Some Wednesday Readings

Thou shalt not pray? – Lois McLatchie at The Critic Magazine. 

What Salman Rushdie Doesn’t Want to Talk About – Douglas Murray at The Free Press.

 

Writing in Spare Moments of Life – Terry Whalin at The Writing Life.

 

Confederate Guerillas: Effective Commands or Detrimental Service? Part 1 and Part 2– Daniel Welch at Emerging Civil War. 

 

Morphing: Lessons from Year of the Monarch – Dheepa Maturi at Tweetspeak Poetry.

 

Bookish Diversions: Lewis and Tollkien, Pen Pals – Joel Miller at Miller’s Book Review.

 

3 Goals for Writing Great Historical Fiction – Ryan Coleman at Writer’s Digest.

 

“I, Being a Woman and Born Distressed,” poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay – Sally Thomas at Poems Ancient and Modern.

 

Generations by Jean Twenge – book review by Samuel D. James at Digital Liturgies.

Photograph: Mosby's Rangers during the Civil War, with John Mosby in the center wearing a feathered hat.

Acknowledgement

After Daniel 9:1-9 

What the old man

confessed in his prayer:

wickedness, rebellion,

ignoring the prophets,

treachery, disobedience,

turning from the law,

refusing to concede

sins, willful ignoring

of the call to confess,

and doing all this

for generations.

 

What the old man

asked in his prayer:

mercy, and

a return home.

 

Photograph by Jack Sharp via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Legally trapped

After Daniel 6:10-23 

A law, an injunction,

to prevent a prayer,

any prayer, by any one,

to any god, most of all,

to the One.

 

He prayed anyway,

as if the law were null

and nothing had 

changed to make him

change his mind or

convince him to do

anything other than 

what he did, daily.

 

Seized and chained, he’s

thrown into the den of lions 

to receive the full penalty 

of an unjust law, watched

by a king trapped by his own

words, a king anguished

in almost physical pain.

 

The lions roam their den.

Morning breaks. The king

hurries to find the man

he trusted and revered, 

expecting to find bones.

Instead, he finds the man,

unharmed.

 

Photograph by Karsten Winegeart via Unsplash. Used with permission.

How to pray

After Matthew 6:5-8 

It’s rather simple,

actually, this lesson

on how to pray. First,

go into your room,

your private room,

away from distractions

and audiences like

other people, Next,

shut the door, making

your private place

even more private.

Then, pray. 

Fourth is how you

Pray. Keep it simple;

don’t keep adding

words because you

think it sounds cool

or that more is better

or that you like

the sound of your own

voice. In this case,

more is not better, and

for a simple reason.

The one to whom you

pray already knows

what your needs are;

in fact, he knows them

better than you do.

 

Photograph by Aaron Burden via Unsplash. Used with permission.

How not to pray

After Matthew 6:5-8 

The how-to begins

with an assumption

that you already pray,

contained rather neatly

in the first word

of when you pray.

The assumption is

followed by a how-not-to,

implying that it’s often

done wrong, or that

the most prominent 

examples of prayer are

those that are public,

whether done within

small groups or on

street corners. It’s yet

another example 

of virtue signaling,

and here we in our time

thought we had 

that market cornered.

If that’s how you pray,

then you’ve received

your reward and

your prayer has been

answered, just not

the way you expected.

Or maybe it is.

 

Photograph by Raphael Nast via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Sweating blood

After Luke 22:39-46 

He sets himself

apart, as he is known

to do, to pray,

usually a means

to restore the spirit,

restore the strength,

but not this time,

this time a prayer

of, first, avoidance,

understanding what

is to come, and asking

it be taken away, followed

by, second, acceptance

of what must come.

 

The answer is an angel,

a presence to strengthen,

a presence of certainty

of what is imminent, 

and the response is

more fervent prayer,

an agony of prayer,

the words coming

from the agony

of the soul, an agony

so intense that sweat

falls like drops

of blood.

 

Photograph by Mathilda Khoo via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The garden at night

After Luke 22:39-45 

He withdraws into the garden,

separates himself from the rest,

a stone’s throw away, close

but with space, with privacy,

for prayer.

Alone,

the most alone for all time.

He knows the cup is 

before him;

if it were his choice,

he’d refuse it, have it

removed, have it

taken away.

But it is not his choice;

the cup remains. Even as 

the angel comes

to strengthen,

to bring him strength.

he prays in agony,

agony of spirit,

agony of heart,

agony of mind,

agony of soul,

agony sufficient

to draw blood.

 

Photograph by Olivier Miche via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The persecution twist

After Romans 12:14 

Revenge and retribution

are out. When persecution

comes (and it’s inevitable),

pray for your persecutors,

and bless them. This isn’t

about an eye for an eye,

or one-upmanship or scoring 

one on the opposition,

or making them look

foolish or hypocritical,

even if they are. They do

just fine on their own,

thank you very much, 

and there’s no need

to pour lighter fluid

on their bonfire. Even

if you have the upper

hand, love them, love

your enemies, love

your persecutors, 

bless them,

pray for them.

 

Photograph by Elijah M. Anderson via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The old soldier seeks help

After Ephesians 6:10-24 

Living in a prison cell,

the older soldier seeks help,

not rescue or supplies, but

help of a different kind,

the help of the right words

placed in his mouth,

the help of courage

to speak boldly the truth

he carries, the truth he’s

carried since the light

in the road, the blindness

in the road, the scales

dropping from his eyes.

He carries it still,

even in this cell, 

which is not to say

his spirit never falters;

he’s human, after all,

prone to doubts and fears.

But he knows what

feeds him, not the food

delivered by the jailer’s

hands, but the sustenance

delivered by the prayers

of the faithful. He is

an old soldier, veteran

of many battles veteran

of many wars, and he knows

what always takes

the battlefield.

 

Photo by Eric Ward via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Prayer first, then...

After Acts 4:23-31

Released by the rulers,

they report to friends

what has happened.

The voices rise and

join together, lifting

a psalm of praise.

   The Gentiles rage

   the peoples plot in vain

   the kings and rulers

   set themselves against

   the Lord and His anointed.

They raise the psalm

in the web of what

has happened.

They raised the psalm

in the hope of what

will come.

They raised the psalm

on the expectation of what

will heal, and what

signs, wonders, and miracles

will occur.

And they hear the wind,

they feel the shaking,

they experience the filling.

Photograph by Jay Wennington via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The purpose of a life

After Acts 3:1-10

I see his hand, outstretched,

his voice modulated in supplication,

a voice practiced and honed

for years, and I stop and stare, and

wonder what his purpose is, why

he is here, for I have no coin

to drop into his hand, no alms

to soothe his plaintive cry. I see

his face and I know, that I am

to give alms of a different kind.

In his name, rise,

In his name, walk.

Rise and walk.

I pull him up, and the voice

is struck mute for once,

for a moment, that he can

stand, and then he walks,

and then he jumps and

leaps, testing to see if it’s

all some magic trick,

the power of suggestion,

and then he knows,

he knows it is real,

and when he knows

he clings to what

has healed him.

Photograph by Jonathan Sebastiao via Unsplash. Used with permission.

A prayer, answered

After Acts 3:1-10

Each day I’m carried

to the beautiful gate,

there to ask, sometimes

to beg and plead, for alms

at the hour of prayer,

my own supplication,

or substitution, for the legs 

that do not walk, the legs

that have never walked,

withered, atrophied limbs

useful only for dragging.

This day, the man with the dark eyes

hears my prayer, my begging, sees

my hand raised and extended, hears 

the plea, the pleading, in my voice.

Instead of a coin or two, he drops

something else in my hand: words,

words of command, a command

to rise and walk. He extends

his hand to pull me up, and I stand,

my withered limbs growing and

adding muscle and strength and

I am walking for the first time

in my life, walking and soon

jumping, my plea, my prayer

for alms answered, the alms

of healed permanence.

Photograph by Geetanjal Khanna via Unsplash. Used with permission.

There's a process

After Romans 8:26-30

There’s a process involved,

even if we think it’s all

spontaneity. It begins

with weakness, ours;

weakness so profound

that we’re at a loss

to know even what

to pray for.

But then, and next, 

the groaning,

the groaning too deep

for words, the sign

of intercession,

of help, the sound

of wind and fire

searching, seeking,

ferreting out

the hearts of weakness.

And so: our prayers are made.

And so: our prayers are heard.

Photograph by Suzanne Williams via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The space between

After Matthew 6:10

There is a space

between a will

being done here

as it is there,

an implication

that it doesn’t

always work

that way, but

that’s how

it’s supposed

to work,

and so this space

between

a space that won’t

be filled until

the end, the time

ordained for

the space to fill,

the gap to close,

and until that

time, we wait

in the hope

that the space

closes soon.

Photograph by Aperture Vintage via Unsplash. Used with permission.

A kingdom

After Matthew 6:10

A kingdom, not

a republic, or

a democracy,

no congress,

no parliament,

no legislature,

no voice

of the people;

a kingdom,

with a king,

a ruler, one

to whom all

prayers and

supplications

flow, one

from above

to dispense

law, justice,

blessing and

grace.

And the prayer

is that it works

here like it

works there.

Photograph by Ivan Diaz via Unsplash. Used with permission.

How to begin

After Matthew 6:9

It’s not about you, when

you begin. It never is,

really, no matter what

you might think, sitting

there with needs and wants

stacked like a sagging

bookshelf.

It’s not about you, when

you pray. The direction 

is not horizontal but

vertical, looking upward,

eyes focused upward,

emphasis on our not my,

a further punctuation that

it’s not about us, but it is

us, collectively, raising

our voices upward, 

to our father, recognizing

the place where he sits,

where he resides, calling

to us as we call to him.

Photograph by Greg Rakozy via Unsplash. Used with permission.