O For A Hundred Saner Tongues
He could no longer bear the burden of her current language – her being the evangelical wing of the Church. He tried not to be angry about it, and most days succeeded, but every now and then a day would come along when he would drop the reins and rage. Disciples making disciples. Being on mission. Fully developed followers. It was all the language of mammon, commerce, business, busyness.
He wondered if those using that language realized what they were doing. Could they hear their own voices? He had tried, numerous times, to have conversations with those addicted to platform Christianity, to ask if not caution them about such language. But each attempt at engagement further convinced him of their desperation: If I do not talk this way, no one will listen.
It was that the language had become too small for him. Constrictive, if not picayune. It was absolute gobbledygook.
He had no desire to be the revolutionary constantly storming the castle. That was a younger man’s game, and he was older now. He did not need to be singled out for any adulation, to be recognized as some smart fellow. And he certainly had no need to find someone to blame. He simply wanted to be able to talk about things that matter with a saner tongue. He had nothing to sell. But he did have something to say.
So he began, slowly at first, the measured steps of a comment here and there on blogs, occasional tweets although that particular medium was a constant challenge for him. If someone responded to his comments he never engaged. He said what he wanted to say and moved on, the discipline of talking lightly upon the earth. A few began to take notice though and conspired to criticize him for being unwilling to be a part of the progressive dialogue for community transformation, yet another unseemly coupling of words he found to be utterly impotent. The critics could not understand why someone would choose to stay off to the side. In their unconscious trinitarian approach to almost everything, they diminished people to either being a sheep, a goat, or a wolf. He was labeled the latter, in other words, a threat.
But most of his energies were poured into short verses – sometimes poetry, other times prose. And although he admired Emily’s prod to tell truth slant, he remained vigilant not to be obtuse. He believed the presentation of faith as constant riddle or koan to be ultimately cruel. The good news, if it is any good to anyone at all, is hauntingly vernacular: For God so loved the world.
“He had nothing to sell. But he did have something to say.”
Appreciate what you “say”.
Dear Fellow Traveler … thank you. I commit myself to walk in this way, as well. Tom
I so appreciate your voice
Thank you
1,000 tongues could not be so lovely – thank you!
Oh I love this…..
I thought about heading to an Anglican church this morning, though alone because on vacation there’s no way in Hades Miska would do that. But for me sometimes it’s nice to simply sit and receive. I didn’t do it, though. And this good word gave me the same benefit. Thanks for reminding me of part of why we do what we do…
JDB- thanks, you have a gift … keep sharing your heart … always remembering that being a forerunner has many challenges … grace always grace -:)-
I’m thinking there can be no better sign that one is onto something than if no one else seems to understand.
Way to go John! I agree. Commercial language in the church – and military language in business – this I find repugnant. I cannot listen to evangelical sermons for this reason – and began to wonder what people were really meaning in the board room too. Very often the people using the most jargon seem to be those who most want to impress, and may hide a lack of understanding behind jargon. If we really understand something – and really want it to be understood by the audience – we will find the way to say it simply, n’est-ce pas?
Wowza. I am dumstruck, tongue tied and speechless. Again. I do know one thing. I’m grateful to have a place to come and bask in beautiful meaningful poetry and prose.
Woah…love.
This man, whoever he is, is already my friend.
Sending a hug to you… sister to brother. Thank you for this.
Speechless. Thank you for wielding words so concise and well.
Oh, gad, yes. Please. I’m joining you on those sidelines, my friend. Though I don’t do lovely verse, I do work on stories. Cuz I think that’s where the most truth is. After all, that’s what we’ve been given, that’s what we say we live, right?
yes…
blessed are the meek
Thanks be to God that some still understand.
Flying True
There will always be crows
flapping around,
cawing and picking
at bones.
A cacophony of distraction.
Far above
is a flight path
feathered with grace and peace.
There is the final inspiration,
a place to rest the eyes and soul
in the presence of the Dove.
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