Offering John 6:1-15 (written c. 2005) His heart went out to them and he fed them, hoping they would recognize: that the satisfaction of hunger lies in leaving accustomed sustenance, and waiting for him to come amongst them, waiting in the open, in emptiness, needing to meet him and share whatever may be on offer. People were fed, but grew greedy to depend on such providing. They would have made him king so they need never hunger again, although need had brought them there, where abundance was possible. His heart went out to them and he fed them, offering self-emptying openness, offering his very being, and hoping. His heart went out to them and he healed them, hoping they would recognize: that awareness of weakness is the only strength required – to desire enough to reach out to the hem of his garments, or call out to him by the wayside, to be lowered to him through a crowd, or singled out by him in the synagogue. People were healed, but grew greedy to claim the power of restoration. They would have made him king so they need never hurt again, although pain had brought them there, where wholeness was possible. His heart went out to them and he healed them, offering suffering compassion, offering his very being, and hoping. His heart went out to them and he taught them, hoping they would recognize: that space is needed for growth, and hollowness for listening, inwardly, for the word, proclaimed or silent, for the hallowed name above every name, which is unpronounceable, and yet a word on every baby’s babbling lips. People were taught, but grew greedy to possess and regulate the word. They would have made him king so they need never wander again, although wondering had brought them there, where wisdom was possible. His heart went out to them and he taught them, offering receptive silence, offering his very being, and hoping. His heart went out to them and he died for them, hoping they would recognize: that life rises up, reborn from the tomb of emptiness, from the space of utter abandonment, where blood is poured out and flesh broken open, and the seeds of life thrown down where the harvest might well be lost. People were saved, but grew greedy to be spared the loss of dying. They would have made him king so they need never fail again, although surrender had brought them there, where resurrection was possible. His heart went out to them and he died for them, offering body and blood, offering his very being, and hoping.
Feeding Those Who May Not Gather
Feeding Those Who May Not Gather Pentecost 9, John 6:1-21 Confined to quarters by a covid scare no crowd can gather to be taught or fed – not that they would, for pews are partly bare on any Sunday, and though Jesus bled for all, not many hear that read. And yet a hunger lurks despite our meals which tempt our taste buds with a world of spice. We’re overfed, and yet it sometimes feels like emptiness prevails. What foods suffice to satisfy? What condiments entice? Though Jesus came to heal, we need to name the fevered state that threatens life on Earth. Pursuit of profit cannot be the game that dominates all sources of true worth, and sets aside potential of new birth. Now what have I to share to meet this need that few acknowledge even in this hour when illness spreads abroad with frightening speed despite all these restrictions? Luck can sour as swiftly as new strains of virus flower. I try to offer what I have to share – not loaves or fish – I write for him each word upon this page. What sustenance is there? A poem cannot even feed a bird, yet in his hands it might not be absurd. Such morsels he might turn to living bread. He suffers with us, changing us, like wine from trampled grapes. Now we are fed by worship shared at home with friends online – a virtual feast, still sign of the divine.
Our Need of Healing
Our Need of Healing Pentecost 8, Mark 6:30-34, 53-56 What might we learn if we gathered to share all we have taught and done? Jesus would listen and help us discern what we have lost and won. Bodies can eat here, but souls are half-starved. We come and go distressed. He says, “Let’s go to a peaceful place,” calming our breath to rest. Ours not the worry of large hungry crowds: sheep here admit no need. Few now respond to the shepherd’s voice, straying too far to heed. Can we cross over to that other shore where we might recognize sickness of soul has infected the Earth? Scales need to fall from eyes. Heedless, prostrate in the marketplace, stricken by what we buy, where is the will to reach out to him? Would we prefer to die? Who can admit that we need to heal country and air and seas? We are consumed by consumer needs, deaf to the word that frees. Can his compassion encompass us, teach us to turn and live? He gave his life to enliven us so we in turn might give. Barbara Messner 14/07/2021
Sacred Dance
Sacred Dance Pentecost 7, 2 Samuel 6, 1-5, 12-20, Mark 6:14-29 I have witnessed sacred dancing that has stirred my very being: wordless meaning that’s enhancing prayer inspired by what I’m seeing – spirit stirring, feelings freeing. Yet our mainstream church disdains it, though the censure is unspoken: formal liturgy restrains it into gestures that are token, careful that no power is woken. With exuberance, King David danced before the Lord uncovered, clad in nothing but an ephod. Scornful wife at window hovered, voiced past angers rediscovered. When Herodias and daughter used seductive dance, entrancing king to order Baptist’s slaughter, sex and politics were prancing, poles apart from sacred dancing. Yet religious fears have banished all that dance might offer to us. Shame in bodies has not vanished. We’re unsure if what flows through us might seduce us or renew us. All the arts aspire to power that can shake us or remake us. Spirit gifts, abused, will sour; linked to God, they stir and wake us. Who can know where that might take us?
Shake off the Dust
Shake off the Dust Pentecost 6, Mark 6:1-13 The locals doubted Jesus could be wise: he grew to manhood right before their eyes, a carpenter whose kin they thought they knew. His gift was hampered, though he healed a few. Belief, it seems, enables Spirit power, and sceptics flourish in this day and hour, pursuing facts and leaving wisdom out. The chance to heal is undermined by doubt. So those of us who teach the ways of soul in hopes the world might turn and be made whole are stripped of what sustains us on the road, while lack of welcome multiplies our load. We see so many signs of lack of trust, it’s hard to leave behind the clogging dust.
The Healing of Women
The Healing of Women Pentecost 5 Mark 5:21-43
When Jesus heals, he seeks to make us whole:
he healed the flow of blood the woman bore
for twelve long years, but also healed her soul.
Her shame was lifted, she need hide no more.
Did Jesus feel his power go out to all
those women judged unclean who hide in fear
and dare not state their need or voice their call,
yet let their faith in healing draw them near?
The leader’s daughter, twelve years old, had died
while Jesus listened to that woman’s truth.
Despite the scorn of those who wailed and cried,
he raised the girl to walk into her youth,
and there perhaps to find there’s more to life
than bartered, without choice, as someone’s wife.
Pitching Our Tents: Poetry of Hospitality
(Barbara Messner has a poem in this book, and would like to encourage people to read it and to contribute to the project it supports. The following is a description prepared by the editors:)
“Pitching Our Tents: Poetry of Hospitality is a chapbook edited by Maren Tirabassi and Maria Mankin in support of Peace Cathedral in the Republic of Georgia’s physical and spiritual embrace of full Interfaith community. It includes the works of thirty-two contributors from seven countries sharing experiences of inclusion and connection.
Peace Cathedral in the Republic of Georgia was established as First Baptist Church of Tbilisi in 1867. Its history is full of dangerous activist stands, and it has been involved in interfaith work for more than twenty years, trusted by Muslim, Jewish, Yezidi and other religious traditions, in a context where the more dominant Christian culture often responds violently against minorities. They are constructing a mosque and a synagogue under the roof of their church building to turn it into a spiritual home for Abrahamic faiths. In addition, there is a Centre for Interfaith Dialogue, an interfaith adult library and a children’s library with programming and summer camps. Their pilgrimage program brings people to visit the Republic of Georgia to learn about the hopes and struggles of people of all of these faiths.
Pitching Our Tents: Poetry of Hospitality is offered in support of this project, as the writers focus on issues of inclusion and connection in their own situations and from their own history or heritage. These are extraordinary poems from widely varied perspectives.
This book’s purpose is to raise awareness of Peace Cathedral’s work and to raise money for its ongoing project. If you would like to receive a copy of the book, please follow these instructions to make a donation (suggested donation $10):
- Go to the link: https://allianceofbaptists.org/give
- To pay by credit card, select 1. On the second line of the form, where it states, “Other Designation,” please write in Peace Project – Tbilisi. To pay by check, choose 3, and write in Peace Project – Tbilisi on the Memo line.
- Use the following Book Funnel link to receive your free electronic copy of Pitching Our Tents: Poetry of Hospitality with a choice of e-book formats and a PDF version for those who like simplicity, in thanks for your support of the Peace Cathedral. https://dl.bookfunnel.com/q5j6on197f
- If you would like a print copy, it is available on Amazon. We’ve set the cost as low as Amazon will allow (this only covers the printing cost). We do not receive royalties from this, nor will the proceeds go to the Peace Cathedral, so if you’d like to support them, please follow the donation steps above.
If you can’t make a donation but would still like to receive a copy, go to step 3 and enjoy the chapbook and share this information with those you know who might be interested in learning more about the Peace Cathedral’s mission or need encouragement with their own struggle for justice, reconciliation and hospitality.”
Anxiety
Anxiety Anxiety hops like a toad in my guts: it swims in my stomach and climbs up my throat. Like seagulls, it splatters my hopes with its buts; it circles my living like wall or like moat. But if it’s like toad, should I kiss it and see if it will turn royal and make me a bride? Or if it’s a bird, should I watch it fly free, and let its harsh calling entice me outside? Or if it’s a moat, make a ditch to the sea to clean out its waters with tide and with salt, then lower a drawbridge to where help might be, or climb up the walls and cry; “Who goes there? Halt!” I’ll raise the portcullis and parley with flags, and find there are terms that can set aside fear, then offer a welcome to strangers with bags, and find when they stay awhile, all becomes clear.
Who then is this?
Who then is this? Pentecost 4, Mark 4:35-41 “Who then is this?” we ask. Do winds and waves obey a being set apart with words we dare not say, not even when we pray? “Who then is this?” we ask. A man so spent and worn he cannot help but sleep, although the skies are torn and there may be no dawn. “Who then is this?” we ask. A person steeped in trust who dares to stay at rest as wind and waters thrust, and fear burns fierce as lust. “Who then is this?” we ask. Though waking to distress as friends and storm wear out, he knows when more is less, and what he must address. “Who then is this?” we ask. He stands and says: “Be still!” The storm reverts to calm. His peace flows out to fill clear space beyond our will. Barbara Messner 15/06/2021
Changing our Point of View
Changing our Point of View Pentecost 3, 1 Samuel 15:34-16:13, 2 Corinthians 5:6-10, 14-17, Mark 4:26-34 For anyone in Christ a new creation calls in love that urges change: to walk by faith not sight, to live not for ourselves but with the risen Christ, to lift our blinkered gaze from human points of view. The old has passed away: the world no longer spins on axis of myself, my efforts and my worth, priorities and goals, achievements and control. The Lord looks on the heart; our preconceptions fail. So Jesse’s older sons were not anointed ones. Appearance, stature, age did not determine choice. The youngest shepherd boy would be the future king, endowed with Spirit power though shadows lurked within. For God can choose a child, or be a homeless babe. The smallest seed grows high so birds can nest in shade. We can’t control or know how earth will bring to bear the harvest that’s a gift to reap with thankful prayer.
Barb, poet priest 