SOME UNSOLICITED ADVICE FOR YOUNG PASTORS

Be wary of praise.
You will get some.

There will, of course, be criticism,
much of it framed as "a suggestion"
and some of it will be hard to hear.

Which is why words of commendation
will be so welcome. You'll be tempted
to lap it up like a puppy at a milk bowl.
Yes, you did work hard on that sermon.
You thought the ending was especially strong.
No doubt it was.
Several people told you it was.

But now, let it go.

Be wary of praise.
   

KID STUFF

"Suffer the little children to come to me
and forbid them not: for of such is
the Kingdom of God."
   -- Mark 10:14

Just between you and me, Simon,
sometimes I just don't understand him.
Bad enough we've got people lined up
wanting their leprous skin made clean,
their blind eyes opened. And over
by the fountain a bunch of Pharisees
have their heads together, cooking up
another accusation. It's getting late
and these parents bring their brats to him
for . . . what? To touch them, give them
a hug? As if he had all the time in the world!

You there. You with the little girl.
Step aside. Can't you see he's got
more important . . .

Yes, Master.  I . . . I'm sorry.
Yes. Yes.
I think I understand.
I think.

ASSIGNMENT

Every now and then get up early
Slip on your robe and slippers
Steal down the stairs
Open the back door
Listen to the dark silence
Stand there awhile looking east
Say a prayer if you are so inclined but
Say it short and soft
Don't expect anything to happen
Anticipate no epiphany
Just be

then go and have your coffee

OPPORTUNITY

I had a chance to be a banker.
The bank president sat behind his desk
and painted a picture of what
my future would look like:
good salary, opportunity for advancement,
status in our community, a life of significance.
It was all there, and more, he said,
for the taking. Just finish your college
studies and seize the day. He may even
have said carpe diem, though perhaps
my memory has gilded the scene.
I do remember feeling flattered.
I thanked him but said my goal
was to become a teacher, a teacher
of English. He pursed his lips,
gave his head a sad shake and
did not say "Good luck with THAT."
But I think he wanted to.

JANUARY PUZZLEMENT

It must be terribly confusing.

The grey squirrel sitting
on the deck railing is back,
devouring the bird seed.

Last night's snow triggered
our outlay of provender
for sparrows, juncoes, cardinals.
Not for squirrels.

What looks to him like beneficence
on his behalf is, apparently,
no such thing. How else
explain why we open the door
and shout him away?

It must be terribly confusing.

TESTIMONIAL

My mother finished high school.

There was a photo of her fellow graduates
   -- Milton Grove School, Class of 1924 --
      three girls in white dresses,seated,
      and behind them, standing,
      four boys, soberly attired
      in unaccustomed suits and ties

It hung on the wall of my parents'
bedroom, testimony to her
first-one-in-her-family achievement.

Twenty-three years later, when I was
about to begin my own venture
into the "realms of academe,"
(a phrase she had learned
from her favorite teacher,
Mr. Becker), she pointed me
to the photograph and recited
the names of her classmates
along with a brief biography
of each, ending with . . .
"and now she . . . and now he . . ."
followed by a description
of their current station in life.

She was especially proud
of Adam, who, she said,
was now living in Japan, employed
as a teacher. The point of her
review was clear to me
and required no further explication.
School, I saw, was my passport
to possibilities undreamed of.

MARY'S CHRISTMAS

I hope you won't take
what I'm going to say
the wrong way,
dear, but now maybe
you'll believe what
I told you months ago.

I know, I know,
they were only sheep herders,
but this morning when I saw
them kneel there on the straw
and stammer out
that they'd heard
a heavenly choir
and said they'd come
to worship the babe
they knew would save
us all, I believed them.

Didn't you?
   

CHRISTMAS WISH LIST

It gets harder every year

No more ties please
or sweaters
I prefer choosing my own fruit
unboxed
Thank you all the same
Same goes for candy
nuts
beverages

My needs are cared for
To conjure up some wants
seems silly and selfish

If I'm not mistaken
gift cards
for peace on earth
are still not available

REALITY CHECK

there is something about
the slop of first winter snow

slush the next morning
the slap dash of cars

ferrying their drivers
to ports of work

that compels reflection
an unwelcome reminder

that beauty is evanescent
every flower fades

each glorious sunset
sinks like a stone

into a sea of darkness
one day's fairy dust

becomes the next day's
sodden slippery slosh
   

EBENEZER SCROOGE, UPDATED

Go ahead. Explain to me how
the story of a child born to
a young woman in a backwater
town two thousand years ago
got transmuted into this orgy
of Black Friday, Cyber Monday,
billion dollar spending spree
to say nothing of obligatory
parties, insipid "Holiday" music
and all the rest of it.

I'm serious. I'd really like
to know, and while you're
at it, tell me why the whole
Santa Claus thing, which
teaches kids that their parents
are big liars, is such a good idea.

Go ahead. Explain.
I'll wait.

HOW TO READ A POEM

Let the poet take you
    by the hand and give
        it a tug, gentle but

firm. Give yourself over.
    Be led. Suspend judgment;
        there will be time enough

later if you want it back.
    When the poet points, look.
        And while you are looking

don't forget to listen. Do not
    use your eyes or your ears.
        The trip will be short one

and may be easily forgotten,
    but not always. The world will not
        be changed. But you might be.
   

THE PLUMBER

He arrives, confident, right on time.
He has tools whose application
I can only guess at. He listens
to my tale of leaking, gurgling
woe. He nods his head, his face
limned with a knowing smile.
My faith in him is boundless.
Surely salvation is at hand.

He begins his work humming.
Two hours later his hums
have ended. I hear him
stomping up the basement stairs.
We've got a real problem here
he says. I think his choice
of pronoun is, at very least,
just a smidge inaccurate.

HANDOUT

The man who stands at the light
at Third and Market holding a sign
that says out of work has been
here every morning for the past

two months. Today I'm the third
car back and this time, for the first
time, I take a dollar bill
and hold it out the window.

The February wind waves it.
He sees and walks quickly toward
me, his tattered coat poor protection
from the cold. He takes it and

wishes me God's blessing. I wonder
why, instead of feeling virtuous
and blessed, I feel embarrassed.
For him, but mostly for me.

TASHA

Mixed Welsh Terrier they told us
at the Humane Society. Which
made us ask ourselves: mixed with
what? Maybe fugitive, we joked.
Open the front door and use your
legs to block her escape or she would
be gone, tearing across the street
as if chased by demons. Trailed,
then reclaimed, she would lick your
hand in gratitude and seem to say
-- well then, what's for supper?
There came the day when she could
not be found. Placards on telephone
poles and trees, ad in the paper,
yielded no response. We hoped
she'd found another family,
one that guarded the front door
with more efficiency than we had.

SELECTIVE MORALITY

But it's one of God's creatures
she tells me, this woman who
defines the unpardonable sin
as cruelty to animals. She
will not set mousetraps.

She will allow me to do
so but thinks less of me
for it. Come summer and,
God help me (for I cannot
help myself), as I see her slap
and dispatch a mosquito.
I give her my best grin:
"But it's one of God's creatures."

JOURNEY

The winter walk home from school
after wrestling practice started
in twilight, ended in darkness.

The long trudge along the steel tracks
made time for thought, sometimes
for dreams and prayers.

Lights from the occasional farmhouse
gave comfort, as did the dogs
who lived there, their barking
at the unseen invader of their territory
a reassurance of order in the universe.

There were nights when moonlight
made the rails ahead gleam
like two straight lines of cold fire
stretching into the distance, the future.

HANGING TREE

Did you ever hear about
the hanging tree? We hadn't.
Come, he said, I'll drive you there.
On the way he told us about
the huge oak standing in
his family's back yard
that had served as gallows
for condemned prisoners.

Taken from the county jail,
made to sit on a horse
standing under the thick
lowest limb, they were jerked
into the air, kicking till
they breathed their last.

The tree, he told us, stood
sixty feet high. We arrived
at the house where he said
he had lived as a boy and
heard stories about the men
who were strung up to die.
He led out back and pointed.

There, he said. We gaped.
Where's the tree? We asked.
Oh, it's been gone for
over a hundred years, he said.
It stood right over there.

I AM NOT A COOK

I am not a cook, not really.
    I use a cookbook and follow it
        slavishly. My idea of creativity

consists of adding an extra
    1/4 teaspoon of paprika
        to the Betty Crocker recipe

for chili. But I do enjoy cutting
    up the vegetables for a stir
        fry. I like the way the knife

slices through a carrot and
    makes a thunk with each slice
        and I feel great when someone,

anyone, at the table
    says: this is pretty good.
        But I am not a cook.

CIVIL (WAR) DISOBEDIENCE

It is said that during America's
Civil War, when Mennonite young men
from Virginia were drafted into
the army, complaints were registered
about them: they were not good soldiers.
One of their officers agreed that such
criticism against them was justified,
but in one respect only.
They were, he said, model soldiers:
well-behaved, respectful of authority.
When ordered to march, they marched.
When ordered to close ranks, they did so.
They kept their rifles oiled and cleaned.
They faced the enemy bravely.
When they heard the command
    -- Ready. Aim. Fire! --
They readied their weapons, they fired.
But, alas, they disobeyed in one regard.
They did not aim.

BETRAYAL

"And as soon as he was come,
he goeth straightway to him, and saith,
Master, master; and kissed him."
    (Mark 14:45)

English ivy embraces
Our backyard oak
It looks like
A mutually beneficial relationship
But it's not
It's a death squeeze
Not all hugs
Not all kisses
Can be trusted