He comes to us as one unknown

Look Ma, No hands!

POEM - 60TH BIRTHDAY REFLECTIONS
Look Ma, No hands!

Beneath it all - beneath a body of 60 years
And the face - they don't card me - even for AARP
The boy is there.

Those hierarchs who give me a job
"He's "old enough" - credible in authority and expertise
"Be presiding elder at a Charge Conference"
Represent the judicatory in the ecumenical world.

Little do they know...
How exciting it is to play with the 'big boys'
The term is not pc, but the reality is
Even when the 'big boys' are women

To be chosen to bat, in-field, trusted
Like my face pressed again the display window for the new toys
(Internet), each step a challenge, a stretch, and excitement
of discovery
of accomplishment, control a part of world
of self and a new skill.

How exhilarating to see God's grace in a new group of people
the wonder of the church, a charge conference of N. Austin,
and to be able to serve and do something worthwhile.
Always a stretch, a bit above my head, or out of my league;

But God there to see it through
- to stabilize the bike and guide it with his hands -
and let my hands rest upon the worldly handles

But the others - exteriors anyway, seem so serious.
Their demeanor matches the situation -
Conveys assurance, competence, credentialed authority
They deserve to be here.
Can I meet the demand to fill the role like that?
............
Inside, the boy wants to shout, "Look Ma, No hands!

December 7, 1993

Anti-Consolation Poem

We are like a platoon in a trench; hanging on to each other as one after another is killed. We do become more comrades than at the beginning of the engagement with the enemy.

Hunkered down, but still answering calls to go over the edge
Duty to respond, habit, or just automatons,
It doesn’t matter – if not today….tomorrow.

This isn’t the way it once was--
“Let’s face the multi-headed hydra out there
We have the strength, the courage, the audacious hubris.”

Each enemy will be met with equal counterforce
Equanimity amid adequate adrenalin
Kick both the stony rocks and hard places.

Our comrades were there too
We were recruits in same times and place
Families and friends engaged in the history’s engagement.

The battle has gone on, and looks like it will go on ad infinitum
Gradually, …or is it faster?
One or another of us rushed over the rampart

And did not return,
And our platoon withered,
And our feet were more willing to lock themselves in the mud down here.

Maybe we’ve learned something since we were early recruits.
Maybe we’ve learned to feel with each other how the call frightens
Maybe we’ve learned to hug/love here so as to trust love will be “over there.”

ELH September 23, 2009