Journey to Hope

Second Sunday of Advent - Year A - December 9, 2007

Isaiah 11: 1-16, Psalm 72: 1-7, 18-19, Romans 15: 4-13, Matthew 3: 1-12

Here we are at the beginning of the richest part of the advent season, the second Sunday marking the halfway point. Last week our gospel lesson had a word from Jesus about being awake, watchful, and prepared to experience the coming of the Lord. This week, John the baptizer tells those who came to hear, just how to prepare for the Lord.

Paul, from the book to the Romans announces that Christ comes so that all, particularly we Gentiles, shall have hope. And from the prophet Isaiah, we have a vision of the kingdom which comes in Jesus, wolves and lambs lying together, children and snakes playing, and no more hurt or destruction. Yes we are indeed in a rich, rich part of Advent, and the good news of salvation at hand.

But, when we again listen to the words of John the baptizer, it may appear that the news he is bringing is not so good. Shouts about snakes in their midst, repentance, unworthiness, and the burning of the unquenchable fire, all of these remind me of the messages of some of the “hell and brimstone” preachers we all heard. And of which thankfully, are becoming fewer as the years go by.

You know some, or have probably have heard a few of them in your lives. They are masters of persuasion, and perfect purveyors of the altar call. These preachers seem to almost have been eyewitnesses of the fires of hell, explaining its heat, the eternally searing skin, the sulfur, the totality of suffering, all in an effort to convince people that hell is real and they are headed there, if they, at this very hour do not turn from their wicked, snake-like ways!

They’re style of preaching is of the John the baptizer school of preaching. So where is the hope in a sermon like that and like the one that John preached? The hope is found not in the preaching, but in the one of whom they preach, Jesus.

Such sermons appeal to many of us, because after all, we do not want to go to hell when we die. (some people avoid hell, by denying it) Such appeal is exactly what brought the Pharisees and Sadducees out to see this spectacle of preaching that John was doing. It wasn’t they believed that they were going to hell (they did not really have the same concept of it as we do), but they simply believed that life as a Jew in those days was a “hell” in itself. They desperately wanted the kingdom of God to come on earth and deliver them from Roman occupation and to restore the throne of their father David.

That’s what they wanted but what they heard from John was repentance. He preached that lives must be changed in order to prepare for the coming kingdom, which he called the wrath to come. Much as I want to embrace John’s entire message…there is something that needs to be cleared up. It is the idea, that we can, or are able to “clean ourselves up.” Obviously that is not an orthodox belief for us, because we believe that it is only though the Holy Spirit working in our life, that we are in any way “cleaned up.” All the washing in the world, John’s or otherwise, all the striving to be good, righteous, and holy will come to a big fat zero without God in our lives.

The Pharisees and Sadducees were the clear evidence of that. They won the prize for striving to live a holy life. In fact they were the top repenters of their day. Not only did they continually work and work to remain pure, they were insistent that every other Jew was to be just like them. Only then, when everyone had finally become pure, would the kingdom finally come.

Only, it couldn’t be done. Not by the purest Pharisee, not by the most pious of Sadducees, not by John, the ones he was baptizing, nor by any one of us. Try as we might, we just can’t be repentant, holy, or righteous in and of ourselves. We need God’s help. We need God’s grace, God’s gift of Jesus.

The holy people of John’s day just didn’t get that. I’m not certain that John himself got it either. But, there was one thing that John did get. That was that someone was coming…someone was coming who would enable people to change…someone who would enable people to produce fruit so that the repentance they wanted to do was of value…someone was coming whose cleansing of them was of God, through the baptism of the Holy Spirit.

There in lies the hope. All of the hope that the people had for redemption, for restoration, for the peaceful life where wolves and lambs, children and vipers would romp together in harmony was coming in the person of Jesus Christ. John said…one is coming. Prepare, may the way straight.

We are even today making preparations. This week I put up my Christmas tree, and bought wrapping paper, and set out the nativity on the dining room server. I’m practicing Christmas carols, reading a new advent devotional, and sending Christmas greetings to my friends and family. But I have to ask myself if that is what Jesus meant when he said to prepare. I don’t think so.

According to what John the baptizer is saying, readiness for the one coming, requires repentance, a turning around, letting go, a kind of “doing-things-differently.”

Let’s imagine. If it helps you, close your eyes. Imagine that you are walking along an uphill road; it’s steep; you are carrying quite a load of stuff. You have yesterday’s newspapers, at least a month’s worth, with all of their bad news tucked under your arm. In your hand you hold the handle of a trunk of old clothes. They are favorite that you just refuse to turn loose of, even though they no longer fit you, they are out of style, and have moth holes eaten in them. The trunk weights a ton.

Up the hill you trudge, step by step, wishing that the bundle of heart aches that are strapped to your back was not so heavy. You know, those mis-placed and hurtful words you spoke to your friend, those ill feelings toward your neighbor that you constantly carry, those old addictions you can’t shake no matter how good you try to be, those ancient fears of failure and of being alone of never being healed, those broken relationships. You wished you could drop the bundle of heartaches, but somehow you just can’t let them down. But you wish they didn’t weigh so much.

Repentance. It means letting go, dropping everything, turning around. Repentance is being prepared. It’s looking to Jesus and saying, I can’t do this on my own. I can’t carry these heavy loads up this steep hill. Lord help me. Forgive me, and help me forgive; help me kick this addition that chokes me; cleanse me with your Holy Spirit.

Repentance is a prayer to God; A true action, a decision, one that is from the heart. Repentance is giving yourself up to Jesus to be washed by the only sin cleansing power in the universe, the grace of God through the power of the Holy Spirit.

Today I say that God is calling us all to repentance. Our repentance means that we know we are sinners, but we are ready to lay those sins down, and to turn towards the one who is coming, Jesus.

Jesus is all of our hope. Jesus is the hope of the world. And Jesus is coming to give us love, grace, forgiveness, abundant life, and peace. Life in Christ is a more excellent way of living. Thanks be to God.

© Judy Eurey 2007

Ready, Set...Watch!!

First Sunday of Advent - Year A - December 2, 2007

Isaiah 2: 1-5, Psalm 122, Romans 13: 11-14, Matthew 24-36-44

The beginning of the new Christian year is today, the first Sunday of Advent. We’ve lit the advent candle and spoken of God’s great love given to us at Christmas. In the lectionary cycle, we begin year A, the first year in our three year cycle. But for most of us, it seems like the end of the year. We have been conditioned through out our lives to expect the newness of a new year to begin a month from now, when the calendar flips over to January 2008. It’s confusing and sets up a tension between old and new. Is it time for the new? Or not?

Paul wrote to the Romans that their “salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near.” To me that sounds like the end of things is drawing near and that the day we have been waiting for, the day of our salvation, the dawning of God’ kingdom, is close at hand, at least closer than it used to be.

Our gospel lesson finds Jesus teaching from the Mount of Olives. He has departed from his teaching at the temple, and in this section of the book of Matthew we find him answering some pertinent questions posed by his disciples. When is the time Lord, they ask. When will we know that the end is near?

Two other gospel writers record these same questions and Jesus’ answers to them. When the gospels were written, the Lord’s imminent return had not occurred, so it is not surprising that such interest existed in the hearts of the gospel writers about Christ’s return. As they waited, just as we do, the questions about the signs must have been as prominent in their thoughts as it is in many people’s thoughts today. Just how can we know when Jesus will come?

As you read the gospel of Matthew, along with the gospels of Luke and Mark, Jesus gives a variety of signs that the end is near: destruction of the temple, lightening, thunder, a darkened sun, a darkened night sky, falling stars, false prophets, nations rising against nations, earthquakes, famines, roaring seas, human perplexity.

When we read this list of signs, there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that all the things that Jesus has said would be a sign of his coming has already happened, once, twice, or thousands of times. It feels like the end should be at any moment. It feels like the new kingdom should be appearing even today, that the clouds should burst open and the appearing of the Lord should happen even this very minute.

When will Jesus come again? It is an eternal question. In our gospel, Jesus tells the disciples that they will stand on the brink of the coming of the Lord, but even so, no one, not them, not the angels, not even Jesus himself, knows when the coming of the Lord will be.

What is sometimes hard for us is that we don’t like the idea of not knowing, do we? We modern people like to control our lives. We own day timers, day runners, PDA’s, blackberries, and all kinds of calendars, hang-on- the wall kind, electronic, and computer ones. I for one, hate to be caught off guard or forget an appointment, meeting or the like…and I think that I’m not the only one here who is like that.

Some surprises are good, but when it comes to being surprised by the second coming of Christ, we don’t like that kind of surprise. Well…too bad for us. We won’t know when it will happen, no matter how many biblical numeric formulas we figure out, no matter how many times we read Daniel and Revelation, no matter how many prophetic signs we declare, no matter what we do, we won’t know…Jesus said so.

We can certainly distract ourselves with speculation though. In fact a huge number of Christians distract themselves from work in the kingdom by continually focusing on the date, time and imminent coming of Christ. The multimillions of dollars made by Tim LaHaye on his Second Coming novels are proof of the great interest people have in this subject. He has over 25 books out now revolving around the second coming of Christ. For a fictional account, they are fascinating reading.

But we should not be taking our warning from Tim LaHaye or the dozens of other Second Coming gurus, who try to convert us by threatening us with that second coming. The warning is clear enough coming from the word of our Lord Jesus. If you notice, Jesus words to his disciples are not filled with fear, but with the hope of the second coming.

Jesus was telling the disciples that they were quite like Noah, that they would be saved. For Noah, there was no surprise when the rain drops began to fall in the desert. Noah was well prepared for what was coming. He had been busy building the ark. He had been about what God had told him to be about.

When we go back and read what God said to Noah, we find that Noah did not know when the rain would begin. God did not say, “Noah, build an ark. I going to start the rain on Saturday morning at 10:30am.” No what God said was build the boat, be ready.

That is exactly what Jesus is telling his disciples. The second coming will not happen when you expect it, but it will be happen. Jesus relates that the time will be like the moment that a thief breaks into your home…when you least expect it. In other words, you don’t know when, so take measures.

The measures Jesus wanted his disciples to take, and the measures we are supposed to take are to be ready. Be ready for that glorious day of his appearing. Watch for it. Expect it at all times. Be prepared like Noah was prepared.

Jesus has not left us alone in our preparation, but Jesus has left with us a great advocate, the Holy Spirit, who guides us to all truth. We are prepared for the day of Jesus’ second coming when we have placed our faith in Christ as our savior. Then our salvation, which comes nearer everyday, is assured.

The good news for today is this: Jesus is coming. Prepare yourself. Watch. When the rain drops start to patter the ground, and the lightening and thunder begin, be propped back on the deck of the ark of God, the great ship of Zion, living in the safety of the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

© Judy Eurey 2007

Grief

Grief is a back street,
noisy, confusing, maddening.
Main St. is one block over
Where gay flags flutter, and
storefronts are gilded with
shirts, shoes, shorts and hats,
where people ride past on their
way to places of adventure

No one takes the back street on purpose.
It is full of pot holes filled with tears.
Pain screams by you like you’re standing still
on its way to pierce another soul.

Life is rife with detours to these back streets,
unexpected and shocking are the yellow signs,
the orange barrels, the blinking lights that
turn you from Main St. where you have been
riding along with a tank full of gas.

Swimming Alone

She rode to the creek perched on a gray doughnut
wheel fender, shirtless, shoulders pink and freckled.
Father dropped her at the edge leaving her alone to swim.

Even at eight, the gliding waters draw her
to place her feet on a round granite stone, squatting,
clutching the smooth surface with bare mud caked toes.

She examines the water, a moving sheet of glass,
where waterbugs skate in scissor steps, fishes dart like fleas,
and crawdads crawl sideways, pinchers tucked, tails fanned.

Silver leafed beeches cut bright sunlight into mottled
shadows that spook the surface like a flashlight in dark woods
bouncing beams back and around and through the current.

Upstream and downstream the flow bends away.
She tries to think of where it came from and where it goes
after lapping past her, but the thought is too big.

The floor of the creek is brown velvet speckled with
sparkling mica that catches the fractured sunlight
and fires the illusion of gold into her eyes.

A finger swirls the skin of glass, she stands, jumps
feet up, bottom first, white panties smacking the surface
churning the wet world into mushroom clouds of mud.

In the field over the creek, the tractor chugs
cutting through green corn, blades of the combine
chopping and churning tender stalks into silage.

Ash Wednesday Cross

The sign on my head
could burn its way
through skin, sinew and skull
to be indelibly scarred
on my brain

It could be so meshed
with my mind, that my every
glance is overlaid with
its image—so that—
to view this evil world
would not be a vision
of evil, but rather
a mere backdrop to that cross

This sign on my head
remains on my head
not burning—for its
scarring is not on me,
but on Another, instead

From dust I came,
to dust I shall return.
Selah




©Judy Eurey

Rabbi

For his birthday I took
ambrosia to the Rabbi
boxed in a recycled
Smithfield Ham container.

He will be, mid bite
the last spoon of the sweet fruit
being ladled into his
peyos-centered mouth
when the kosher bell
rings in his brain.

Gingerbread Village

Gingerbread Village

In every gingerbread village
there is a house exploded
the walls are pounded out
and the roof has fallen in
from the weight of the adornments
and the lack of interior support.

Such a house sits in close
proximity to God’s house
within sight and song.
Parishners pass it every Sunday
on their way to pray,
pitying the people who lived there,
though they never knew them.

The wrecking crew will come
and remove the candy carcass
the ginger sticky walls
the green jellied bushes
the jolly peppermint windows
the coconut snow

Left behind will be
a vacant lot, a foil floored hole
gaping in the community,
where the labors of the
home builders are forgotten
even though nobody really knew them.

©Judy Eurey

Lonely Battlefield

On this lonely battle field
I think of home

The roses by the front gate
which prick the visitor
The deep well, from which we have
drawn our cool water
The worn path to and from
the brown barn, where the cows stand nodding after milk time
The apple tree in the side yard,
and eating the small green bellyaches
my tree in one arm
my friend in the other,
spitting forbidden snuff
to the bee sting on my shoulder
The rasp of the chickens scratching
the hard pan under the eave of the house
The mew of the yellow cat
and her inches long kits
The gobble of old Tom
too tough a bird for a Thanksgiving meal

I think of home, the careless days,
the wicked nights,
the domestic skirmishes ending in door slams and
new day mornings, hugs and a cup of coffee,
cigarette breath,
and a kiss on my neck

I think of home
and
I hold these jewels of memory
as my sacred sacraments
eating and drinking them
in Great Thanksgiving,
because they are life giving to me

a way to transcend
this lonely battlefield

Peter! ?

(Meditation on Mark 1: 14-20)

What was in his voice, the turn of head,
the light in his eye,
that made a man to drop his life
as if it were a lie?

In what frame does such a
picture grow,
where family and funds are
loathed, abandoned, cut?

To end in tumbled cruciform
with beaten brow and chest
instead with nest of Spirit
to eat your full life’s best?

To fish for those who do not swim,
to heal and not consume,
to speak the words that drove you thus,
“Come and follow him.”

Angels in the Sky

There is something so amazing,
so breath-taking
about Christmas
that it is difficult to distill it into words.

But that is the way it should be.
Christmas.
The day we celebrate the moment
our salvation was born
and given to us.

Before, we were like shepherds
in the fields
going about our meager lives.
Then wow!
Angels in the sky,
a multitude of them singing.

They not only sang, they spoke, they announced
the birth of a king.
When else has a king’s birth been announced
to anyone
in such a manner?

Never.

The shepherds were wowed, terrified, and
at that moment, their whole lives changed.
They knew it, and they ran.
They left their livelihood, their sheep, their home.
This thing that had happened imported life.
Nothing else mattered.

The good news! brought to them, and
nothing else mattered.
A king, a savior, the Messiah, the anointed one

God with us, the amazing good news
God—the creator
God—the healer
God—the provider
God—the one who loves us
God—came and nothing is the same anymore!

Table Rock Charge Fellowship and Prayer Meeting

The three came together
to break bread
and pray

Amid the disasters, floods,
famines, dysentery, mental breakdowns,
deployments, plane crashes, churning seas,
goodbyes, flipped SUV’s, depressions, chemo,
empty pockets, and the other cascading terrors
of existence

There was joy
Unbelievable as that sounds
There was joy

Since the three came together
broke bread
and prayed

Winter Reprieve

Semi-Inspired Musings

The caw, caw, caw of a coven of crows
sprinkles the landscape in mock aggression.
Toby ahead on the path, trotting in Z’s,
nose bouncing to the ground, grinning his dog grin,
tongue extended, eyes as bright as a brown marble in sunlight.

What does he smell?
Rabbits, turkey droppings, deer tracks?
He lingers over a matted clump of weed, momentarily motionless,
then on, blazing the trail.

I sit down in the warmth of dead grass shorn close to the earth last fall,
the loamy scent familiar,
and upon the jetty of river bolder, the chugging of rapids
cast a spray of fresh fragrance, icy damp.
I breathe it in and am thankful.

Give Attention

When an angel appears in your presence
give attention
for it may be Good News he brings

When a new star adorns the night sky
give attention
for it may be the light for the darkness

When a virgin gives birth to a son
give attention
for God may come anytime

We Have Stood

We have stood the harvest,
the cutting away from the earth.

We have stood the picking up,
the stacking, the drying, the bending
the breaking of our bodies.

We have stood the congregating,
the laying down,
the crushing from clomping feet,
the calamities of the curse.

We have stood becoming
a pure powder,
our brokenness mixed, molded,
privately, publicly, and then
panned together, a perfected people.

We have stood the Holy fire,
the kindling, the match,
the conflagrating heat,
the flesh scented smoke rising skyward.

We have stood the hot, hot oven
triple digit degrees,
the baking, the broiling,
the fixing solid of our parts.

We have stood,
alone.
Yet now,
we stand together.

One loaf,
blessed, broken and given
from the Master’s hand.

Thea (tea)

hot, iced, honeyed, lemoned,
cupped, capped, mugged, lugged
over hills in burlap sacks, sorted

dried, crushed by the other, dark
skinned Asians alive in
valley tenements twelve to a room

tatami mat unfurled, a red carpet,
red satin slippers padding, tiny steps of
a gashed red mouth in chalky face

ganga smacked junkie, chasing a
dragon, mouth smoke and
lungs sucking Acapulco gold

skirted scabby-kneed girls and teddy bears
with tin cups and teapots, cookies
on a wide platter, munching

biscuits and tea keep growling
from the royal belly of
Anna, 7th Duchess of Bedford, 1

who conceived for afternoon
at four, unknowingly led to
Cop Killer2 and death

for new thought hemlocked
in time numbed from feet
up to a Celestial sky

high on Teaberry, sweet
juicy teeth chewing chi
black, barley, and green

from racing clippers pulled to port
Cutty Sark and Stornaway,3 slant-eye
wabi-sabi inhabits Camellia leaf on bush.





1. Began tradition of afternoon tea in 18th century England.
2. 1992 song by rap artist, Ice T.
3. Mid-19th century clipper ships that competed in races from China to the London Tea Exchange to be the first to action tea cargo at market.

Khaki Man

What did Daddy do

when he caught his hand
in the cornpicker? His thin
baby finger healed with less
than half a nail. He trimmed it
with a pocket knife sitting
on a blunt-hearted tractor
seat.

He was a khaki man,
in shirt, pants and plastic
panama hat that stood up
to storms.

He classified the trees
and lay on cold ground pointing
to constellations he learned navigating
to war-time ports.

In hot July he drank russet tea
from a Mason jar and breathed in—
herbicide from the weed sprayer.

He toured his last lima
field, felt the wadded sod and
fretted for rain. He died
wearing a diaper in his
granddaughter’s bedroom,
blind to the blue dot
wallpaper Crayolaed
with corn stalks
and brown beetle bugs.

Gentile Daughter*

She whispers in a foreign tongue
and crawls the base of the garden gate
like a cornered bitch, at home among
the stench and stone. To congregate

she crawls over the garden gate
to dance naked on the road
tapping stench and stone to congregate
with Satanic hosts, as if she owes

a naked dance on the road
to unclean spirits and other
Satanic hosts, unaware she owes
nothing, not soul, nor mind. Her mother

for unclean spirits, another
priest she prays to find
to free the soul, the mind, the mother,
finished with remedies so unkind.

This priest, she prays to find,
is a Jew from Galilee.
She’s finished with remedies, the kind
of fire and flogs, amulet and poison tea.

She finds the Jew from Galilee,
who walks on, ignores her plea, her ache,
offers not even fire or flog, amulet or poison tea.
He shuns the dog, for children’s sake

and walks on, ignores her plea, her ache
“Just one crumb,” she begs, head hung,
“for dogs shunned for children’s sake,”
she whispers in a foreign tongue.






* See Matthew 15: 21-28 as reference.
(The form of this poem is Pantoum)

He, the Bread

I cannot see him in the morning mists
as blind to hope I’ve found myself to be.
What grace is there to open eyes to see
if love at all in this garden exists?

Here earth weights stubborn as sour grapes amassed
on vines that grow from soil of rock and rums
where wheat and rye a seedless chaff becomes
so parched of rain that fruit produced can’t pass

as food good for any use. Yet, from this bed
a meal is formed intended for a child
to eat and drink as open eyes be formed.

It is a bread broken, but blessed instead,
a wine pressed out as from a vein so mild,
love’s nourishment that clears the mist of morn.

Keepsies

At 6:30 a.m.
the darkness impedes the light still
yet morning has fired through
my sleep, a bully shooter
scattering my dreams like marbles
they roll beyond the boundary
of my consciousness
where a rough knuckled fist
scoops
and pockets them

I’m clouded
I can’t remember
my crimson swirl aggie or
from whom I snared my last mib or
the circle where I sported and nudged
and lagged and plunked

Now in the dark morning
my senses perceive only a hint of
those alabaster glasses
which once inhabited me and
befriended me and
were as known to me
as the night

Across the barren land in march

tree, stick of frail arm and swollen rusty digits
standing, a mourner amid the dead
musty forest floor, littered, brittle leaves
curled like empty cocoons
field, sucked dry, cracked in angling lines,
pits where blood of grass and grain
seeped away, leaving behind the
withered blades, bent and broken
pond, ripple free, all life
sleeps, forgotten, in Sheol

and in three days,

a reverie of sound, wind chimes,
beneath my window alert me
the spirit is moving, blowing,
God’s Marching Wind,

Oh!

Spirit of resurrection

the fierce Grace of Him
who is not dead
awakens His creation
to live again