On the precipice

After Luke 19:11-27

On the precipice

of the crack in time,

the moment when

nothing would be

the same again,

the moment 

at the juncture

of the before

and the after,

a price was

required, a toll

to cover the before.

Eyes focused 

on the after,

they would miss

the reality

of the moment,

they would see

the wrong thing,

at least for a time,

until after the cock

crowed,

until after the curtain

tore,

until after the stone

rolled,

until after the wound

was touched.

Photograph by Cristina Gottardi via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The story that wasn't

After Luke 19:11-27

A story about stewardship,

about faithfulness,

about investment,

turned out to be a story

about

something else.

A story about coins, ten coins,

given to ten servants,

one coin to each;

three servants questioned,

three servants responded,

three different results 

tied to the character 

of the servant. 

One returns ten.

One returns five.

One returned nothing.

Coins, and character.

The focus is (usually) the one

who returned nothing, but

there’s a context, overlooked:

listeners approaching Jerusalem,

listeners expecting a kingdom,

and in the story,

the people hate the man

over them, hate the man

handing out the coins,

reject the man 

handing out the coins.

To establish the kingdom,

the king must first be

rejected.

Photograph by Pina Messina via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The reasons for the story

After Luke 19:11-27

He told a story, a parable,

and for two reasons, it says

plainly, stated explicitly,

unusually, as if the reasons

were part of the story,

the parable

Because he was near to Jerusalem

Because they believed the kingdom

   was imminent

The story, overall, was arcing

to this point, events converging,

timings coinciding, and as

they near the city a sense

of crisis, of the climax arriving,

soon,

ready to burst open upon the world.

And it was, but it wasn’t,

it wasn’t the climax

they expected.

So he told a story instead,

a parable.

Photograph by Clint McCoy via Unsplash. Used with permission.

A tale of two men

After Luke 18:9-14

Two men in the temple

to pray:

one a Pharisee,

one a tax collector;

one of the most admired class,

one of the most despised class;

one standing apart,

one just standing;

one thankful for his sinlessness,

one broken in self-recognition;

one proud in his separation

   from extortion, injustice, adultery,

one broken in self-understanding

   his heart pierced by self-awareness;

one seeking praise for his behavior,

one too ashamed to look up;

one condemned,

one justified.

Photograph by Caleb Betts via Unsplash. Used with permission.

A named audience

After Luke 18:9

A named audience for the story,

not implied or to be inferred but

stated plainly and directly:

some (not all) 

who trusted (so far so good)

in themselves (whoa! We know

   where this is going!)

and what self-trust was about

   (we’re spiraling downward here):

their belief in their own goodness

   (yes, down the slippery slope)

with the result (expected and inevitable)

of treating others with contempt.

A coldness of self-recognition

creeps, wrapping its icy fingers

around our hearts, or enflaming

our self-trust in a defensive answer

or mutterings about this isn’t me,

is it?

Photograph by Davide Ragusa via Unsplash. Used with permission.

We are prodigal, son

After Luke 15:11-32

Given much, showered with blessings,

with comforts and luxuries,

necessities and surpluses,

what’s needed for sustenance,

what’s given for liberality,

we have much,

we have been given much.

And more, we want more,

we demand more and when 

we get it, we squander it,

throw it away, waste it

on the temporal, the useless,

the ephemeral, the decadent.

Lost long before we knew,

found long before we knew,

forgiven, long before we were.

Photograph by Dustin Dagamac via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Lost and found

After Luke 15:11-32

I wandered through the store, myself

lost, looking for the lost and found,

seeking something I didn’t know,

something I didn’t know I’d lost, but

knowing the loss, the emptiness, the hole

in the doughnut, the hole in the heart.

Then: found. The window, the man

staffing the window, the man who saw me

coming, wandering, looking for what

I’d lost. He saw me coming from 

the other side of the store, and he called out,

shouting it’s here, what you’re seeking

is here, we have it, you found it.

My heart cracked. 

My heart filled.

The hole in the doughnut closed.

Photograph by Nathan Wright via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The coin

After Luke 15:1-10

The coin drops on the floor,

or is dropped, its edge catching

upright, The coin rolls

by its own momentum to a corner,

dark, or under a chest, dusty, 

or into a crack, lodging.

And the choice: forget the coin, lost,

because there are nine not lost,

or search for the coin, raising

the dust and the dirt, peering

into the dark corners and crevices,

getting hands and knees dirty, dust

rising everywhere? Mourn and forget

the loss, or seek and rejoice the found?

Photograph by ZSun Fu via Unsplash. Used with permission.

One sheep, lost

After Luke 15:1-10

Amid the murmurs and

the muttering, disdain

for the dirty, the nasty,

the deplorable, the dregs,

the unredeemable,

a story:

one sheep, lost;

ninety-nine sheep, not lost.

Abandon the lost, taking

Solace in the ninety-nine?

Or search for the lost one

leaving the ninety-nine

to fend for themselves.

It’s a choice, freedom of choice,

to choose the one, lost,

seeking the lost, one, until

found, rescued, carried back.

Choose the one, lost,

or the ninety-nine, not lost?

Photograph by Flavio Gasperini via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Hearing the call

After Luke 14:12-24

I heard the call

to the feast and wow

what an opportunity 

what a great opportunity

let me check my calendar

on my phone, oh no

it’s packed, I had no idea

how scheduled I was, 

with events, things, stuff,

responsibilities, appointments,

meetings, conferences, gatherings,

luncheons, dinners, filled

with all the important things,

the things signifying importance,

so I have to say sorry, things to do,

places to go, people to see,

maybe next year

in Jerusalem.

Photograph by Tom Plouff via Unsplash. Used with permission.

RSVP no

After Luke 14:12-24

The feast prepared 

and ready, the call goes out 

to come to the beast, 

this would have been 

the second call, the first 

asking if people would come,

and this second call meets

excuses, no I’m too busy,

too many responsibilities,

too many things to take care of,

sorry my wife is calling

sorry I have other plans,

maybe next time. A third call

goes out, instead,

to the poor, the blind,

the crippled, the lame,

the sick, the dregs,

the ignored, the deplorables,

the pariahs, the uneducated,

t6he rubes, the rednecks,

and they come

and they feast.

Photograph by Ryoji Iwata via Unsplash. Used with permission. 

Crowding the table

After Luke 14:1-11

We crowd the table, jostling

each other for the best seat,

the seat closest to recognition,

to acceptance, to honor,

to acknowledgement. As we

crowd we’re told the first 

will be last and the last

will be first and we stop,

confused at the inversion,

the words becoming

dissonance, why do this,

it was easier before 

he came; now he turns

everything on its head.

He poses the question

(he’s always posing 

questions): better to gain

immediate honor or

better to be recognized 

and moved up or be

recognized and moved down?

No wonder they hated him.

Photograph by Gades Photography via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Storage

After Luke 12:13-21

We pack it all in

our basements, or attics,

our storage lockers, our storage pods,

our garages, our closets,

our warehouses, our second

and third houses,

we pack it all in and 

soon realize it’s not enough,

we don’t have enough

for our comfort, our safety,

our security, our peace of mind,

our station, our position,

the reason doesn’t matter

but we need more

so we get more and find

new ways and new places 

to pack it all in. so it’s there,

ready and accessible, our comfort

until we realize we need more

until our life is demanded of us

and they say in remembrance

that he with the most stuff

loses.

Photograph by Reinhart Julian via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The question of the question

After Luke 12:13-21

A sermon, a lecture,

a teaching, with crowds

listening, taking notes

on their hearts, when he stood

when he stood up

drawing attention and

interest and asked

his question that had

nothing to do with the teaching,

the lecture, the sermon, nothing, 

but he asked his question 

burning his heart in anger

and it was the important thing,

the most important thing,

so important that he made

himself a spectacle, or perhaps

he was just irregular

whatever the motivation, but

he asked it and received

an answer unexpected

an answer unwanted

an answer appropriate.

Photograph by Priscilla Du Preez via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The Book of Ours

After Luke 12:13-21

It’s not the possession

it never is

it’s the motive,

the inspiration, the impulse:

as if we earned it

we paid for it

we own it

and it’s our rock

it’s our insurance

our security our hedge

not the least of which,

because we earned it

and we want more,

because it’s never enough

we want more

we need more

we earned it

it’s ours

our Book of Ours.

Photograph by Marie-Sophie Tekian via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Douglas Patten’s “Olde Mysterium”

Daniel is walking out on what is left of his life. Admittedly, little seems left. He’s been out of work for a long time, having lost his job at a Seattle newspaper. His wife has been unfaithful, and although she pleads with him to stay, the marriage seems dead. He walks out into the night with a small bag, $5 and expired credit cards. He’s full of anger, rage at himself, depression, age-old hurts, and a broken heart.

He spends the first night on the street. And then he’s beaten unconscious. When he awakes, he finds himself in the upstairs apartment of the Olde Mysterium bookshop, being tended to by the shop owner, Saba Ghazal, a Lebanese Christian. And Daniel’s life will never be the same.

Thus begins Old Mysterium: A Parable by Douglas Patten. It’s a story of brokenness and faith, anger and forgiveness, and how one man learns the hard lessons of life and faith.

Daniel’s story doesn’t happen in a straight line, adding both familiarity and realism, because no one’s journey in faith happens in a straight line. Instead, it’s a few small steps, and then a stop, followed by slipping back and then almost falling forward. Daniel learns much about love and forgiveness from Saba Ghazal – and then finds he has to keep forgiving over and over.

The story has elements of the biblical stories of the Good Samaritan, the woman at the well, and several others, but artfully blended together to create a new story that forms a cohesive whole. (And it’s more novella than novel in length.) For those of us who came to faith as adults, even young adults, the story will often seem like our own story – we recognize ourselves in many of the characters.

Olde Mysterium evokes tears and smiles, memories and awakenings. And it explains the basics of faith in narrative form – grace, love, and forgiveness.

Photograph by Kajoch Adras via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.