Whom do you Worship?

to the General Conference
of the United Methodists
and following along
on social media
this week
before Trinity Sunday
I wonder
“Whom do you worship?”

the elephant in the room
is human sexuality
and like the elephant
described by blind men
it sounds very different
on which part of the body
they are touching.

What does our sexuality,
whatever our orientation
or identity may be,
separate us from?
Does it separate us
from God
from our church
from others
and is it our sexuality
or the reaction of others
that does the separating?

Can anything separate us
from the Love of God
which is in Christ Jesus?

Today as I listen
to the General Conference
I wonder,
“What do the delegates worship?”
The past?
The future?
Parliamentary procedures?
Tweets or Facebook posts?

How do we understand
The Trinity?
The Three in One?
Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer?
How do we understand
all love divine
and the peace that passes
all understanding?

How do we show that love
to those we find incompatible
or that find us incompatible?

Moral Decline

She longed for the days when
June Cleaver delivered moral lessons
to Beaver
when she wasn’t doing her needlepoint.

She knew that shopping was good for the economy
even though she didn’t like
the way her husband
paid attention
to some of the new car
with scantily dressed women.

She longed for the days when
the economy was strong
and the only threat
was the Godless Communists.

Now, it seemed, everything was Godless.

It was so much easier when
White boys in the suburbs would be boys
Black boys in the cities would be thugs,
and the girls who got in trouble
got what they deserved
and didn’t get abortions.

Now, it’s all mixed up
“Girls will be boys, and boys will be girls.”
and the President is black.

It was so much easier when
you could simply tell right from wrong.

Now, people are telling her
that she’s supposed to care
for people different from her.
What if someone
found her darkest secrets?

That’s not even safe,
is it?

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Pentecost 2016

Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts
from all
hatred, envy, fears, injustice
towards those we think
will take away
our God given
rights, privileges, and entitlements;
those that are like us
but different:
men who love men,
women transitioning into men,
immigrants who arrived
more recently than our ancestors
without the sort of documents
we think are required
to keep our property safe,
or young mothers
who we think
were given the same opportunities
in the ghettos of our cities
that we had
in our high performing
suburban school districts,
whose ancestors were captured
and brought to this country
as property
to expand the wealth
of our ancestors.
forgive our lack of love
to those who were created
in God’s image
and not our own.
Stir up, o Spirit/Wind
like the winds of a tornado
or hurricane
to blow away our baggage
and all the things
that get in the way
of seeing and serving You.

The Digital Kaleidoscope

Always turning,
the social media snapshots
of people lives;
broken pieces of colored glass
with several likes
and a few comments.

For many, the glass is
all blue or all red.
For some, it is
rose colored or grey.

Some carefully pick out
any broken pieces
of colored glass
and unfriending them.

What do you see?

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The Broken Biological Clock

When life was sweet and easy,
not unlike
beneath the apple boughs
of Fern Hill,
she went
from graduation parties
to bridal showers
without the least concern
until the blister appeared
on her foot.

She knew of
her family’s history
of poor circulation
as an abstract idea
that she might have to worry about
sometime later.

The doctor said
sometime is now
and her whole world
came crashing in.

It wasn’t the advice
to stop drinking
that hurt so much,
although she could sure could have
used a drink
after the sobering news.

It was the fact that her biological clock
was broken
and not showing the accurate time.

Childbirth would be a problem
becoming more difficult over time
and the decisions from five years hence
a little more

All of these thoughts
raced through her mind
as she stood in line
at the drug store
contemplating Eliot’s fear
in a handful of dust
waiting to buy
a pill cutter
like her ninety year old

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