The clouds aren’t usually this quiet.
They’re trying to sneak by unnoticed.
No definition. Looking a little pale,
they scrape the tree-line like a hangover.
The cool night chained them to the low places
and now they slip away into the light of day.
With their dissipation I am thinned,
the heaviness of dark lifted,
shadows spilling as a remembrance.
Forgiveness as the dew,
mercy as the burning thereof,
and grace its antecedent.
Let’s just skip the stones
and get dirty.
Mud pies in the face.
Bear disgrace.
Fall into place.
Wallow and weep
into each other’s eyes.
The river’s a half-peck
away from your cheek.
We’re weak,
let’s cinder sneak.
We know who we are
from where we were,
and now is now.
The Oh, Honestly
parts of us wait
in the rain,
the ripples
kissing each other
with grace.
No writing on the wall,
but a finger in the soil,
words scribbled.
Their fingers pointed,
stones in hand,
at the dirty woman.
“Faultless ones,
start throwing,
pitch your fit.”
The finger scribe carved
words in the sand,
and the thuds began.
As they lost their grip
and walked away
a woman stood
as Jesus stooped.
“Where’d they go?”
“To wash their hands.”
“Probably so.
Go wash up too
and sin no more.
I’ll gather the stones.”
Look what the locusts have eaten
with their bellies distended and all.
I pray for anorexia nervosa
on the whole lot of them.
May their regiments
hold fast to a fast.
May they retreat from treats.
May their locus lose its control.
Lord, command them to cease and
desist as I turn to You.
Amen.
The trickle of unconsciousness
filled the tin cup
I dragged along the bars.
I couldn’t handle the glass half empty
of hope and a future.
I drank and drank to quench
the mystery of the largess of God.
Instead, God salted the water
and assaulted my soul
with an eternal thirst.
He held out his hand
and I set the dented tin
over the scar imbedded
in His lifeline.
He looked in my eyes,
right through and down
into my arid heart.
“Here, take, drink of this cup
In remembrance of Me.”
The chalice, cool in my grasp,
brimmed with blood red wine.
I sipped and sipped
of God’s consciousness.
“…you have kept the good wine until now.” John 2:10
In the field
among varied grasses
she waltzed with her palms
brushing the buds bowed in prayer.
The late summer wild flowers
dipped in heated color.
Indian paint brushes
dabbed the sky
on the edges
of towering cumulus.
She lay
down
in embroidery.
They neither toiled
nor spun
around the edges
of her skin.
Sleep planted innocence
once again
and dreams fell on her
like a steady rain.
Beauty forgave
and golden hair
brushed by the breezes
painted the bottomless sky.
What if each day was a first down
and each conversation a well executed play?
What if forgiveness was called up
like a third string quarterback
and offences were pigskins
with strings attached?
What if what we said
we didn’t mean it,
and if we said we didn’t mean it
everything would be as it was
in the beginning.
No flags thrown.
There would be no riding the pine,
sitting like a judge on the bench.
There would be plays
and grass would be uprooted
and sweat would mix with the dirt.
Spittle would be placed over the speck
in our eyes and we would no longer walk the plank.
What if we were on the same team again
and offense wouldn’t be against each other
and our only defense would be ours, together?
The plays called again from the sideline
and we huddle-up, arms over shoulders.
We are in the back yard lines
set on scrimmage like boys with grass stains
and SpaghettiOs and hot dogs would
sit warm in our super bowls.
Ecclesiastes 4:12 reads
“By yourself you’re unprotected. With a friend you can face the worst. Can you round up a third? A three-stranded rope isn’t easily snapped.” The Message
Huddled, they hold spring in
the bending.
A strength they give without giving way.
Lake effects of layered white
perch over and again.
The weight of the world, speechless,
rests on winter green.
The equinox of forgiving
will send its mercy and grace
and warm the bitter branches.
Snow will cry again
into the soiled.
Not only circumference
but an orb
of circumstantial evidence.
What keeps us from flinging
into thin air, breathless
to the pin drop darkness?
Every spinning and expanding
island riding on predestination.
What keeps us from bringing
a thin air of presumption?
What great expanse of reason
finds its edge, its end?
Thought rides tides to the Temple.
And Jesus writes in the dirt with his finger.
John 8:1-12John 1:5
“You can lie to a building; you cannot lie to a person with impunity.” Ravi Zacharias
“Alone, we cannot face ‘the mystery of iniquity’ with impunity. Only Christ can overcome the powers of evil. Only in and through him can we survive the trials of our solitude.” Henry Nouwen
These quotes were read the same day from two different books. The word ‘impunity’ stuck out because I have never read the word impunity before. I did not know what it meant. I keyed it into my Word program, highlighted it, and looked it up.
Impunity: Exemption from punishment, harm, or recrimination.
Recrimination: An accusation made against somebody who has brought a previous accusation.
I have read or heard, however, the word impudence before. Must likely I heard it in a movie, set in an 1800’s time-frame in England. The word impunity isn’t heard in conversations with the local present day crowd, unless one is a lawyer or a judge or something of that nature. Yet the concept of impunity is woven throughout our culture and beyond.
Really, who wouldn’t want to claim impudence? Honestly, when I make a bad decision, either premeditated or thoughtless, my wish is to not suffer any consequences. I drift toward impunity. Who wouldn’t?
My wife and I have a houseful of children. I wonder if some of them took a seminar on how to garner impunity. They are experts at turning on tears, deflecting, finger pointing, changing the conversation, and I get ‘played’ quite often. But Barbara, my wife and in-house prosecutor is well read. Crime And Punishment you will find tucked nicely under her pillow. She, bless her, has had a ‘head-tilt arms-on-hips’ response for me when I try my ‘lawyer’ on with the children. All she has to say is ‘Gerald!’ and I know I missed it again. She then steps in and I listen and learn as she prosecutes and doles out the sentence. She doesn’t flinch when they say sympathetically “I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean kick him in the shins.” I am sure any mother reading this is nodding in agreement and the fathers are grunting and scratching their scalps.
I have been meditating on a passage of scripture in which a woman was brought to Jesus. She was accused of adultery, caught in the very act, and the religious high-brows brought her to trap Jesus. Read it in the beginning of chapter eight of the gospel of John. If there was anyone who had the authority to grant impunity it was Jesus, especially because no recriminations could be tossed his way. Impunity was granted to all in the scene. The woman and the high-brows walked away impudent.
Thanks for listening as I wrap my brain around a newly learned word.
Bonus phrase for parents: “Be careful not to point a finger at others, because three are pointing back at you.” My Wife (An oft used phrase she learned as a child.)
Challenge: Try to use the word impunity or impudence in a sentence today.
Gerald the Writer 