Temp Agency

Back then,
for a few days,
the agency had me working
as a last minute stand-in for St. Peter.

I was disorientated. The clouds were scratchy,
and had a tendency to move, without notice.
As for cherubim, the less said of them, the better.

I just wanted to get through the day, you understand.
The work was more complicated
than you might think –
yes, there was a book,
but it was hard to make sense of the system,
and anyway I was hungry,
and the snack closet was a disaster.

I remember some of the people.
Desperate they were, or calm.
Some made passing comments on the weather.
They could tell, I suspect,
that I was out of my depth.
I wanted to just let them all through,
blithe and ignorant,
but then I wondered,
what then would happen to me? Anyhow, that was a long time ago now.
In my more permanent employment,
sometimes I look out my second story window
and wink at the birds.

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Time’s Conditional

In the morning,
eating some plain oatmeal
with time’s conditional:

If it’s not one thing,
it’s another.

It’s this one thing, now, oats
and water

and, next,

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TOWARDS A SYSTEMIC THEOLOGY OF LOVE FOR UNITARIAN UNIVERSALISTS (AND ANYONE ELSE WHO MIGHT APPRECIATE IT)

TOWARDS A SYSTEMIC THEOLOGY OF LOVE FOR UNITARIAN UNIVERSALISTS (AND ANYONE ELSE WHO MIGHT APPRECIATE IT)

Introduction

This summer, the Unitarian Universalist Association voted on, and adopted, a change to their governing document. Included in this change was a section on “values and covenant”, which listed Unitarian Universalism’s shared values as justice, interdependence, equity, transformation, pluralism, and generosity. As a focus and origin of these values, the text states that Unitarian Universalism “builds on our foundation of love”. It further states:

“Love is the power that holds us together and is the center of our shared values. We are accountable to one another to doing the work of living our shared values through the spiritual discipline of love.”

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What the Unitarian Universalist faith is all about (arguably)

Over the last couple of years, the Unitarian Universalist Association commissioned a review of Article II. Admittedly, this doesn’t sound very sexy. But Article II contains the purpose of our Association, so it’s very important, at least theoretically (and, because congregations are the ultimate authority in our tradition, perhaps not as important as all that).

The team that put together a draft of Article 2 was charged with paying attention to love as a core theological value, identified as such by a vast majority of Unitarian Universalists. They were also tasked to take seriously our commitments to justice.

The draft – and that’s all it is at this stage, a draft – has been very controversial, in large part because it doesn’t incorporate the 7 principles and 6 sources, which, for about forty years now, have served as a poetic reminder of our values.

I think our 7 – soon to be 8, I hope – principles are valuable, and I expect they will survive in one form or anything. I don’t particularly care whether they are contained in our bylaws, but admittedly, I’ve never a bylaw type of person at heart. As such, I’d be the wrong person to serve on a bylaw committee. I know a lot of work went into this commission. Personally, I like the proposed Article 2 well enough, though it reads like a committee wrote it, and that’s never been my favorite form of prose. So I thought – more playfully than in earnest – I’d have a go at our Principles and Purposes, what I’d write. Here goes:

There is a power that Rosa Parks carried with her onto that bus, as she withstood the glares and threats, and sat for her people.

That same power was shared by children and clergy on the streets of Selma, shared by the proud drag queens of Stonewall, shared by the generations at Standing Rock.

This power could not be held by Robben Island prison or the jails of Birmingham and Concord. It was in those hands that washed the feet of the beloved in Judea, and in the hands that rescued a baby in a basket on the Nile. This power builds congregations, animates poets, nourishes the powerless, and wears down the machinery of empire upon the compost heap.

It is as close to us as breathing, and stronger than death.

We name this power as love. And we claim this love as our own calling – throughout our life, and with every day – to enliven our fundamental interdependence, to make our felt connection with the universe ever more beautiful, by engaging in the creative work of justice, kindness, and liberation.

Love is natural and sublime, an integral part of the makeup of the cosmos. Even the stars are attracted to one another.

But love, in human cast, is more than mere attraction. As part of the delicate balance of all live, we are called to use our powers in the service of the greatest good.

Love calls us to treat as worthy, every individual. Since every unique individual is to be cherished, diversity is essential, and holy. Love’s people are all people.

Because love wants its people fed, and safe, and free, and given every opportunity to blossom, love lives out loud as justice, acknowledging, and then dismantling, the oppressions of racism, sexism, homophobia, ableism, and all of the various ways we systemically fail to cherish one another.

Love calls us to a generosity of spirit. As gardeners of the good, we cultivate a spirit of gratitude and hope. Again and again, we let go of what holds us back, choosing forgiveness, charity, and humility, where these openhanded choices might lead to us being a part of something better and grander than any one of us can hold alone.

We, the inheritors of a living and evolving tradition, covenant together to boldly live out our lives, and give of ourselves, for love.

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New Book Out!

I am delighted to announce that a little collection of my Christmas & winter holiday poetry and prose, Heart-Treasure for the Mother of the World, is now available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Waterstones, Blackwells, and wherever fine books are sold. Links below. You can see a preview of the first few pages too.

At 111 pages, with whimsical illustrations (thanks to Dall-E – thanks, Dall-E), Heart-Treasure for the Mother of the World, is the perfect present for anyone on your list who:

* Enjoys reading

* Enjoys gifts

* Likes to carry around objects of a similar size and heft to a typical paperback, just ‘cos it feels reassuring

* Needs a book-sized object to complete their bookshelf decor

It’s $14, about the price of a cup of coffee if you like to drink your coffee with a small pizza. Or 12 quid in the UK, which is about the price of a kebab if you also drop all your change on the kebab shop by accident because it’s 4 am and that’s what you do.

And there’s 50 pieces in there, with illustrations, so it’s a fun little book, I promise. Some of the pieces you may have read on this blog. Now <dramatic music> you can own the complete collection.

Paperback and e-book available now. Millionth customer gets an extra poem free. Thanks, all!

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The Armies of Everyday Salvation

Three or four women, at least,
have rescued me from the jaws of death.
Maria pulled me from traffic
when I had wandered, garrulous, into Albany.
Emilie cupped my skull in her hands, just above the steps of the altar,
and just before the stone emptied the contents after a faint.
Ellen – of blessed memory – and all the crew
of the seminary soccer team got me to the hospital
that time when I was blood, adrenaline and fear.

Though unnamed, whatever OBGYN
helped me emerge from the darkness
probably deserves a mention, as does my mother,
who, in darkness, brought me forth.

So I know that Soteria and Salus are real, and yet
I would also bow my head
to the saving graces of the everyday.

A woman asked what I was reading, while I was ordering
at the beer stall of the local college league baseball field.
Together, we amiably sallied into the lives
of fictional characters living by the Ganges River.
I parked myself at an empty picnic bench, and recognized nearby
the local trivia king, who a few weeks back,
and with no help from me, had won us both a coupon.
I remembered him – though he seemed at abashed at the honor –
and we were joined by another lonely person
(for I was lonely, or had been)
and together we talked about the starting pitchers
various teams boasted in the nineteen-nineties.
Eventually the conversation petered out,
and we all went our separate directions,
with the shared excuse of food.

It’s little details like this
that summer uses
to bring paradise to life.

And – I say this with the utmost respect –
if we are to be saved,
not just at the final gates,
but in every transitory moment,
don’t we all have a role
in the armies of salvation?          

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Whose are you?

I belong to my alarm clock and the six am shuffle
that since my childhood has been a queer calling.
I belong to the coffee machine,
and the aroma of the Sierra Nevada highlands
that I have only seen with others’ eyes and hands.
I belong to busyness and the founding myth
of the White Anglo-Saxon, Protestant,
I am counted by the businessman in the stars.

Yet more precisely,
I am owned by the clouds,
who bring down the rivers of life,
I belong to the clouds,
who bring succor to the heart in the evening.
I belong to snake shedding her skin
and the infinite miracle of the tadpole,
I belong to the shtetl
where my grandmother spun.

I belong to the nameless ones on my left,
and to the faceless ones on my right,
I am carried by forces that are no longer capable
of being described
but are, within the several spheres, as alive as you and me.

My neighbor, and my very soul, lies bleeding in the gutter.
My neighbor, and my very soul, arises from the dirt,
in a different form, and foreign to me.
The tiniest of bugs own my future within the cradle of their antennae.
The banyan deer is my master and teacher.
I am a follower of the rising of the corn,
rising like a helix around the beans and squash,
before the plants come to fruition, I am not.

I belong to the nothingness that predates me, and gives me form.
And to the clouds that kiss me every day,
whether I notice or not.
And I belong to you, dear piece of the stars:
what would you have of me?

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Possible side effects may include

Possible side effects may include
dizzy spells
fatigue
nausea
a debilitating sense of wonder
dry mouth
actually getting excited about vegetables
or at least trying really hard to
that feeling of melancholy that comes
like the tide, washing your feet
and then receding
but also soaking into the skin
tree envy
chills
the seasons passing before your “I”s
getting sentimental at odd corners of the 7-Eleven

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Your Monday Blessing: Earth TV

Relax, because the aliens
watching you on Earth TV
must be into stripped-down, artsy,
not-overly-dramatic cinéma verité,
if they’ve been watching you, faithfully,
thus far.

So you can do without the car chase,
and just swallow, with a slight furrow of the brow,
that cutting remark of the overworked supermarket teller.
This isn’t Sopranos. Your fans
don’t need to see every vendetta explode into light.

They must, for their own reasons,
like the way the way that you put the bags in the trunk,
and then take a moment,
eyes squinting under the sun,
thinking about something or other,
there on a Tuesday afternoon.

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Your Monday Blessing: I Went to the Market and I

a slight chill in the morning

a slight chill in the morning and
peace in the heart

a slight chill in the morning,
peace in the heart, and
a room to clean

a slight chill in the morning,
peace in the heart,
a room to clean,
and a cat

a slight chill in the morning,
peace in the heart,
a room to clean,
a cat, and
the world on fire, as usual.

a bit of a chill in the morning,
peace here in the heart,
a room to clean,
a cat,
the world on fire, as usual,
and me, wearing this sweater, breathing in and out

a slight chill in the morning

a slight chill in the morning

a slight chill in the morning and
peace in the heart

a slight chill in the morning,
peace in the heart, and
a room to clean

a slight chill in the morning,
peace in the heart,
a room to clean,
and a cat

a slight chill in the morning,
peace in the heart,
a room to clean,
a cat, and
the world on fire, as usual.

a bit of a chill in the morning,
peace here in the heart,
a room to clean,
a cat,
the world on fire, as usual,
and me, wearing this sweater, breathing in and out

a slight chill in the morning

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