LOVE LOST

Classic, perennial theme
of storytellers, song writers,
poets, movie makers.
Always bittersweet, or, to be more
precise, sweetbitter, due to the usual
pattern of felicity giving
way to its opposite.
Always a crowd-pleaser, inducing,
if not tears, at least a rueful sigh,
a sad shake of the head over
what once was,
what might have been if only . . .

I hereby register complaint.
No, a counterview, a rebuttal.
Love is never lost. By its very nature
love is not loseable. Love accumulates,
infuses, multiplies. How did the ancient
song put it . . . many waters cannot
quench it? Yes. And don't forget
that saint from Tarsus who
insisted that it never ends.

It doesn't, not really.
Think back to your life,
your own "lost loves."
See what I mean?

LESSON PLAN

When you are lost in a city
-- not really lost, of course,
but turned around, confused,
unsure, unable to find
your way . . . okay, lost --
you will go up to strangers,
people you would never
ordinarily give a moment's
notice to, and you will
throw yourself into their
care. You will trust them.

If you have never been lost
in a city, you should.

Go, get yourself to a city.
Get good and lost.
Get lost.
Get good.

SONGS IN THE NIGHT

Perry Como used to croon that when
he was worried and couldn't sleep
he counted his blessings instead
of . . . well, you can guess. 
Good for him, I suppose.
I've tried it. Doesn't work.
Mostly I call up the people
I've known, many of them gone:
childhood friends or schoolmates
who may really be gone or
simply grown old somewhere.
Simon and Garfunkel wanted to know
where Joe DiMaggio had gone, and
maybe Perry Como too, even though
they didn't say so.

How about you, Mrs. Robinson,
or whatever your name is? Who do
you miss who has left and gone away?
Hey Hey Hey?

FAITH RESTORED

I don't remember his name
and not much of his story.
Like many others, he needed money,
in his case enough to fill his gas tank.
When, like many others, he assured me
this was just a loan, not a handout,
I tried not to look irritated.

When, a month later, an envelope
post-marked New Jersey came
a check was inside and photos
of his wife and child. Photos!

GETTYSBURG

Next time you visit go alone.
.
Go there empty-handed
leave the battlefield map in the car
Go there as the sun is setting

Get out and walk

Listen

You may hear faint cries
or even loud ones

    water for Christ's sake water
    God damn this God damned war
    Where are you? Ben? Ben?

All of them in their own way
prayers

Next time you visit --
if you are brave enough --
go alone

A PERSONAL WORD

To those of you who visited my blog and were looking for my usual Wednesday post -- my apologies for no posting.

I do have a pretty good excuse. Last Friday, August 3, I was taken to the Camp Hill Hospital with a diagnosis of pneumonia. After a six day stay (not the most pleasant experience of my life, to say the least), I returned home late this afternoon. It looks as if my recovery will be fairly long and slow. In any case, I plan to return to my regular posting schedule next week. So look for it next Wednesday, August 15.

Ken G.

PRE-MARITAL SESSION

Her voice on the phone was breathy, pitched higher than I remembered from the two Sunday mornings when I met them at the door. And this is my boy friend Tom she had said. His handshake was a bone-crusher, his grin goofy.

    The reason I'm calling, pastor, is we'd like to come and talk to your about our wedding.
Oh, I see.

    You know, I've always had my heart set on a church wedding. You know, in one like yours. Tom -- 
    he's my boy fr. . . my fiancé . . . says he'll go along with it if I really want it.

I see.

    So anyways, we could come this Sunday night. Around seven?

Well, I think that . . .

    It couldn't be until after the football game. Tom's a big, big Redskins fan. He says he has his heart 
   set on having "Hail to the Redskins" for the music when we walk down the aisle.
Yes, well . . .

    So. Sunday night at seven? For our talk?

Yes. I suppose so.  I . . . I think we'll have a number of things we'll need to talk about.