I leave my bag in the truck,
walk in the door
and toss my coat on the table.
Two missiles fly down the hall,
their steps not a sing-song pitter-patter,
but a building rumble,
an accelerating energy wave
that crashes into me with pent up love,
and I am home,
I am home,
I am home.

I slouch, scrunch, sit up
as straight as a board.
I take a lap around the office,
fidget with books on the shelf,
and get back in the chair.

I think about lunch for a while.
I think about lunch a lot.

I marked off this time.
I protected the space, and the moment
I shut the door.
I’m supposed to be praying now.

They compete and play,
sometimes the games imply power.
One will be baby, one will play momma.
One will be monster, one will be superzero.
Or maybe they’ll both be robots.
Right now they’re playing with the hose,
and alas there is only one.

While I write this poem from the shade by the house,
they are taking turns watering the tree
and the grass and the slide.
Perhaps it will grow taller,
like the grass does,
like the tree does.
Like the girls do.
As they play, they laugh and run,
spraying each other
and flirting with the line.
If they cross it, I’ll have to intervene, and the poem will end.
But for now, they run and play
and laugh,
learning something
about life, I suppose.
About the fun you can have
together,
on this side of the line,
on the side where
peace plays.

They came from soccer practice,
from the field and its glory
or the parking lot,
where the August sun drains the life out of
moms in minivans.

She came from a lonely home,
from an easy chair that sits
in front of a droning television,
next to an end table with an empty coffee cup,
and a phone that never rings.

They came from homework,
chapters underlined and blanks filled in,
some of them right, some of them wrong,
some left undone,
waiting to be turned in for approval.

He came from the worst fight,
(or at least it feels that way),
that he’s ever had with his wife.
Tomorrow’s might be worse,
might be the one that ends it all.

And here they all are, together.
Though they are also
in those places, still.

There’s so much more I’m just dying to write about the book but that will have to wait. It’ll show up in sermons, and in flurry of blog posts on things like the historical background of Hosea, some of its theology, etc. (some of which are already written and scheduled!)

This is just the warning shot—Hosea’s coming.

My small group has been talking about different kinds of prayer disciplines for the past month, and it’s prompted me to work through Psalms in a more deliberate way.  For the past couple of days I’ve been mulling over the Hebrew text of Psalm 1, eventually coming to the translation above.  Below are some of the meditative thoughts the Psalm has led me to so far this week.

Surroundings

This is a wisdom type psalm, or a Psalm of orientation, and so it more or less flows out of the way the world normally works, the way things should work.  It’s a generalization.  I wouldn’t have to poke around to hard to see exceptions here, but when you look at the opening verses about the wisdom of not surrounding yourself with wicked, evil, cynical people, it’s hard to argue.  I don’t think it’s an argument for cloistering ourselves up and insulating ourselves from the world, but a warning about the consequences of taking on the viewpoints, behaviors and assumptions of people without making some sort of judgment about who we’re listening to.

Personally, it’s the bit about sitting in the seat of cynics that has challenged me the most as I’ve meditated on this part of the Psalm.  The old translations use “scornful”, or “mockers”, or “scoffers”, which are just outdated enough to lose their bite.  When I started reading the word as “cynics”, it became more personal in a hurry. There is simply so much of this attitude, whatever you want to call it, in every corner of our culture. The spirit of mocking, judgmental cynicism is remarkably contagious and corrosive to the human heart, and who among us hasn’t felt the pull of all that negative gravity? You can’t drink all that poison and still thrive.  There’s a place for pushing away from those directions, and choosing, deliberately, to live with a different set of attitudes and assumptions. It might be hard work, but worthwhile.  It’s a path of blessing, whatever that means.

Blessed

I’m not really sure what that means – blessing.  That first word in the Psalm is fairly easy to translate, but it hard to get my mind around.  What does it mean to be blessed?  Things are just going to generally go your way? You’re going to feel good, or be lucky? Better parking spots or quicker lines at the DMV? Obviously it’s a positive designation–I mean, who wouldn’t want to be blessed? But still, the Psalm leaves me wondering what the content of that word “blessed” is when it just stands all on its own in a context like this. Reading the Psalm, the best I can come up with is that “blessed” in this context means something like “stable”, “secure”, “possessing meaning”, and “successful”, all rolled into one word.  Basically, “blessed” is the guy everyone wants to be. (Side note, culturally laden: The Dos Equis and Old Spice commercials might be seen as parodies of “blessed” Ha!.)

The safest part of the blessing bestowed here is that is eventual.  It relies on the watchful eye of the Lord to bring it about, but also just seems to be the natural order of things (not necessarily separate concepts here). As improbable as it seems, the psalm affirms that it is worthwhile to stay the course and pursue a life of righteousness and integrity.  That idea is easily questioned, and is often questioned even within the Psalter. Nonetheless, this psalm offers me the words to prayerfully consider in integrity as a source of blessing, and my cynicism and wickedness as threats to my own safety, security, and purposefulness. As I pray trough the Psalm, I find myself saying to God, “Please, let it be so.  Let it be true. I want to be the righteous man, and wholly desire the blessing. Let it only be true…”

To the God who remakes the world,
for his steadfast love endures forever.

To the God who reshapes the bitter heart,
for his steadfast love endures forever.

To the one who infuses the despairing with hope,
for his steadfast love endures forever.

Give thanks to the God of reconciliation,
for his steadfast love endures forever.

To the perseverant God,
for his steadfast love endures forever.

To the one who ever renews the chase,
for his steadfast love endures forever.

To the God who speaks life into being,
for his steadfast love endures forever.

The Lord whose word freely flows to strengthen,
for his steadfast love endures forever.

The Lord, who refreshes desert souls,
for his steadfast love endures forever.

Give thanks to the Father of Jesus,
for his steadfast love endures forever.

To the one who calls and sends,
for his steadfast love endures forever.

To the one who finds glory in weakness,
for his steadfast love endures forever.

To the Lord of our redemption,
for his steadfast love endures forever.

It is hard to speak,
But account for the energy expended
Clinching holy lips together,
fighting back the captive words.

They wish to storm the walls,
Escape their prison,
Over razor-wire fences
they long to go
To flee through the murky woods,
Just ahead of swinging lantern light,
While adventurous bluegrass music plays the soundtrack that the bloodhound sings along with.
They wish to escape, these words,
From the prison of your mouth.
This obvious desire makes the guards antsy.

They demand effort,
These things you do not say.
Both of us strain,
To speak and hear by silence,
I exegete the void
where your word should be
You pretend not to notice,
and both of us
work so very hard
To let the silence have dignity,
Even if it be the dignity of being.
(misunderstood)
There is so much to say,
I don’t know if I have the energy,
or the nonvocabulary,
To keep all the silences you demand.

I so badly want to know and believe

That the truth is not your enemy.

But, I suppose

you have your reasons.

I have mine, you know.

Be ready, alert.
Keep watch.
Watch out!
Watch this unfold.
Command your heavy eyes,
Discipline your nodding head,
Quiet your ready snore,
You are so close to everything,
If you can only stay awake,
And watch…

Stay with me, he says, and watch.
And I…