in pursuit of critical and compassionate living and thought. in surrender to courage & delight of Christ.
In a back room somewhere in my heart’s basements, I run my fingers along my darkest scars. They are from a time when I didn’t know where I was. Like dried scrapes and stains on my heart where my fingers gripped and tried to tear a way out of pain, they are now old writings on cold walls. They were raw, unfiltered, silent, and tormented like the charred writings of a fire that eats a clay walls, like a writer who writes backwards. The room is silent now. My fingers tenderly visit them like writings on a tombstone I didn’t know I would also walk away from. And though the scars are no longer are so raw, though the rocks in the walls have settled, to touch these walls my heart arrests like with a cold winter breathe. It is quiet and still. It whispers silent screams I cannot share. I am brought here to remember I was not the only one here. I am brought here to listen. The room is cold. It has just been cleared.
I am brought back here by the Maranatha wind:
the wind that carries the cries of sorrows,
the wind that leads the floods of fears,
the wind that keeps remembrance alive and bears the inexpressible,
the wind that intercedes with fire and fist,
the wind that makes the invisible powerful,
the wind that brings full hearts to broken knees,
the wind that carries voices like sparrows with tongues of flame,
the wind of tearing fabric where shalom should’ve been,
the wind of hands that search for wounds and cannot stop the bleeding,
the wind that makes you dizzy with songs of dissonance, and strung out with longing,
the wind that defines unrest and defies arrest,
the wind of things not expired before breathe,
the wind that you cannot catch; the wind that you cannot name,
the wind for which you cannot tell the time or day or place it will settle,
the wind that is leaves tensions hanging,
the wind that sits Shiva –
MARANATHA. Lord, come.
Maranatha. O Spirit, in this, you are here.
There are no words for this week’s attacks on the LGBTQ+ community (not just) in Orlando. There are no words for prayer. In Christ, all my mouth can bear is to say to those of the LGBTQ+ community, I love you. I see you. As you are, as you were, as you will be . In Christ who did, who does, who will love you. O Church! Fall to your knees! Our God’s womb cannot be refilled by those lost. My beloved, He calls us all. My beloved, to each. In politics and pride and negligent indifference and misunderstanding and hatred and slander and oppression, do we, Carriers of Christ, abort our world of those He loves? Maranatha, Lord come to us.