On Preaching

It is not a simple task,
this thing they call preaching.
It is difficult at times
to interest,
to entertain,
to inspire,
to comfort,
to offer divine wisdom.
.
But perhaps the greatest challenge,
the heaviest burden,
is to bear the responsibility
for what so many will do with the words you say--
or what they won't.
.
If you stand before me
and say what I want--
and what I expect--
to hear,
there will be nods
and smiles,
joy and laughter.
.

But sometimes,
your words bring a challenge,
and the sacrifice--or service--
you ask of me
closes ears,
furrows brows,
and hastens departures.

.
The gospels teach love of enemy,
which is okay
if I must overlook
the fault of the one who looks like me--

but don't expect me
to call my government to account
for injustice it has perpetrated
on someone else's homeland.

.
The Torah calls for hospitality to the alien,
which is a warm
and inspiring concept--

so long as the alien doesn't try
to live in my neighbourhood,
attend school with my children,
or benefit from my tax dollars.

.
A Creator appointed caretakers,
and I am more than happy
to reap the fruit of creation's abundance,
especially if someone else
has tended that crop--

but I will only take offense
at your suggestion
that my irresponsible energy use
is polluting the environment
and causing famine
on a continent far away.

.
To house the poor
and feed the hungry,
I suggest you start a committee,
and I will give a few bucks
(if I remember)--

after all, its not as if
it is really feasible
to invite them to my table
or offer a blanket in my home.

.
And after all,
Jesus
was the perfect representation of God's will for humanity.
.
I am called to simply have faith
in God's grand design for the world

--not
to work toward
the incarnation
of that design.

Breathing is the only way I know to pray...

When I search for you,
I do not find you.
.
Should I conclude
that you are no longer
present,
active,
alive.
.
Or is it simply
that I am looking
up and beyond and outside,
while you are present
below, before, and within.
.
They have taught me to look for you
on the mountain,
in the storm,
in happy prosperity,
and most of all,
in the sacred charade of the saints.
.
They have named you
Majestic,
Holy,
Powerful,
Sacred,
Other,
Supreme Judge of all that is.
.
But I am learning to find you
in the quiet darkness of my own heart,
in the mundane rhythm of daily life,
in the tearful hope of the damned,
and most of all,
in those rare undeveloped regions of the earth.
.
And I call you
quiet,
humble,
love,
peace,
Being itself,
the life and breath of all that is.
.
Quietly, I contemplate the divinity of being,
and the being of the divine.
.
Perhaps I have understood you most
when I stopped trying to believe
and focused instead on
simply
living,
breathing,
seeing,
feeling,
crying,
laughing,
touching and tasting and smelling.

I've been in a poetic mood lately...

Jangua Tugende Kusoma
(Quickly, We Go to Study)

Morning breaks lightly among the hills.
Dawn rises quickly as I step amongst dew
and dust.
.
Too early for the young mechanics,
but I bend my knee and speak loudly
to greet the mad woman
and deaf dry cleaner.
.
The night was beautiful, peaceful, restful,
as I slept with those I call
brother, sister, mother.
"Nasuze bulungi"-I slept well,
is all I say.
.
A few steps through town--
burning trash,
babies crying,
children buying chapatis
or washing utensils.
.
Waves and greetings.
"Bye-ee muzungu."
"Bye-ee," I respond,
"Bye-ee, muganda muwana,"
dear brown child.
.
Past the coffee plant,
where young men sweep beans
into the morning sun.
.
Smoke rises as tea boils
on rekindled cooking fires.
.
Now I wander through gardens
of cassava, beans, and g. nuts.
.
A palm tree, tall along the path.
.
Banana plants,
simple in their sustenance,
providing food, fibre, water,
whose leaves take a part
in the dance of life and death,
love and loss.
.
I watch the sun climb above the farthest green hills,
awestruck by the daily beauty.
.
"Good morning Aunt,"
children pull me from my contemplation.
"How are you?"
.
They are fine
in their many-coloured uniforms,
barefoot as they carry
paper-wrapped books,
capless pens,
plastic containers packed with
cassava and sweet bananas.
.
"Quickly," I tell them,
and "study well today,"
drawing happy laughs
as I speak their tongue.
.
Returning again to the road,
remembering childhood folk tales,
I imagine I'm playing a pipe
and wonder how far they would follow me.
.
Greetings continue.
Boda drivers racing to their posts.
Cyclists starting the long trek to Town,
green bananas piled high as they trudge uphill.
.
We all cover our faces
and dodge to the side
as heavy lorries speed toward Tanzania.
.
As we reach the parish hill,
I urge my children onward
and upward.
"Quickly," I remind them,
"lessons are beginning now."
.
Father Grandfather is giving mass up the hill,
the youngest children tidy the compound
with brooms and hoes.
Already teachers are in their classrooms,
the cook's toddler twins splash water in a saucepan.
.
I pull out chalk and a book.
"You are most welcome,
dear Auntie Chrishtine"
as I cross the threshold from dirt to dirt.
.
I smile crosses my face as the 7:00 bell
resounds across the grass.
It is the first hour of the morning,
I am exactly where I belong,
and my day is beginning again.