everyone

2 poems about ecumenicity

(x = space)

2 poems about ecumenicity

Many Things to Make

(nothing like a rant but a ramble)

And there are other great traditions, too,

About which I know next

To nothing

Remembering the Gulf War when

Some of us felt ecumenical

And took part in gatherings of Christians,

Jews, and Muslims

Where I got to hear the testimonies

Of the followers of each

And who they were as persons

And believers

There was a young woman

Of Islam

Who articulately smoothly,

Even beautifully

That who knew her better than her parents

With regard for her

And so who better to arrange

A marriage for her?

And I was convinced

And I disagree

And there was beauty in the

Disagreement, too

Doubting that we changed much

Of anything—there

Was still a war, and our young

People left to fight—but

In the moments

Of these hours

There were the points of light

The President then

Had been asking for

Inside the nation

There is so much more

To learn

About my neighbors

In the nation

And the world:

Who are the believers?

What do they believe?

What is the story of their faith?

Might they respect

The disagreements, too,

So that our world

Has a chance

To survive

To prosper

To believe

So that with integrity

We might reach for another world,

Too?

Pray the world lasts

Until we meet upon Megiddo

Not to fight

But have a meal,

Exchange apocalypse in faithful terms

And human

For a conclave

And a celebration

Of each other

Reasonably

Most of us believe

And there are those who don’t

Though binary’s not enough

There must be more

Than defining one thing

By its opposite

Humanists

Secularists

Unitarians

People of the Renaissance

Who gave science a category

Near faith

Without faith

Objectivists

Phenomenologists

People of reason

Rationality

Naturalism

Modernism

Fitter for post-modernism

Than the rest of us

Who could lead the way, in fact,

In appreciating

Difference

And diversity,

The creative celebration

Of the mind

And the experiment

Sorry I must

Define these as an

Other

But they must be

Welcome at the table

They could welcome us

We could invite each other

coda

Yes, which is not to say

Believers are irrational

Some are

Some want to be

And there are those who keep

Their faith as

Something in the wild

Those who lost at Whitby

But kept the Celtic

Style and ritual

Below

And now in daylight

Seek in celebration

Understanding for the rest of us

But faith has reason;

Might we say

That reason is creation

By creator?

Say no

Say yes

But allow for some very smart people

To believe

No one has to change

Except in violent intent

It should be an instinct to

Understand oneself

When understanding others

Keeping in mind

With hopefulness

That the one requested

Will in turn

Turn toward you to say

And what is your story?

Delightfully,

Be ready

C L Couch

I was writing before dawn and thinking about the seasons that are upon us now, wonderful times—and that in the spirit of this or that we might serve each other not only better but also for the first time, the stakes being, well, everything

now it’s dawn

by M. Garlick/University of Warwick/ESO – http://www.eso.org/public/images/eso1627a/, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=99645426

December 19, 2022 2

Forever Invitation, RSVP

(x = space)

Forever Invitation, RSVP

There is a table

You know this

The right shape

With many chairs

All are welcome

We have technology

For turns

For clarity

And intention

For a planet

All are guests

The host might seem

Off somewhere

Though is returning

With angels

And tidings

We might have to work

Mainly with us

And pray in evenings

Those who pray

While also working on

Best thoughts

And hopefulness

As gifts like creation

Even resources

To discuss

Arrange

And practice

For a future

A humanity

n. b.

Yes

And at the final conclave,

There will be

A sky command

For snacks

And meals

For needs

For celebration

Everywhere

C L Couch

Photo by Trude Jonsson Stangel on Unsplash

December 13, 2022 2

Holy, Holy, Holy Days

(x = space)

Holy, Holy, Holy Days

Holidays

Are holy days

The changing of the y to i

Means that’s it time

To shop

There are fantastic Christmas passages

In The Dark Is Rising

And Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry

You should read these

And read them

To each other

It could be a new tradition

While you’re at it,

You could read

On your own

With a ceremony

Number the Stars

And The Giver

With an ending that

My students argued

Without consensus

And so we wrote the writer

Who wrote back

To say

She was impressed

That students cared so much

That story might end

At Christmas time

Not that the time must be

Sectarian

There is room (Spare Oom) to share

And the world’s time

Is always its own

Happy holidays

Happy holy days

However you work these out

Delight

C L Couch

The Dark Is Rising by Susan Cooper

Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred Taylor

Number the Stars by Lois Lowry

The Giver by Lois Lowry

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

December 5, 2022 2

We Didn’t Know Who You Was

(x = space)

We Didn’t Know Who You Was

(Christmas Eve)

Let’s not slice it to death

This time

Let’s simply have observances

Let all the contradictions go

We know there’s folklore involved,

Which should fascinate

There was such darkness

At hand

Of one kind or another

Of the past, of

The present

Lack of awareness

Of the import of events;

Only to the players

Did things matter,

They in acts

No one to put it all together until Luke

And a little bit in Matthew and in John

Prophets old and new

We have to say

Knew and know some measure

Of the meaning

Of it all

They are extracted

And we read them, too

Such dulled and slow senses

Sometimes history goes that way

Sometimes it’s spiritual

The people walked in darkness

There might be other forces, too,

To keep us from the light

But it is there

The birth is there

Incarnation as a doctrine

Thought some of it at least

Might have been as any birth

A baby in the world

This one in a cave

And that’s unusual

And all around

The mystery

The strangeness

There was adventure in the sky

And from some people

Who in an iron empire

Chose to dedicate another lord,

Another life to follow

The child is God

But who knew that?

Mary and Joseph

Angels

And the magi knew something

While the shepherds were told something

As good news

This is the messiah!

Who really understood?

How could a baby save the world

Who is not Caesar

With family, tutors, strategists

Sheltered behind stone walls,

Armies out front

That keep the world

For them?

Well, other parts conspired

Into a birth, a life

That through faith

And later patchwork

Yielded doctrine

And a way

The people of the way

As on that night

(let’s call it a night)

There would be amazement

There would be awful things as well

But wonder now

And wonder later on

And with us, still

Praise God, for God is good

God is love

God is a spirit

Who wonders now

And offers light inside the darkness,

The kind of darkness that is not

Romantic but it

Stultifies and kills

Believe the child

Humbly, take the child in

To dwell with you

Maybe like a foundling, at the start,

Then as a teacher

And a savior

And a temple of salvation

In the city of God

(new heaven)

And on God’s free land

(new Earth)

Forever

Sweet, little Jesus child,

They made you be born in a manger;

Sweet, little holy child,

We didn’t know who you was.

Didn’t know you’d come to save us, Lord,

To take our sins away:

Our eyes was blind, we could not see;

We didn’t know who you was.

We didn’t know who you was

Maybe we should have

Maybe we can, now,

And into new ages

Love revealed

Prophecy fulfilled

The child grows up

We grow up

And for this night we way

Welcome to the world, child,

And everything that starts

Now

C L Couch

could be a choral or a choir reading

“Sweet, Little Jesus Child” is a song of African American origin. The precise source is unknown, and there are variants and variations.

This is the third in a creative, liturgical series for Advent and Christmas. The other two parts are the last two days’ posts. I think I’ll work on something else now.

Photo by Agung Raharja on Unsplash

August 24, 2022 2

Stone Soup

(x = space)

Stone Soup

I don’t know what to say today

I want you to have a good day

And for a while

To know good days

And what to do when days are bad

Beyond the dreaming we all do

So that it’s

What we know to do with what we have

Sometimes that’s hard

And hard to believe we have

I’m poor

I know

Too close to the legacy

Of art and artists

But I know good people

Am learning to ask

And not gauge heaven by response

Or lack thereof

But to keep trying

Also allowing expectation

We live

We are entitled to live

I don’t know about evil people

I know so few

You are entitled, too, I suppose

I am not God

And cannot judge as God

But the many, many, many

Of us who are not evil, not pure good

A mix, you know–

Choose a complementary color

We are colors

We color the world

And are deserving

You deserve

A good day and another

A whole bunch like bananas

Or corn kernels on the cob

Or other things so many colors

(as I’ve said)

Anyway,

A wish is not a horse

Or an electric car

And, drat, we have to try

The curse of Adam, some would say

Eve is cursed as well

But curses are not endings

“We have to make our own way,”

I just heard,

Which is true

And there’s so much more

There’s you

There’s me

And any me or you who happens

To be close to you or me

In distance

Actual

Or relative

(and there’s cyber-),

Which is to say

A nearness

(actual or relative)

To help make life

One bowl of stone soup

At a time

C L Couch

Stone Soup is a European folk story in which hungry strangers convince the people of a town to each share a small amount of their food in order to make a meal that everyone enjoys, and exists as a moral regarding the value of sharing. In varying traditions, the stone has been replaced with other common inedible objects, and therefore the fable is also known as axe soup, button soup, nail soup, and wood soup.

Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Statue of a monk and stone soup (sopa da pedra) in Almeirim, Portugal

By Adriao – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7645719

May 18, 2022 0

Escape Room

(x = space)

Escape Room

Once again

For Passover,

Too many now

Are refugees

Fleeing Pharaohnic tyranny

Fear from explosions

Falling walls

Broken bodies

Family annihilation

Other countries take them

Sacred and secular

The people

The new homes

More than Jews in Ukraine

More people leaving

Refugees from Syria

Those who are “repatriated”

(strategic term)

From island nations

To the south

Those who want to leave for life

From Mexico,

Parts of Central America

And when there’s disaster,

We flee from parts

Of our land as well

Passover

For so many, many now

Might the angel of death

Give leave

For space and means

For victims

For escape

Blood on the lintels

Before leaving

Death for the victimizers

As angels

As an agency of God

See fit

Passover

For Jews in Ukraine

Jews in Israel

And everywhere

Good people have to run

For life

C L Couch

For Jews fleeing Ukraine, Passover takes on new meaning

“Good morning! Happy morning!” Rabbi Avraham Wolff exclaimed, with a big smile, as he walked into the Chabad synagogue in Odesa on a recent morning. Russian missiles had just struck an oil refinery in . . .

Photo by Vitamina Poleznova on Unsplash

April 13, 2022 5