent gaze

Love has subdued hate, 

subverted violence, swallowed shame

and needing no one’s permission

I am free to do the same