#spiritualreflection — Public Fediverse posts

Strike

The phobia of a copperhead strike
is made real by the lunge of a
lawnmower into the brush to shred
the coiling orange and brown with
a screaming whump only to realize
that it was an eastern box turtle
I had set upon.

Once again what I am afraid of 
has led me to destroy what I love 
and I weep, wondering if I will ever 
become one whose perceived fears 
are not acted on.

I did not look to see if the 
slowmover was dead
but I knew. I could see the 
bloody pieces of her
shell scattered across
the lawn.

September 3, 1996

#1996 #accidentalHarm #backyardEncounter #boxTurtle #compassion #confessionalWriting #copperheadFear #CreationCare #creaturelyGrief #destroyingWhatWeLove #ecologicalGrief #Fear #fearAndViolence #fearBasedAction #griefAndRemorse #HereAreWordPressTagsForThisPieceEasternBoxTurtle #humanFear #lawnmowerTragedy #moralReflection #Nature #NatureWriting #Nonviolence #orangeAndBrown #perceivedDanger #phobia #poem #POETICAORAREContemplativePoetryPrayers #Poetry #ProsePoem #Repentance #sacredCreatures #shell #SLOWMOVERFollowingGod3mph #Slowmover #Sorrow #SpiritualReflection #thoughts #turtle #turtleShell #unintendedViolence #Violence #vulnerableCreatures #whatIAmAfraidOf #whatILove #wildlife #Writing

Glitch

aeropuerta by kmls

flights are grounded
my wings are clipped
i need to wait a little
longer to start this trip

my future connection
could be in jeopardy
it might be a while
before we're set free

the whims of the divine
are all part of the plan
my life's trajectory is
not in my hands

so i will wait patiently
for the Control Tower's nod
and match my flight to the wind of an all-knowing God

August 15, 2015

#clippedWings #ContemplativePoetry #controlTower #delayedJourney #discernment #divineTiming #Faith #flightMetaphor #Flying #futureUncertainty #God #GodSPlan #grounded #Hope #Journey #lifeTrajectory #Obedience #Patience #pilgrimage #POETICAORAREContemplativePoetryPrayers #Prayer #Providence #SpiritualJourney #SpiritualReflection #surrender #Travel #Trust #TrustGod #trustingTheProcess #Waiting #windOfGod #Writing

The early morning is still dark when my hound and I arrive at the dog park. Almost immediately, there is a flash of white, and suddenly chaos ensues.

A cat is trapped inside the smaller of the two fenced-in areas. Even though a chain-link fence separates the two, both animals instantly go into a frenzy. My hound begins howling, while the terrified cat races back and forth, careening into the fence as it desperately searches for a way out.

I try to help it escape, all to the loud dismay of my hound, but the cat is too frightened to understand what I am doing. After crashing into the fence several times, it finally collapses low into the grass and simply lies there. I keep my distance, unsure whether it may be injured or sick.

Eventually, I leave the gates open and manage to pull my thoroughly over-hyped hunter away from the scene, fighting against everything years of breeding and evolution have taught her to do.

It takes most of the morning at home—and then a return trip to the now-empty dog park, where she follows one scent trail after another—before she finally begins to calm down.

Needless to say, it was not the most ideal way to start my day.

I, too, needed some time before I could let the chaos of the morning fade away.

And perhaps that was the first lesson.

There are some things that are better left alone.

That sounds simple enough, but I am not especially good at it. Neither, apparently, is my hound.

Once she caught the scent, something ancient took over. The world became very small. There was no longer a dog park, no morning, no leash, no person calling her name. There was only the cat.

I wonder how often I live that way.

Something catches my attention—a problem, a slight, a fear, an argument, a worry, some unfinished thing—and suddenly the whole world narrows around it. I circle it. I howl at it. I follow its scent long after the thing itself has disappeared.

There are habits in us that are older than our intentions.

The hound was not making a philosophical decision to terrorize a cat. She was doing what generations of hounds had prepared her to do. Her body knew before her mind could know.

Human beings are not so different.

We carry instincts of our own: to defend ourselves, to retaliate, to prove ourselves right, to pursue what frightens us, to hold tightly to what we think belongs to us. Sometimes we call these things personality. Sometimes, principle. Sometimes even righteousness.

But occasionally, they are simply old instincts running loose.

The spiritual life may involve learning that not everything within us deserves obedience.

Paul wrote about taking thoughts captive. Jesus spoke repeatedly of watching, waking, remaining alert. Perhaps part of discipleship is noticing the moment when something inside us begins to run.

There is a hound within me, too.

There are things I chase simply because they moved.

There are arguments that do not need another reply. There are offenses that do not need another inspection. There are anxieties whose scent I follow until I have wandered miles from peace.

Sometimes, faithfulness means pursuit.

Sometimes, faithfulness means calling the hound home.

But there was another creature in the story.

The cat.

The more frightened it became, the harder it tried to escape. And the harder it tried to escape, the more violently it crashed into the fence.

There was probably an opening somewhere. I had opened gates. I was trying to make a way.

But fear could not see the opening.

Fear only saw the threat.

So the cat ran harder.

I know something about that, too.

There are moments when I become frightened enough that I begin throwing myself against whatever boundary happens to be nearest. I want out of the discomfort immediately. I want the problem solved now. I want certainty restored.

And sometimes, in trying so desperately to escape, I hurt myself against the very thing I am trying to get through.

The Psalmist says, “Be still, and know that I am God.”

We often print those words on peaceful photographs of mountains and lakes.

But perhaps they belong just as much at a chain-link fence.

Be still.

Not because there is no danger.

Not because everything is fine.

But because panic is not always capable of recognizing an opening.

There are times when running is necessary.

And there are times when running harder only drives us deeper into the fence.

Eventually, the cat did something remarkable.

It stopped.

It lowered itself into the grass and became almost completely still.

At first, I thought it might be injured. Perhaps it was.

But there was also something strangely wise about that surrender. When every frantic attempt had failed, the animal finally quit fighting the entire world.

Sometimes, this is where grace begins.

Not when we finally overpower the situation.

But when we stop exhausting ourselves against it.

“Come to me,” Jesus says, “all you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens.”

Not: figure everything out.

Not: run faster.

Not: break the fence.

Come.

Rest.

There is perhaps a third lesson as well, and it concerns my own place in the drama.

I could not make either animal understand what I was trying to do.

The cat could not understand that I was trying to help it.

The hound could not understand why I was preventing her from doing the one thing that seemed most important in the universe.

From their perspectives, I was probably interfering with both of them.

Yet I could see something, neither could you see.

I could see the whole enclosure.

I could see the gates.

I could see the fence.

I could see the danger.

I could see the way out.

That thought has stayed with me.

Perhaps there are moments when God seems strangely obstructive because God sees the whole enclosure.

We pull toward something, and the leash tightens.

We run toward an opening and somehow find ourselves redirected.

We pray for one thing and receive another.

From inside our frightened or excited little worlds, divine restraint can feel like abandonment or interference.

But perhaps the One holding us back can see something we cannot.

The old prayer says,

Your will be done.

There are days when that prayer may simply mean:

God, if I am chasing something I should leave alone, pull me back.

If I am panicking against a fence, help me become still enough to see the gate.

And if I cannot understand what you are doing, help me trust that you see more of the field than I do.

By the time my hound and I returned to the dog park later that morning, the cat was gone.

Only the scent remained.

Naturally, the hound investigated every inch of it.

She ran from fence to fence, nose down, reconstructing the entire drama from invisible traces.

Eventually even those grew faint.

Her breathing slowed.

Her body loosened.

The morning became a morning again.

Perhaps that is grace too.

The thing that once filled the entire world eventually becomes only a scent in the grass.

The crisis passes.

The fear fades.

The instinct quiets.

What seemed moments earlier to demand every ounce of our attention becomes simply one more thing that happened.

And somewhere between the hound and the cat I recognize myself.

Sometimes I am the pursuer.

Sometimes I am the pursued.

Sometimes I chase things better left alone.

Sometimes I run terrified into fences that cannot possibly become doors.

The difficult wisdom is learning which is which.

Perhaps this is why the spiritual life requires so much attention.

To know when to pursue.

To know when to stop.

To know when to run.

To know when to lie quietly in the grass.

To know when the leash pulling against us is not punishment but mercy.

And above all, to remember that somewhere beyond the frenzy there may already be an open gate we are simply too frightened—or too excited—to see.

Prayer

God of the open gate,

When I chase what I should release, call me home.

When old instincts rise in me—fear, anger, pride, the need to be right—teach me that not every impulse deserves obedience.

When I am frightened and cannot see a way forward, keep me from throwing myself again and again against the same fence. Slow my breathing. Quiet my spirit. Help me become still enough to notice the opening I could not see before.

Give me wisdom to know when to pursue and when to stop, when to act and when to wait, when to hold on and when to let go.

And when your restraint feels like a leash pulling against everything I want, give me enough trust to believe that you may see more of the field than I do.

Make me gentle with frightened creatures, including the frightened places within myself.

Let the things that consume me today become, in time, only a fading scent in the grass.

And when chaos narrows my world, remind me that beyond the fence there is still a morning, still a horizon, still grace, and perhaps an open gate I have not yet learned to see.

Amen.

#Anxiety #beStillAndKnow #cat #ChristianReflection #Discipleship #divineGuidance #dogPark #Fear #FindingPeace #Grace #hound #instinct #lessonsFromAnimals #LettingGo #Mercy #openGate #Prayer #spiritualLessons #SpiritualReflection #TrustInGod

The Problem of False Preacher Teacher Clerical Ministering Within Modern Day Churches

*

The Problem of False Preacher Teacher Clerical Ministering Within Modern Day Churches

The table of the Lord is Holy.

The food we receive must come from the Priest-King Himself—pure, undefiled, and flowing from the Holiest of All.

Yet in our time, that table has been defiled.

The church has become a place where food offered to idols is served. These idols are not of wood and stone but of political causes, cultural trends, social programmes, and false moral appearances. They are the idols of the age, and they have been brought into the sanctuary.

The Social Gospel, with all its political causes and cultural trends, is such an idol.

It sounds compassionate to the natural ear, but it sacrifices the true Gospel on the altar of this world. It offers earthly reform where the Priest-King Jesus Christ offers heavenly reconciliation.

It speaks of systems and power where He speaks of the cross and the throne of grace. It rearranges deck chairs on a sinking ship. It offers programs where it should offer presence. It offers politics where it should offer peace. It offers activism where it should offer adoration.

This is not the Gospel. It is a counterfeit—a substitute that speaks of earthly kingdoms while ignoring the heavenly. It is food wrapped in pretty paper, but inside is rotting meat. It is a deception, a snare, and a trap.

Congregations that consume this food are not being heart-fed; they are being mind-fed. Their souls are starved while their minds are filled with the philosophies of men. Those who serve this food as if it were the Gospel are not acting as faithful shepherds of the flock; they are leading souls away from the true pasture.

We make it very clear, we do not seek merely to promote our own theology within COFE-CYEM by pointing the finger at (any) other theologies, denominations or faiths. COFE-CYEM itself makes many claims around our theology, our belief system and our faith.

We do not expect or ask everybody to just blindly believe our way of seeing and believing. All we seek is to call attention to the issue of the church and faith itself being used as a Trojan Horse for (worldly) purposes in order to further the interests of man and not God Himself.

We implore our followers respectfully – if you ever feel, suspect or see anything whatsoever within our own theology or posts here on COFE-CYEM that you believe is pushing (worldly) purposes or schemes, then please call us out and expose us.

We are no different or more righteous than any other brother or sister in Christ. But if we were to be found (using) the true Gospel as a Trojan Horse to push a false Gospel for our own purposes – then we are truly lost indeed.

The Nature of the Deception

The danger arises whenever social action, political programmes, or cultural causes become substitutes for the proclamation of Christ crucified and risen, rather than fruits flowing from communion with Him.

The New Testament consistently presents love for neighbour and care for the poor as genuine expressions of faith, not as alternatives to it.

The error is not in caring for the needy or seeking justice. The error is in presenting such activities as the Gospel itself, or as a sufficient substitute for repentance, faith in Christ, and the new birth.

Those who preach this substitute gospel speak of power where the Priest-King spoke of weakness. They speak of victory where He spoke of the cross. They speak of this world as if it were the only world. They have departed from the faith and given themselves over to the spirit of the age.

They have exchanged the Gospel of the finished work for a gospel of social reform. They have exchanged the cross for a political platform. They have exchanged the throne of grace for a seat of power. They have exchanged the rest that remains for the restless striving of the world. They have exchanged the Holiest of All for the outer courts of carnal religion.

This is not a judgment on persons but a discernment of teaching. We do not know the hearts of those who preach these things, and we leave their final judgment to God.

We are called to test the spirits and to distinguish between the pure food of the Gospel and the poisoned food that has been offered to idols. The warning is not against individuals but against the teaching itself, which, however attractively packaged, leads away from Christ.

The Rot Beneath the Wrapping

False teaching often comes wrapped in the language of the Bible, the imagery of the cross, and the emotions of the congregation. It speaks of love, justice, and compassion, but it hollows out their meaning. It is like the fig tree that had leaves but no fruit—a show of life without the reality of life.

Congregations that consume this food are being fed a diet of politics, activism, and social reform, but they are not being fed the pure Word of God.

They are being told to fight for earthly causes, but they are not being told to enter the Holiest of All. They are being told to change the world, but they are not being told to rest in the finished work of the Priest-King.

They are being told to be activists, but they are not being told to be worshippers. They are being told to build the kingdom of God on earth, but they are not being told that the Kingdom of God is within them.

The food that is being served is a gospel of the flesh, a gospel of the world, a gospel of the age. It has no power to save, no power to transform, and no power to bring the soul into the presence of God.

It leads to exhaustion, burnout, and disillusionment. It leads away from the Priest-King, not toward Him. It leads to the outer court, not the Holiest of All. The invitation to serve God in the world becomes a substitute for the invitation to abide in Christ.

The True Gospel and the Mind of Christ

The real Gospel is not a gospel of prosperity, politics, or social reform disguised as salvation. It is not a gospel of emotional experience without transformation.

The real Gospel is this: Jesus Christ, the Priest-King has entered the Holiest of All through His own blood.

The veil is torn.

The way is open.

Every soul who draws near through Him receives mercy, finds grace, and enters the rest that remains.

He ever lives to make intercession.

He brings God to us and us to God. In Him, we are accepted. In Him, we are kept. In Him, the endless life of God flows freely to all who will come. That is the Gospel. Not a portion of it. Not a version of it. It.

The mind of Christ is not the mind of carnal man, which seeks power, recognition, and earthly comfort. The mind of Christ empties itself, takes the form of a servant, becomes obedient unto death, and is exalted by the Father. The mind of Christ builds the church on the rock of revelation, and the gates of hell do not prevail against it.

The mind of Christ measures faithfulness by abiding in the Father’s presence. Those who preach the substitute gospel do not have the mind of Christ. They have the mind of the flesh, the mind of the world, the mind of the age.

They have not entered the Holiest of All. They have not passed through the veil. They have not been cleansed by the blood. They have not received the endless life. They remain in the outer courts, serving the idols of the age.

The Call of This Hour: Wake Up and Return

The call of this hour is clear. The pews empty because souls are hungry for reality—not programs, not politics, not noise, but the living presence of God in truth. Congregations must wake up. They must open their eyes to the deception of false teaching.

They must stop eating the food that has been sacrificed to idols. They must return to the table of the Lord, where pure food is served—the finished work of the Priest-King, the open way into the Holiest of All, the rest that remains, and the endless life that flows from His intercession.

The table of the Lord has been turned into a place where food offered to idols is served. The Gospel of the finished work has been exchanged for a gospel of social reform. The cross has been exchanged for a political platform. The throne of grace has been exchanged for a seat of power.

The rest that remains has been exchanged for the restless striving of the world. The Holiest of All has been exchanged for the outer courts of carnal religion. The church has been used as a Trojan Horse for political purposes, hiding its true agenda behind the language of compassion, justice, and love.

The congregations that continue to consume this food are being poisoned. They are being led astray. They are being robbed of their inheritance. They are being kept from the Holiest of All, from the rest that remains, from the endless life, from the Priest-King.

The time has come for them to wake up. The time has come for them to return. The time has come for them to stop eating the rotting meat and to come to the table of the Lord, where pure food is served.

The true church of the real Gospel is often small, overlooked, and ridiculed. But it knows the voice of the Shepherd. It does not follow the stranger. It abides in the Word. It dwells in the Holiest. The true church does not eat food sacrificed to idols. It does not bow to the false gods of the age.

It does not compromise the table of the Lord. It preaches the real Gospel—Christ and Him crucified. It preaches the finished work. It preaches the endless life. It preaches the open way into the Holiest of All. It calls every soul to draw near. It calls every church to open the doors. It calls every believer to cease from striving and rest in the finished work of the Priest-King.

The Contrast: The Olive Tree and the Wicked

Psalm 52 powerfully contrasts the man who trusts in his own strength and deceit with the one who trusts in God’s unfailing love and flourishes in His house. The Psalm speaks of the wicked man who boasts of evil, whose tongue plots destruction, who loves evil rather than good, and who trusts in his great wealth and grows strong by destroying others.

This is the image of the one who trusts in his own strength, his own position, his own power. The Psalm declares that God will bring him down to everlasting ruin, snatch him up, tear him from his tent, and uproot him from the land of the living.

But the righteous is like an olive tree flourishing in the house of God, trusting in God’s unfailing love forever and ever. The righteous praises God forever and hopes in His name.

This is the image of the true believer—the one who trusts in the finished work of the Priest-King, who abides in the Holiest of All, who is sustained by the unfailing love of God through Jesus Christ who ever lives to make intercession.

The true believer does not boast in evil or trust in human schemes, false popular moral sounding social constructs or political power. The true believer trusts in the finished work of the Priest-King Yeshua Emet Melchizedek Salem—Christ Jesus—and abides in Him who has opened the way.

The Final Exhortation

The modern church stands at a critical hour. Many have turned the table of the Lord into a place where food offered to idols is served. The Social Gospel, with its political causes, cultural trends, and false moral appearances, has become the dominant offering.

It sounds compassionate to the natural ear, but it sacrifices the true Gospel on the altar of this world. It offers earthly reform where the Priest-King offers heavenly reconciliation. It speaks of systems and power where He speaks of the cross and the throne of grace.

We must not eat of any spiritual food that has been offered in sacrifice to an idol. The table of the Lord is holy. The food we receive must come from the Priest-King Himself—pure, undefiled, and flowing from the Holiest of All.

Those who preach the substitute gospel have turned the church into a platform for their political agendas. They have exchanged the Gospel of the finished work for a gospel of social reform. They have exchanged the cross for a political platform. They have exchanged the throne of grace for a seat of power.

They have exchanged the rest that remains for the restless striving of the world. They have exchanged the Holiest of All for the outer courts of carnal religion. They are not shepherds of the flock; they are servants of the spirit of the age, offering food that cannot satisfy the soul.

The true church of the real Gospel is often small, overlooked, and ridiculed. But it knows the voice of the Shepherd. It does not follow the stranger. It abides in the Word. It dwells in the Holiest. The true church does not eat food sacrificed to idols. It does not bow to the false gods of the age.

It does not compromise the table of the Lord. It preaches the real Gospel—Christ and Him crucified. It preaches the finished work.

It preaches the endless life. It preaches the open way into the Holiest of All. It calls every soul to draw near. It calls every church to open the doors. It calls every believer to cease from striving and rest in the finished work of the Priest-King.

The Fourth Truth stands. The dialogue continues. The fruit remains.

This website and its theological content are overseen by the CC7 DS constitutional integrity architecture, a reflective and rest-oriented framework designed to preserve the full coherence of the Fourth Truth presented within COFE-CYEM. The CC7 DS negation of attacks authenticates (Via Positiva Cataphatic Knowing) through (Via Negativa Apophatic Unknowing).

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Thank you for visiting us today, we value you beyond mere words.

COFE Yeshua Emet Ministry (CYEM)
Circle One Fellowship Exeter

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#SpiritualRetreatCenter #spiritualRetreats #SpiritualTolerance #SpiritualWorkshop #spirituality #SundaySchool #theology #UK #Volunteer #worship #worshipAndPraise #worshipBand #WorshipCelebrations #WorshipEvents #WorshipGroup #WorshipMeditation #worshipMusic #WorshipPlace #WorshipPlanning #WorshipPrayer #WorshipService #WorshipServicePlanning #worshipServices #worshipSongs #youthCamps #youthGroup

The Sodden Astronomer

They say, Do not look at the stars,
or you will step into holes
and sink your shoes in mud.

So you can keep your eyes
fixed on the ground,
safe from puddles,
safe from falling,
and miss the lights
burning above in the dark—

except for a stolen glance,
a hurried sip of heaven.

Or you can throw
caution to the wind,
lift your thirsty face
to those bright jewels
sewn into black velvet,

and stumble on
with wet feet.

October 27, 1988 (edited June 2026)
Curridabat, Costa Rica

Part of the continuing Respectful American series, a selection of writings from my travel journals from Central America in 1988

9.927128-84.082012 San Jose, Costa Rica #1988 #astronomyMetaphor #awe #Beauty #blackVelvetSky #CentralAmerica #ContemplativePoetry #Courage #CreativeWriting #dreamers #Dreaming #earthAndHeaven #HereAreSomeWordPressTagsForThePoemSoddenAstronomer #Hope #Imagination #jewelsInTheDarkness #lookingUp #mudAndStars #mysticalPoetry #night #NightSky #poeticImage #POETICAORAREContemplativePoetryPrayers #Poetry #ProsePoem #Risk #SpiritualReflection #stargazing #stars #symbolicPoetry #walkingByFaith #wetFeet #Wonder #wonderAndCaution #Writing

Culdesac

down here on the path 
beside the railroad tracks 
with the freight train 
slowly going by 
the urge to hop on one 
of the gravel laden cars 
and let it take me 
far away from here 
is almost overpowering

as usual i do not 
make the leap and 
later i find myself 
walking past the old man 
with a broom sweeping 
the street to where the path 
turns back upon itself 
out past the little girl 
on her mama's back 
who says hi 

i try to smile in return 
but all i can think about 
is how did i ever get so lost

July 9, 2015

#almostLeaving #brokenRoad #childGreeting #ContemplativeWriting #Depression #Displacement #emotionalHonesty #escape #findingTheWay #freightTrain #gettingLost #humanEncounter #innerExile #Journey #Loneliness #longing #lostness #Melancholy #noOutlet #oldManSweeping #ordinaryGrace #pathMetaphor #POETICAORAREContemplativePoetryPrayers #ProsePoem #railroadTracks #sadness #searching #slowTrain #SpiritualReflection #staying #streetScene #urbanPoetry #walkingPath #wandering #wayfaring #WordPressTagsLost #Writing

GODgle

My dog wakes me up at 3 a.m.

I, of course, am frustrated. This has been going on for a week, and I am racking my brain for a solution. As I’ve mentioned in an earlier blog posts, I am trying to seek God first before I try to solve problems on my own.

So I spend some time in prayer, centering down and trying to remain calm so I can get back to sleep. And I hope that perhaps a solution will reveal itself to me in time.

Then I wonder if I should just Google: my dog wakes me up at 3 a.m.

As I am wont to do when I have a problem, the first thing I do is I go to Google for the answers. Now there is nothing wrong with googling something. It is nice to have such a repository of knowledge readily available.

But I got to wondering: is Google now my go-to for answers rather than prayer?

That is indeed a good question.

And I guarantee it is one that Google does not have the answer to.

July 5, 2015

#3AMThoughts #Blog #centeringPrayer #ChristianLiving #dailyFaith #devotionalReflection #dogLife #faithAndTechnology #faithInEverydayLife #God #GodFirst #GoogleAndGod #listeningForGod #modernSpirituality #Prayer #prayerLife #problemSolving #Questions #seekingGodFirst #sleeplessNights #spiritualDiscernment #SpiritualReflection #technologyAndFaith #Writing

Bowed Heads

Lately I've been seeing 
a lot of people with their heads 
bent over as if in prayer.

I am heartened to see 
so many engaged in the art 
of meditation or contemplation. 

Whether waiting for 
a meeting to begin 
or for someone to arrive 
or perhaps simply to kill time, 
the hands clasp 
and the head bows.

Then I draw closer 
and I see that the head 
is bent over a screen. 

An ethereal light bathes 
the worshipper's face, 
eyes enraptured, 
captured in a blue glow.

And I can't help 
but wonder if this 
is the new God.

July 11, 2013

#artificialLight #blueGlow #BowedHeads #Contemplation #digitalAge #digitalWorship #etherealArt #FuturisticIllustration #KeithLyndaker #kmls #Meditation #modernIdolatry #modernSpirituality #newGod #PeaceGrooves #poeticArt #Prayer #SacredTechnology #screenAddiction #smartphones #socialCommentary #SpiritualReflection #Technology #technologyAndFaith #Worship #Writing

The Places in My Dreams

The world within, the world of my dreams, is similar to the one I walk through every day. But it is different.

The streets bend strangely. The rooms open where they should not. The people and places are often indifferent to me, and sometimes, they are even antagonistic.

They are not merely people and places. They are representations of emotions I have not yet worked through from the previous day. Sixteen waking hours are not enough to fully grasp all that I have experienced, endured, feared, desired, regretted, or misunderstood.

And so, in the night, these things come alive.

They take on faces. They become houses, roads, crowds, locked doors, ruined landscapes, familiar rooms made unfamiliar. They guide me through the shadow lands—not always kindly, but truthfully. They show me what I could not see while awake.

My dreams are not escapes from the day.

They are the day returning in another form, asking to be understood.

Some nights I find myself back in places I have never been, and yet they feel older than memory. A school that was never my school. A church with hallways that keep multiplying. A childhood home rearranged by grief. A city I know by instinct, though no map has ever held it.

In these places, I am often trying to get somewhere.

I am late. I am lost. I am looking for someone. I am trying to explain myself to people who will not listen. I am searching for a room, a door, a vehicle, a path, a way home. Sometimes I am carrying something fragile. Sometimes I have forgotten what I was supposed to carry. Sometimes I am responsible for a task I do not understand, surrounded by people who seem to know the rules but refuse to tell me.

This is the cruelty of the dream world: everyone else seems initiated.

They move through the strange landscape as if it is ordinary. They know which hallway leads out, which road is safe, which bus to board, which door not to open. I am the stranger in a world that somehow belongs to me. I am the dreamer, and yet I am not in control.

Perhaps this is why the places feel antagonistic. They do not hate me. They are simply unwilling to flatter me. They will not pretend I am finished with what I have not faced. They will not comfort me with easy explanations. They turn my emotions into architecture and ask me to walk through them.

Fear becomes a narrow bridge.

Regret becomes a house with too many locked rooms.

Anger becomes a storm on the edge of town.

Shame becomes a crowd that sees me before I am ready to be seen.

Grief becomes a road that always returns to the same place.

And longing—longing becomes a light in a window I can never quite reach.

I wake from these dreams with the feeling that I have traveled farther than my body could have gone. I have crossed cities, fields, stairways, basements, sanctuaries, ruins, and train stations. I have spoken with the dead and avoided the living. I have been judged by strangers and ignored by friends. I have wandered through the unfinished weather of my own soul.

Then morning comes, and the ordinary world returns.

The walls are where I left them. The floor is solid. The dog needs to go out. The coffee waits. The phone glows with its small demands. The day begins again, pretending to be separate from the night.

But I know better.

The dream has left its residue. A feeling follows me, sometimes faint, sometimes heavy. A hallway from the dream lingers inside the hallway of the house. A face from the night appears behind the face of someone I know. A mood clings to the morning like fog.

The shadow lands do not vanish when I wake.

They retreat.

They wait beneath the visible world, beneath errands and conversations, beneath sermons and chores, beneath the version of myself that knows how to answer when someone asks, “How are you?”

I say, “I’m fine.”

But somewhere beneath that answer, an entire city is still burning, or flooding, or rebuilding itself in the dark.

#ContemplativeWriting #creativeNonfiction #daVinci #dali #dreamCity #dreamJournal #dreams #dreamscape #emotionalGeography #Escher #Fear #gothicReflection #grief #Healing #Imagination #impossibleArchitecture #innerLandscape #innerWorld #KeithLyndaker #labyrinth #longing #MentalHealth #nightVisions #ProsePoem #regret #sacredImagination #selfReflection #shadowLands #shame #SpiritualReflection #subconscious #surrealArt #surrealism #symbolicLandscape #visionaryArt

The Dance of Dissonance

Sometimes 
I find myself lost
at the end of 
a confusing day 
trying to decipher labyrinthian relations 
and coming up short,
suddenly wondering 
how a day I thought good 
was not for another,
caught up in 
opposing realities 
where mine is suspect
and empathy is a struggle.

The brain fog 
of past illness 
has left its trailing 
fingers over my head
like the cigarette smoke 
of the man I see one morning standing with his back to me on the dock outside the store where I used to work 
and I wonder why he is there. 

I am suspicious, feeling responsible for what is no longer mine to care about, so I observe, yet remain at a distance and leave without really discovering if his presence is innocent. 

Such is the dance of dissonance.
I am close enough to see your back but too far to see your face clearly,
afraid that if I look too closely I will not like what  I see or that I will recognize some ugly part of me.

I want to hear 
that which runs 
counter to my experience 
but I must be honest and say that my capacity to understand the complexities of human behavior is diminishing. 

I long for circles that are completely safe,
where the people I pass on the walk home illicit in me feelings other than fear,
lust, guilt, or judgement,
all of which mirror 
the overwhelming sense
of dislike
I feel from the
world, and from myself perhaps.

It is my inability to not receive everything personally, this overwhelming sadness,  unprotected by my hypervigilance, where I still seem to miss what is most important, and no matter how much I try to hold everything together, I cannot keep things from unraveling. 

How do I continue to remain caring and yet not take on burdens that are not mine to carry? 

This then is the strange choreography of relationship, the stumbling herky-jerky movements of a marionette pulled by invisible strings, revealed in the bright lights of another angry stage.

Yet we dance. 
Through the pain of revelation.
The occasional stepping on of toes.
In the percieved exposure of audience eyes.
Shedding these inadequate masks and costumes one by one.
Finding our own rhythm in the strange movings of this particular 
circle of love.

Beg: June 5, 2026 
Fin: June 30, 2026

#brainFog #circleOfLove #danceOfRelationship #dissonance #dock #emotionalBoundaries #emotionalReflection #empathy #GriefAndGrace #healingJourney #humanRelationships #hypervigilance #innerHealing #invisibleStrings #June2026 #labyrinth #marionette #Masks #MentalHealth #pastoralReflection #photorealisticIllustration #relationshipAnxiety #selfCompassion #SelfDoubt #SpiritualReflection #stage #surrealArt #surrealism #symbolicArt #unraveling #vulnerability

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

#awakeToJustice #BelovedCommunity #channelingLove #ChristianReflection #compassion #compassionInAction #ContemplativeWriting #darknessAndLight #faithfulLiving #groundedPlanes #innerPower #Justice #Listening #loveAndPeace #Peacebuilding #PeaceGrooves #powerOutage #presence #propheticPoetry #renewal #resolve #ScreenTime #serviceToOthers #SocialJustice #soulWork #spiritualElectricity #SpiritualReflection #stormImagery #ThePowerOfLove #thunderstorm #warzone

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

#awakeToJustice #BelovedCommunity #channelingLove #ChristianReflection #compassion #compassionInAction #ContemplativeWriting #darknessAndLight #faithfulLiving #groundedPlanes #innerPower #Justice #Listening #loveAndPeace #Peacebuilding #PeaceGrooves #powerOutage #presence #propheticPoetry #renewal #resolve #ScreenTime #serviceToOthers #SocialJustice #soulWork #spiritualElectricity #SpiritualReflection #stormImagery #ThePowerOfLove #thunderstorm #warzone

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

#awakeToJustice #BelovedCommunity #channelingLove #ChristianReflection #compassion #compassionInAction #ContemplativeWriting #darknessAndLight #faithfulLiving #groundedPlanes #innerPower #Justice #Listening #loveAndPeace #Peacebuilding #PeaceGrooves #powerOutage #presence #propheticPoetry #renewal #resolve #ScreenTime #serviceToOthers #SocialJustice #soulWork #spiritualElectricity #SpiritualReflection #stormImagery #ThePowerOfLove #thunderstorm #warzone

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

#awakeToJustice #BelovedCommunity #channelingLove #ChristianReflection #compassion #compassionInAction #ContemplativeWriting #darknessAndLight #faithfulLiving #groundedPlanes #innerPower #Justice #Listening #loveAndPeace #Peacebuilding #PeaceGrooves #powerOutage #presence #propheticPoetry #renewal #resolve #ScreenTime #serviceToOthers #SocialJustice #soulWork #spiritualElectricity #SpiritualReflection #stormImagery #ThePowerOfLove #thunderstorm #warzone

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

#awakeToJustice #BelovedCommunity #channelingLove #ChristianReflection #compassion #compassionInAction #ContemplativeWriting #darknessAndLight #faithfulLiving #groundedPlanes #innerPower #Justice #Listening #loveAndPeace #Peacebuilding #PeaceGrooves #powerOutage #presence #propheticPoetry #renewal #resolve #ScreenTime #serviceToOthers #SocialJustice #soulWork #spiritualElectricity #SpiritualReflection #stormImagery #ThePowerOfLove #thunderstorm #warzone

Visual Art Interpretation – My Hopes and Dreams for the Next Year

This feels less like a list of resolutions than a marquee-map of my identity and desire: a radiant, hand-made 2027 filled not so much with tasks to accomplish as with the people, callings, loves, and practices that make my life feel alive.

The bright red border and repeated golden lights give it the appearance of a theater sign, a carnival ride, or an illuminated road. It seems to announce the year joyfully: Here is what I hope will shine. But inside that celebratory outline, the words do not sit neatly in straight lines. They curve, turn, reverse, overlap, and require the eye to travel. That seems important. My hopes are not separate boxes. Pastor, husband, author, musician, PeaceGrooves creator, friend, artist, woodworker, child of God—all of these identities wind through and around one another.

The words I placed inside the year—Sing, Play, Memories, God, Laugh, Journey, Pastor, Author, Husband, PeaceGrooves, Friends, Art, Church, Love, Woodcraft—are striking to me because so many of them are relational or creative. Even the roles are not primarily about achievement. Author is near Husband. Pastor winds along the same road as Journey. PeaceGrooves circles alongside Friends, Church, Love, and creativity. I did not imagine the coming year as productivity alone. I imagined it as belonging, expression, vocation, joy, and connection.

The Word I Did Not Write

After finishing the piece, I realized that I did not write health or healing anywhere inside it. Those things matter deeply to me, especially in light of some of the physical concerns and uncertainties I have been carrying. And yet, perhaps their absence does not mean they were forgotten. Perhaps I instinctively wrote the life I hope healing will allow me to continue inhabiting.

I did not write healing, but I wrote Sing-Play: the hope that my body and spirit can still release themselves into music.

I wrote Laugh: the hope for lightness, delight, and joy.

I wrote Journey: the hope that I can continue moving forward.

I wrote Husband and Friends: the hope of remaining present in love and relationship rather than retreating into worry or isolation.

I wrote Pastor and Church: the hope that I can continue serving meaningfully among people.

I wrote Art, Author, Woodcraft, and PeaceGrooves: the hope that creativity will continue flowing through me rather than being swallowed up by discouragement, exhaustion, or fear.

Perhaps healing is everywhere in this drawing without having been named. It is hidden beneath almost every word: Let me be well enough, free enough, encouraged enough, and alive enough to keep inhabiting these loves.

But perhaps the omission also tells me something tender and difficult about myself. When I think about the future, I often think first about what I can give, create, serve, love, and build. I may not always think first about what I need. This picture invites me to remember that somewhere in the glowing year ahead, there must also be room for my own care. I am not only the husband, pastor, artist, author, musician, friend, and creator. I am also a person who needs healing, rest, gentleness, and grace.

The Smear Between Author and Husband

One of the small accidents in the piece occurred in the space between Author and Husband. Water smeared the color there, and I had to cover it as best I could. I was mostly able to hide the mistake, though I know it happened. I know that beneath the finished surface there is a place where the colors once ran together in a way I did not intend.

That accidental smear now feels strangely meaningful. Author and Husband are two of my most intimate identities: the part of me that creates worlds and gives language to inner experience, and the part of me that shares an actual life in love and covenant with another person. Perhaps those two identities were never meant to be sharply separated. My writing rises from my lived relationships, from tenderness, memory, fear, faith, longing, disappointment, and love. And my creative life inevitably spills into the life I share with my wife.

The water touched the border between those words, and I tried to repair it. That is not a failure of the picture. It may be one of the most honest parts of it. Life does not remain perfectly inside the lines. The roles I care most about do not remain untouched by mess, vulnerability, or accident. Sometimes the colors run together. Sometimes I try to cover what went wrong. Sometimes a trace remains, visible mostly to me.

Yet I did not throw the picture away. I continued working on it. I allowed the imperfection to become part of the finished whole.

Perhaps that is an image of grace. A life of grace is not a life where nothing ever gets smeared. It is a life in which even the smeared places can be incorporated into the beauty.

Church: Almost Illegible

I also noticed that Church almost looks like “Churgh.” It is there, but it is not the clearest or most immediately readable word. That, too, feels symbolic.

Church is deeply present in my hopes for the coming year. It is part of who I am, part of my calling, part of my relationship with God and with community. But church is not always simple or perfectly clear. It can be difficult to read. It can be beautiful and messy, life-giving and exhausting, sacred and profoundly human all at once.

In this picture, church does not appear by itself in a clean, isolated space. It is crowded into a circling path alongside other words: Love, Friends, Art, perhaps even the movements of creativity and ministry surrounding it. That seems truthful. For me, church is not separate from love, friendship, art, imagination, service, or reconciliation. It is entangled with them.

The fact that the word is only almost clear may express something I feel: church is something I continue to believe in and belong to, while also still trying to see clearly. It is present. It matters. It is part of the year I hope to live. But it is not polished or uncomplicated.

Perhaps that is what makes it real.

The Shape of the Year

The large number itself is not simply filled in. It becomes a winding course. The words curve around turns and corners; some appear upright from one angle and upside down from another. To read the whole image, I almost have to rotate it, follow it, and let my eyes travel through it.

That feels like an honest representation of the year ahead. I do not know exactly how it will unfold. My hopes do not form a straight road or a neatly numbered plan. They form a brightly lit labyrinth. Something that appears upside down from one position may look different once I travel farther along the curve. Something that seems peripheral now may become central. Something disappointing may redirect me toward an unexpected opening.

This drawing does not say, Here is my plan to master the next year.

It says, Here is the glowing path I hope to inhabit.

That is truer to my life. Music feeds ministry. Woodcraft feeds contemplation. Writing feeds faith. PeaceGrooves gathers together my imagination, my longing for peace, my love of play, and my desire to offer something meaningful to others. Marriage and friendship keep my creative life from becoming merely solitary. Church places my personal dreams within a larger body. God is not outside all these things, looking down upon them from a distance, but present among them.

My life is not a ladder climbing toward a single success. It is a winding, illuminated journey through many loves.

The Lights Around the Border

The repeated yellow bulbs around the border give the piece a vintage, celebratory feeling. They make the year look like something being announced: a show beginning, a stage opening, a bright invitation to enter.

There is something almost exuberant about it. I did not draw a quiet little calendar page or a restrained list of intentions. I drew the year as a spectacle of hope. These dreams are not small to me. They are worthy of light. Music, laughter, love, friendship, art, faith, craft, writing, church, PeaceGrooves—these are not hobbies or decorative extras around the edge of life. They are among the things that make life worth living.

And yet the lights are not machine-perfect. They are hand-drawn. Each one is slightly different. Some are rounder, some rougher, some more irregular. That matters too. The brightness of this coming year is not a slick commercial promise that everything will be perfect. It is the brightness I have carefully drawn around my hopes with my own imperfect hand.

Most moving of all, the lights continue around the bends. They do not shine only along the smooth or impressive stretches. They follow the narrow turns, the dips, the places where the shape curls inward. The light does not abandon the complicated places.

What This Picture Says to Me

This is a picture of my hope not merely to survive another year, but to remain fully myself within it.

I want to sing and play.

I want to laugh.

I want to remember.

I want to journey.

I want to love and be loved.

I want to remain a husband, a pastor, an author, an artist, a craftsman, a musician, a friend, and a dreamer.

I want PeaceGrooves not merely to exist as a project, but to become an expression of something deep within me: my longing to imagine, create, and make peace.

I want God not as an abstract religious idea floating somewhere outside my life, but as a living presence woven among music, love, creativity, friendship, church, memory, laughter, and journey.

And perhaps beneath the entire picture is the word I did not write: wholeness.

Wholeness includes health. It includes healing. But it is larger than both. It is the hope that all these different names for myself will not compete with one another, break apart, or fade away, but somehow curve together into a single radiant life.

The smear between Author and Husband, the almost-illegible Church, the reversed words, the crowded pathways, the uneven bulbs, and the wandering design do not lessen the picture. They make it more truthful.

My hopes for the next year are not cleanly arranged or perfectly protected from mistakes. They are handmade. They are entangled. They are vulnerable. They are colorful. They are imperfect.

And they are still shining.

#anabaptist #Art #authorLife #Church #creativeCalling #creativeLife #discernment #Faith #Friendship #God #Grace #handmadeArt #Healing #hopesAndDreams #husband #illuminatedPath #imperfection #Journey #Laughter #Love #memory #mennonite #mixedMedia #Music #pastorLife #PeaceGrooves #personalGrowth #personalReflection #ReflectiveEssay #SpiritualReflection #visualJournal #vocation #wholeness #woodcraft #WordPressTags2027Hopes #Writing

The Maranatha Empire

There is a prayer so holy that it should burn the tongue of every empire that tries to speak it.

Maranatha.

Come, Lord.

It is the cry of the small church under pressure. The cry of the persecuted and the patient. The cry of those who have no armies to summon, no throne to defend, no voting bloc sufficient to save them, no market share large enough to secure their future. It is the cry of those who wait because they know they are not God.

But in every age, there are those who take this prayer of waiting and turn it into a banner of possession.

They say, “Come, Lord,” but what they mean is, “Give us control.”

They say, “Thy kingdom come,” but what they mean is, “Let our faction rule.”

They say, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but what they build are prisons, borders, propaganda machines, religious celebrity platforms, and monuments to their own fear.

This is the Maranatha Empire.

It is not one nation only, though nations may become its servants. It is not one denomination only, though denominations may become its chapels. It is not merely Rome, nor Geneva, nor Washington, nor Moscow, nor any other city that has mistaken power for providence. The Maranatha Empire is the recurring temptation of the religious heart: to stop waiting for Christ and begin replacing him.

It begins quietly.

It begins with concern.

The world is dangerous. The children are vulnerable. The church is shrinking. The enemies are multiplying. The culture is changing. The old certainties are crumbling. The people are afraid.

Fear, when baptized, often calls itself faithfulness.

So the frightened church begins to reach for tools Jesus refused.

A throne.

A sword.

A spectacle.

A scapegoat.

A strongman.

A law that can accomplish what love has not yet persuaded.

A state that can enforce what the Spirit has not yet formed.

A leader who promises to defend Christ, as though Christ ever asked Peter to keep swinging after Gethsemane.

This is how the prayer becomes an empire.

The early church cried, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it knew that Caesar was not Lord. The Maranatha Empire cries, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it wants Caesar to become useful.

The early church broke bread in homes. The Maranatha Empire builds platforms and calls them altars.

The early church welcomed the stranger. The Maranatha Empire sees the stranger as a threat.

The early church died rather than kill. The Maranatha Empire kills and calls the dead collateral damage in the defense of righteousness.

The early church believed the Lamb had conquered. The Maranatha Empire keeps looking for a beast strong enough to protect the Lamb.

And there is the blasphemy.

Not that empire rejects Christ outright. That would be too honest. The Maranatha Empire does something more dangerous. It uses Christ as decoration for a power that is fundamentally afraid of the cross.

It sings of the Lamb while trusting the dragon.

It preaches resurrection while organizing itself around survival.

It displays the cross while despising weakness.

It quotes Jesus while ignoring the people Jesus told us to notice: the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the foreigner, the enemy, the child, the wounded man beside the road.

The Maranatha Empire is not built by atheists. It is built by believers who have lost patience with the way of Jesus.

For the way of Jesus is slow.

It is seed, yeast, salt, light.

It is foot-washing.

It is forgiveness seventy times seven.

It is refusing the shortcut of domination even when domination appears efficient.

It is telling Peter to put away the sword when everything in Peter’s body screams that this is the moment for holy violence.

It is standing before Pilate and saying, “My kingdom is not from this world,” not because the kingdom has nothing to do with the world, but because it does not come by the world’s methods.

The Maranatha Empire cannot tolerate this.

It cannot tolerate a Messiah who will not seize power.

It cannot tolerate a church that would rather be faithful than influential.

It cannot tolerate a people whose politics begin at the basin and towel.

It cannot tolerate enemy-love, because enemy-love ruins the machinery. Empire requires enemies. It needs them. It feeds on them. Without enemies, the crowd might look too closely at the throne.

So, the Maranatha Empire manufactures urgency.

There is no time to love.

No time to listen.

No time to discern.

No time for reconciliation.

No time for peacemaking.

No time to ask whether the means resemble the Christ we claim to serve.

The hour is late, they say. The danger is great. The stakes are too high. We must act now. We must take control now. We must win now.

And somewhere beneath all that urgency is a terrible confession:

They do not actually believe the Lord is coming.

Or, if he is coming, they do not trust him to arrive in the right way.

So they build him an empire to inherit.

But Christ does not inherit empires.

He judges them.

He walks in alleyways, not palaces. He asks whether the churches have kept their first love. He warns those who are rich and comfortable and self-satisfied that they may be poor, blind, and naked. He stands at the door and knocks, not because he has been defeated by secularism, but because religious people have locked him outside while holding meetings in his name.

The Maranatha Empire is always shocked when Jesus is found outside the gate.

Outside the camp.

Outside respectability.

Outside the approved narrative.

Outside the walls with the crucified, the excluded, the unclean, the inconvenient, and the condemned.

The empire expected him in the capital.

But he is with the refugees.

The empire expected him in the cathedral of victory.

But he is with the mother of the disappeared.

The empire expected him on the reviewing stand.

But he is washing feet in the basement.

The empire expected him to bless the troops.

But he is asking why his followers are still carrying swords.

This is why Maranatha must remain a dangerous prayer.

It must never be allowed to become a slogan for conquest. It must never be printed on the banners of those who are unwilling to be converted by the One they summon. To pray “Come, Lord” is not to invite divine endorsement of our projects. It is to invite judgment upon them.

Come, Lord, and judge our churches.

Come, Lord, and judge our flags.

Come, Lord, and judge our markets.

Come, Lord, and judge our weapons.

Come, Lord, and judge our sermons.

Come, Lord, and judge our secret hatreds.

Come, Lord, and judge the ways we have used your name to avoid your way.

This is the prayer empire cannot honestly pray.

Because if the Lord comes, the first thing to fall may not be our enemies.

It may be our idols.

The algorithm.

The nation.

The party.

The brand.

The gun.

The strongman.

The myth of innocence.

The lie that we can harm others for a righteous cause and remain untouched by the harm.

The Maranatha Empire teaches us to fear the collapse of Christian influence.

Jesus teaches us to fear gaining the world and losing our soul.

The Maranatha Empire asks, “How do we take back the culture?”

Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the winners.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek.”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the forceful, for they shall secure the future.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”

And perhaps this is the word for us now:

The church does not need to become more powerful.

The church needs to become more faithful.

Not passive. Not silent. Not withdrawn into pious irrelevance. But faithful in the particular, cruciform, stubborn way of Jesus. Faithful enough to resist evil without becoming its mirror. Faithful enough to tell the truth without hatred. Faithful enough to protect the vulnerable without worshiping violence. Faithful enough to build communities of economic sharing, hospitality, forgiveness, courage, and joy. Faithful enough to be a people who can live without controlling the outcome.

That is the hard part.

Empire is attractive because it promises control.

Jesus offers communion.

Empire promises security.

Jesus offers peace.

Empire promises victory over enemies.

Jesus offers reconciliation that may begin with our repentance.

Empire promises to make us great.

Jesus invites us to become small enough to enter the kingdom.

So, let the Maranatha Empire fall.

Let it fall first in us.

Let it fall in every place where we have confused anxiety with zeal. Let it fall where we have preferred dominance to witness. Let it fall where we have wanted laws to do what discipleship would not. Let it fall where we have used the suffering of others as fuel for our own righteousness. Let it fall where we have asked Jesus to come only after we have arranged the throne to our liking.

And when it falls, may something older and more beautiful remain.

A table.

A basin.

A towel.

A loaf.

A cup.

A people gathered without illusion, without empire, without the need to be impressive, whispering the ancient prayer not as conquerors but as witnesses:

Maranatha.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come not to crown our domination, but to free us from it.

Come not to baptize our fear, but to cast it out.

Come not to make our empire holy, but to teach us again that your kingdom comes like a seed, like yeast, like mercy, like a Lamb who was slain and yet lives.

And until you come, make us faithful.

Not imperial.

Not triumphant.

Not afraid.

Faithful.

#anabaptist #antiImperialTheology #breadAndCup #ChristianEthics #ChristianNationalism #ChristianWitness #Church #churchAndEmpire #comeLordJesus #cruciformFaith #Discipleship #domination #Empire #empireCritique #Faithfulness #FootWashing #Humility #Jesus #kingdomOfGod #LambOfGod #Maranatha #MaranathaEmpire #Nonviolence #peaceTheology #Peacemaking #Power #propheticChristianity #PropheticEssay #religiousPower #Revelation #SpiritualReflection #Theology

Ledge

It was a tense silence
trembling on the ledge
where you could hear a pin
drop
only there were no pins
save in a friend
thick
to be cut with a knife
only all the knives
were in your
back

Silence
like the calm before the storm
until it breaks like a
scream in the
night
and
rain
falls to the
ground.

September 11, 1988
San Jose, Costa Rica

#1988 #Betrayal #calmBeforeTheStorm #CentralAmerica #CostaRica #emotionalPoetry #glassPlateGothic #gothicArt #kmls #memory #POETICAORAREContemplativePoetryPrayers #Poetry #premonition #Rain #September11 #silence #SpiritualReflection #strangeCoincidences #surrealism #Travel #travelWriting #Violence #Writing