End of the Talk

After Matthew 7:28-8:3 

He finishes his words,

what he wants to say.

The ones around him

remain silent; the rest

of us are stunned.

This carpenter speaks

with the authority

of the rabbis. He’s less

than a scribe, yet 

his words poured forth

like a teacher of the law

as we’ve never heard

the law before. Surprise

is so deep that we don’t

know what to say, how

to accept these words,

this message. Never

have we heard words

like this. We watch

his descent from

the mount, and then

we followed. And

the first thing he did

was to heal a leper,

heal with a touch,

demonstrating authority.

 

Photograph by Thom Milkovic via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Two houses

After Matthew 7:24-27 

I’ve always wanted

a beach house, a home

to face the waves,

listening to the sounds

of the gulls and the sea,

embracing the sun and

the sand. Yet I have

a choice, the realtor

says, a house on the beach

or the house on the bluff

above. One has access

to the sea; one sits above

the ocean, set apart,

serenely and securely

above what happens

below. One exposes

itself to the life and

excitement of the sea;

one rests on the rock,

perhaps a bit boring,

always looking 

to the sky. The realtor

says it’s my choice.

 

Photograph by Durian Bullet via Unsplash. Used with Permission.

We line up

After Matthew 7:21-23 

We gather ourselves

in line, patiently

walking forward,

walking in expectation

of recognition and 

reward. We try not

to look at others,

avoiding eye contact

because we don’t want

to embarrass anyone,

like those uncertain

of recognition and

reward, like we are.

We judge not, after all.

As we stand and walk,

stand and walk, we

take stock of all we

have done, the time

we’ve spent, the money

we’ve given, the work

we’ve done, the sacrifices

we’ve made. At the front

of the line at last, we hear

the unexpected:

I never knew you.

Be gone.

 

Photograph by Levi Jones via Unsplash. Used with permission.

A gate so narrow

After Matthew 7:13-14 

To enter this gate,

this gate so narrow,

remove all unnecessary

clothes, stripping down

to your underwear.

To enter this gate, set

aside anything you

carry with you, 

your cash, your jewelry,

your credit cards,

your stocks and bonds,

your real estate,

everything you’d want

to take with you.

To enter this gate,

crouch down on 

your hands and knees, 

even as rock and

stone and brokenness

tear at your skin. Then

move forward, forward

into the light.

 

Photograph by Lomig via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Certain prophets

After Matthew 7:13-14 

False prophets are

a dime a dozen.

They speak at TED

conferences, they

write books, they

have large followings

in Instagram and

twitter, people

sharing, liking, 

retweeting everything

they hear, everything

they see. Too often,

false prophets occupy

a pulpit, speaking

words of gold and

silver, words like

gilded thorns, thistles,

rotting fruit, words 

that appeal like

the siren’s call,

the call of telling

you what you want

to hear. Consider

what they create, 

what they produce:

weakness, rottenness,

destruction.

 

Photograph by Hennie Stander via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Two gates

After Matthew 7:13-14 

It’s a narrow gate

by which you enter.

It’s a wide gate

by which you’re

swept along

with the crowd,

jostling, yelling,

swelling, angry,

believing the wide

gate is the entrance

to what the crowd 

wants. It is the entrance

to what the crowd

earns. The narrow gate,

requiring movement

in almost single file,

is a hard, difficult

path but also the true

entrance. 

Few choose it.

 

Photograph by Neil Martin via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Golden rule

After Matthew 7:12 

If you would be

canceled, then

cancel others.

If you would be

criticized, then

criticize others.

If you would be

judged, then 

judge others.

If you would be

rejected, then 

reject others.

If you would be

abused, then 

abuse others.

If you would be 

damned, then

damn others.

It’s the golden

rule as practices

by the world.

 

Photograph by Siora Photography via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The gift

After Matthew 7:7-12 

If you ask,

if you knock,

if you seek,

you have a promise,

the promise that

your question

will be answered,

that your quest

will be rewarded,

that the door

you knock upon

will open.

No cruel jokes,

no pranks,

no surprises,

but only

what’s asked,

what’s sought,

what’s knocked upon.

It’s that simple.

 

Photograph by Lina Trochez via Unsplash. Used with permission.

A quest

After Matthew 7:7-12 

The quest, the search

begins with an act

of embarkation, an act

of commencement,

of undertaking. 

The quest doesn’t

begin on its own;

it begins when 

the initiative of desire

sparks into the initiative

of action. The spark

is necessary and required;

it is not a spontaneous 

burst of energy changing

everything. The spark

simply starts the fire.

The quest contains

a promise: if you seek,

you will find.

 

Photograph by Matthew Kalapuch via Unsplash. Used with permission.

A question

After Matthew 7:7-12 

The question begs

to be asked, but 

it has to be asked

if it’s to be

answered. Initiative

is required, the initiative

of asking. Nothing

matters, nothing

happens until

the question is asked.

But if it is asked,

if the initiative is taken

and the words employed,

the questions contains

the promise,

the promise of being

answered,

the promise of being

given.

 

Photograph by Ilkka Karkkainen via Unsplash,. Used with permission.

A door

After Matthew 7:7-12 

It looks ordinary,

this door, an entrance

to a house, a place

unvisited before. It does

not encourage or

discourage; it stands

there, offering protection

or domain to those

behind it and a barrier

to those in front of it.

It is a door made

to be opened, but it

does not open by itself.

To open, it requires

initiative, simple as

it is but still necessary

to open. All you must do

is knock.

 

Photograph by Edgar Moran via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The log and the speck

After Matthew 7:1-6 

You see it; it’s obvious,

the speech in his eye,

the flaw in his character,

the behavior so objectionable,

the preference so distasteful,

the affinity so obnoxious,

the comment so ignorant,

the belief so ridiculous,

the choice so misguided,

the heresy so malignant,

the lie so obvious,

the politics so deplorable.

So much to criticize,

and so little time.

 

But that speck, that mite,

is insignificant compared

to the attitude that judges

first and asks questions

later, that log of prejudice

that comes from the unjustified

sense of superiority, that log

that blinds your eyes

and closes your heart.

 

Photograph by Alex Kadrow via Unsplash. Used with permission.

 

A simple question

After Matthew 7:1-6 

A simple question, really,

a question of judgment,

specifically, our own. It is

not understanding or

discernment we’re talking

about here, but something

harder, something carrying

more potential damage,

implying a combination

of suspicion, belief, 

accusation, determination,

sentence, and execution,

everything rolled up

together into a unit

of destruction. For those

of us prone to this,

i.e. all of us, it becomes

the standard by which

we, too, will be measured.

Through some strange quirk,

the standard by which we

judge becomes the standard

by which we are judged. It’s

no wonder that ostriches stick

their heads in the ground.

 

Photograph by Bill Oxford via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Seek first

After Matthew 6:25-34 

Before food, before drink,

before clothes, before shelter,

before happiness, before comfort,

seek first the kingdom,

seek first the righteousness,

seek first the kingdom,

seek first the righteousness,

and all these other, lesser things

will be added. You are 

the treasure; seek and you 

will find; seek and you

will be found.

 

Photograph by Noah Windler via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The flowers

After Matthew 6:25-34 

Consider the lily, perhaps the rose.

Nothing made by human hand

is so beautiful, so intricately 

designed and wrought as a lily

or a rose. Nothing. Flowers

serve as dinner tables, and yet

no dinner table was as elaborately

designed as a flower. They sway

in the breeze, their beauty

shimmering and often startling,

unmatched by anything we

humans put our hands to.

 

And you are loved

more than flowers.

You are cared for

more than flowers.

Let tomorrow worry

about tomorrow;

consider the flower.

 

Photograph by Mikael Garcia via Unsplash, Used with permission.

The birds

After Matthew 6:25-34 

They fly and flutter, chirp

and squawk, soar and sing,

land to find the wayward,

unsuspecting worm or mouse

or chipmunk or other, edible

delights. They build their nests

with grass and twigs and

whatever’s at hand, even mud

(where do they get mud from?).

They don’t have, or need,

therapists. They ignore Facebook

and Twitter, their own tweets

more to their liking. They go 

about their work and day, 

knowing what they’re

supposed to do, what they’re

called to do. They’re always

provided for.

 

And if we’re loved

more than the birds, 

won’t we also be cared for?

Doesn’t he care for what

he loves even more?

 

Photograph by Jeremy Hynes via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Age of anxiety

After Matthew 6:25-34 

You see the ads on television,

momentary flashes across the screen,

the ones for the new car, the vacation,

the diet soda, the prescription drug

(fine print mentioned breathlessly),

all aimed at desire, at parting you

from your money or your vote.

You nod or shrug or smile or frown

and the vision gives way to desire,

meets the reality of what’s in the bank,

gives way to a new burst of desire, and

you see the wife and kids sigh over

the promise of a vacation and reality

gives way to the slight sense of anxiety

over what might happen if you don’t

get that vacation, new car, diet soda, 

or prescription (with its fire-hose

description of the fine print), and how

the lives of your family will constrict,

and so you wonder if you can afford

a loan (interest rates are low, after all)

on top of the car payment and

the mortgage and the rise in the price

of groceries and everything else,

that electric bill just took a hefty jump,

and you really need to make

that credit card payment but, oh man,

that vacation would be fantastic, and

then you hear your son say, “Dad,

can we go throw the football?”

 

Photograph by Kasper Rasmussen via Unsplash. Used with permission.

 

The master

After Matthew 6:24 

Money is an unforgiving

master, stern in demeanor,

whispering, always

whispering of its beauty,

its power, its desirability,

its allure, its promise

of control. The only way

it accomplishes these

things is by growing,

always growing, requiring

and demanding more

of itself. Thou shalt have

no other gods before it,

because money requires

total focus, and love,

and worship, and sacrifice,

and enslavement. It allows

no other master; it tolerates

nothing but obedience.

Serve money or serve God.

You choose.

 

Photograph by Meritt Thomas via Unsplash. Used with permission.