If I could do one revolutionary act today
... I'd listen
If I could do one revolutionary act today
... I'd give my possessions and my friendship
If I could do one revolutionary act today
... I would mind the gap between household and nation
If I could do one revolutionary act today
... I'd give my lovingkindness one more time to 'the undeserving'
If I could do one revolutionary act today
... I would love those who love me
... I would love those who don't love me well
... I would love those who don't love me at all
If I could do one revolutionary act today
... I would close my lips to argument
If I could do one revolutionary act today
... I would give my lunch to one waiting on a paycheck
If I could do one revolutionary act today
... I would work an extra shift so someone could travel the world
If I could do one revolutionary act today
... I'd give my patience to that one annoying person
If I could do one revolutionary act today
... I would encourage those who encourage
If I could do one revolutionary act today
... I would ask my neighbor 'how are you eating?'
If I were the revolution today
... I would be the peace meal of a slain people, shared between the survivors and the killers in places like Rwanda, in Israel/Palestine and in the Americas
If I were the revolution today
... I would be the extended hand, no matter how different.
If I were the revolution today
... hanging in bedrooms of palaces and white houses of power I'd be the dreamcatcher retelling the nightmares of suffering in labor camps, sweatshops, prisons, deserted places of empire and the ghettos of wealth
If I were the revolution today
... I'd be the change of mind in the deathdealer to give living a second try
If I were the revolution today
... I'd be the renovated structure of sex trafficking and drug peddling turned organism of food gardens and no cost housing where 'the haves' and 'the have nots' find a common rhythm to live by
If I were the revolution today
... I'd be the pulse of the doctor who practices medicine among those who will never be able to pay the bill
If I were the revolution today
... I'd be the better world maker's thoughts spray painted in the sky so empires won't crush their heart with a dream no one can afford
Today
... someone will forgive regardless of the wrongdoing
... someone will leave a soon to be dead life behind for a resurrected now
... an unwanted child will be taken from the trashlands and raised to birth love
... a peacemaker will leave a fresh change of heart for an angry mob to clothe their nakedness with
... someone will lay down the way of the gun for the fruits of the Spirit
... a household will harbor refugees
... a family will have enough food to share with their hungry neighbor
... an addict will be released from their chains
... someone will throw a birthday party for a prostitute
... prisoners will bless a cruel guard
... someone will sing jubilee calling for another world in the face of the emperor's sickle
... an aged and dying person will be cared for and instilled with dignity until their last exhale
... a hopeless leader will see a way of peace and hope thriving in the lives of obscure and weak people
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
narrative story out of Psalm 126
* WHEN THE LORD BROUGHT BACK THE CAPTIVE ONES TO ZION, WE WERE LIKE THOSE WHO DREAM
Unable to sleep, wild-eyed with visions of earth-turning possibilities. We saw the Messiah speaking marvelous things from the mountainside, of a kingdom enchanting us to love our enemy and beat our swords into plowshears to feed the hungry at our tables. Next, we saw our very hands hoisting a cross up, our deliverer fastened by nails, and I couldn’t understand. Then he rose to life. Surely, now we know, there is something worth dying for and nothing worth killing for. Sights so strange and illuminating, they drifted on the edge of absurdity. Silence only made us giddy.
* THEN OUR MOUTH WAS FILLED WITH LAUGHTER AND OUR TONGUE WITH JOYFUL SHOUTING.
All along the road home from exile and in our great city’s streets, people would stand and stare, as if we were walking through the red sea again. From every crowd someone would raise their voice exclaiming
* THE LORD HAS DONE GREAT THINGS FOR THEM.
It became so common, we would simply shout back,
* THE LORD HAS DONE GREAT THINGS FOR US, WE ARE GLAD.
At which point we would turn to each other and smile knowingly.
Time slowly lurched forward. The elation slipped from my brow and nightfall found me with handfuls of salty tears, as I thought about my nation, my city, my own village. So filled with ego, inflated with an unquenchable rumbling for more and eyes forever flitting toward shame. My Creator, my God of cosmic impossibilities, You have been reduced to a trinket in our surplus gift shop. One phrase loops inside me.
* RESTORE OUR CAPTIVITY, O LORD. RESTORE OUR CAPTIVITY. RESTORE OUR CAPTIVITY, LIKE STREAM BEDS.
Turn the ever-changing wilderness of our moody heart into inhabitable dwelling places.
This is the legacy of my Ancestors. This is the story my father spoke of to me. And as I look out my window, momentarily lost in the blue white canopy, I recall all that the Lord has done for me and where he has brought me from. When I look out over this time called America, not much has changed behind the wizard’s curtain of the twenty-first century, with it’s cars and technological advancements. I see the pride, the wanting of it all, the scandal of my father’s ancient city. Aggressive and judgmental I want to say ‘Wake me when I’m free, I cannot bear captivity.’ Then a tear catches my eye as I hear my mother say, as if the very words were ringing in my ears,
* THOSE WHO SOW IN TEARS WILL REAP WITH JOYFUL SHOUTING.
And she would hand me a bag of seed and add, ‘Today…small things with great love.’
My days in the field and the sweat spent toiling with rows and rows of dirt are now concrete and people with their own plot. So I tell the children on my block,
* HE WHO COMES AND GOES WEEPING, CARRYING HIS BAG OF SEED WILL COME AGAIN WITH A SHOUT OF JOY, BRINGING HIS BUNDLES WITH HIM.
Now every morning before I go out I cram every pocket I can find and stuff my mouth with mustard seeds. Another world is possible. It whispers to us. Love is more powerful than hatred. Violence can be mirrored without imitation. There is enough for everyone’s need but not everyone’s greed. The struggle is a gentle revolution that dances on the laughter of children. Delicate dreamers, of such pure nonsense, that the good news of one man could actually erase the entire shoreline of humanity’s bad news.
Unable to sleep, wild-eyed with visions of earth-turning possibilities. We saw the Messiah speaking marvelous things from the mountainside, of a kingdom enchanting us to love our enemy and beat our swords into plowshears to feed the hungry at our tables. Next, we saw our very hands hoisting a cross up, our deliverer fastened by nails, and I couldn’t understand. Then he rose to life. Surely, now we know, there is something worth dying for and nothing worth killing for. Sights so strange and illuminating, they drifted on the edge of absurdity. Silence only made us giddy.
* THEN OUR MOUTH WAS FILLED WITH LAUGHTER AND OUR TONGUE WITH JOYFUL SHOUTING.
All along the road home from exile and in our great city’s streets, people would stand and stare, as if we were walking through the red sea again. From every crowd someone would raise their voice exclaiming
* THE LORD HAS DONE GREAT THINGS FOR THEM.
It became so common, we would simply shout back,
* THE LORD HAS DONE GREAT THINGS FOR US, WE ARE GLAD.
At which point we would turn to each other and smile knowingly.
Time slowly lurched forward. The elation slipped from my brow and nightfall found me with handfuls of salty tears, as I thought about my nation, my city, my own village. So filled with ego, inflated with an unquenchable rumbling for more and eyes forever flitting toward shame. My Creator, my God of cosmic impossibilities, You have been reduced to a trinket in our surplus gift shop. One phrase loops inside me.
* RESTORE OUR CAPTIVITY, O LORD. RESTORE OUR CAPTIVITY. RESTORE OUR CAPTIVITY, LIKE STREAM BEDS.
Turn the ever-changing wilderness of our moody heart into inhabitable dwelling places.
This is the legacy of my Ancestors. This is the story my father spoke of to me. And as I look out my window, momentarily lost in the blue white canopy, I recall all that the Lord has done for me and where he has brought me from. When I look out over this time called America, not much has changed behind the wizard’s curtain of the twenty-first century, with it’s cars and technological advancements. I see the pride, the wanting of it all, the scandal of my father’s ancient city. Aggressive and judgmental I want to say ‘Wake me when I’m free, I cannot bear captivity.’ Then a tear catches my eye as I hear my mother say, as if the very words were ringing in my ears,
* THOSE WHO SOW IN TEARS WILL REAP WITH JOYFUL SHOUTING.
And she would hand me a bag of seed and add, ‘Today…small things with great love.’
My days in the field and the sweat spent toiling with rows and rows of dirt are now concrete and people with their own plot. So I tell the children on my block,
* HE WHO COMES AND GOES WEEPING, CARRYING HIS BAG OF SEED WILL COME AGAIN WITH A SHOUT OF JOY, BRINGING HIS BUNDLES WITH HIM.
Now every morning before I go out I cram every pocket I can find and stuff my mouth with mustard seeds. Another world is possible. It whispers to us. Love is more powerful than hatred. Violence can be mirrored without imitation. There is enough for everyone’s need but not everyone’s greed. The struggle is a gentle revolution that dances on the laughter of children. Delicate dreamers, of such pure nonsense, that the good news of one man could actually erase the entire shoreline of humanity’s bad news.
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