Tabernacle Series #3 - the one about the goat

Glassy eye, the head stares back at me.
Dead, dead, dead,
Blood covers the dirt around us,
stench of bowel and blood combine,
a grassy smell,
the contents of it's stomach, spilled.

I sit with the goat,
it's body slowly cooling,
warm belly blood attracting flies.

That first spurt surprised me,
violet spray of pumping heart,
staining my clothes,
distracting me from the nanny's screams.

That's no way to die;
a knife to the gullet,
for a goat who did nothing wrong.
Well, except for eating what it oughtn't.

I'm worn out,
full spent from the exercise of courage I'd summoned
for my first kill.
Not yet repeated often enough to feel normal.

She came to me willingly,
thinking I had food,
not expecting the betrayal of a wrench of the head,
blade to the neck.

She'd butted up against my legs,
like a toddler trying to hide in mummy's skirts.

She's a carcass now, a goat no more,
her life-blood drying red to brown,
gritty on my dirtied skin.

Meat and fur,
gelatin and teeth.

Scapegoat,
scapegrace,
welcomed in. 

from praises of panadol

My hollowed body and heavy head have kept me sofa bound,
house tied,
as I rally slowly from brief illness.

I had almost forgotten to pray,
reach out,
seek mercy,
glorify,
because I have paracetemol,
so the worst passed quickly, almost painlessly.
Fretful fever, ravaged throat and thumping head soothed swiftly,
suffering curtailed.
So easy to forget you in scarcity of need,
elevating gift to the glory of the giver,
praising PanadolTM instead of You.

But when I fell, and shivered, and shook on the couch,
room spinning, knees knocking,
shortened breath and screaming mind,
I remembered that without your grace, I'd be dead,
and for a moment or three, I was afraid.

Centuries of small steps:
hand washing,
miracle drugs,
room ventilation,
corset freedom,
plentiful red meat,
vitamins,
clean water,

countless quotidian blessings
conferred lavishly by You
are really all that separates me from
crumbled, forgotten headstones telling tales of
deathly flu,
terrifying plagues,
early deaths
and the truth of human frailty.

You've known all along it takes the rush of the storm
to quicken our pulse
and draw us to you,
calling you from your cushion of rest
to calm and to guide.

So in my brief gasp,
freed undeservedly by you from drawn out fearing,
I echo with David the blessing You deserve.

"Praise the Lord, my soul;

all my inmost being, praise his holy name.

Praise the Lord, my soul,

and forget not all his benefits—

who forgives all your sins

and heals all your diseases,

who redeems your life from the pit

and crowns you with love and compassion,

who satisfies your desires with good things

so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s."

Bethesda

I was stranded by the pool.
As usual.
Too nervous to de-towel and hop in,
afraid of my bare legs and arms.

Other bodies,
already splashing, racing, enjoying themselves
were suntanned,
svelte,
care free.

I wanted to find a corner where nobody was watching
and slip quickly and quietly into the water
where distorted wavelets could cover my horrid flesh.

There!
Right there,
in that shady corner.
No one would see me there.

I slid in and bobbed around
mildly enjoying my anaemic delight.

But the water held no healing powers.
And when I hauled myself up the ladder,
I was just the same as before.

I didn't want anyone to watch me.
I didn't want anybody to see me at all.

My mind was on one object,
and one object only.

Hope.

The hope that one day this would all change,
that I would move freely and easily through the world,
make friends,
have a name.

And when you came by,
I didn't realise at first what you were really offering,
I didn't know the solution you provided was what I needed most of all.
We were disconnected,
remote from one another.
I hiding in transparent water,
you standing strong,
speaking soft,
thinking bold.

I missed it.

I missed all those chances.

But you kept coming,
kept being,
kept knowing
that eventually I would understand.

"There is something worse than being sick.
There is something better than being well."*


*this is a quote from a sermon on John 5 by Simon Manchester. 

supplication from a stupid sheep

You are my shepherd,

and in the right frame of mind,

I shall not want.

You've given me everything a sheep could ask for!

Grass to eat, a flock to hang with,

a good shepherd,

a safe bed at night.

And I love you.

But will you be mad with me if I run away?

Paranoid of the other sheep,

anxious that you are untrustworthy,

poisoned, driven mad by snake's venom flowing through my veins.

What if I run,

not just to get caught in brambles,

or lost,

but what if I run

to throw myself off a cliff?

Will you come and get me then?

Will you bring me back,

and bury my body?

When I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

you are with me,

your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

Except when I think they're an illusion,

or the night is too dark to see them clearly.

You spread a banquet before me in the presence of my enemies,

but my food turns to ashes in my mouth,

and I can't raise the glass to my lips.

Surely goodness, mercy, your faithful loving-kindness will follow me all the days of my life,

but sometimes, in all the wrong circumstances,

loneliness batters me,

and I feel unaccompanied.

I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.  

resurrection storm

I offer to you my words of meditation on your greatness, my thankfulness for your rescue from the eye of the storm.

                                                                   




New washed, the earth lies silent.
New born, she shines,
still glistening from the womb.

Raw dawn spreads lambent stillness,
waking world waits life,
stirring from the tomb.

                                                                   


Your words.
Psalm 107:25-30 New International Version (with small changes for rhythm)

For He spoke and stirred up a tempest,
that lifted high the waves.
They mounted up to the heavens
and sank back down to the depths.
In their peril, their courage melted away.

The reeled and staggered like drunkards,
they were at their wits' end.
Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble,
and He brought them out of their distress.

He stilled the storm with a whisper,
the waves of the sea were hushed.
They were glad when the storm grew calm,
and He guided them to their desired haven.

Bless the wind

Why have I so often interpreted
frustration, disquiet and anger,
as lack of confidence,
disappointment,
disgust?

When a bird pushes
her fine, frail fledgling,
hopefully,
expectantly,
anxiously,
from the patiently feathered nest,
she would feel I presume,
even if just in a
"pure evolutionary sense",
just at the
"biological instinct" level,
a terror and reluctance
at the sheer impossibility of her task.

The child she has nurtured,
cosseted,
fed with her own vomit,
now has to be kicked out
into the wide, wild world.
To test her strength against
fell winds,
rabid dogs,
and that heartless bitch, gravity.

She doubts not her flesh and blood,
but the universe she will descend into.
Rapidly, painfully,
expecting doubt, trial and despair,
and only the survival of the fittest.
Unless...
Unless your wind opens her wings,
uplifts her,
carries her off,
on warm currents,
to a safe and happy haven.

Bless your wind.

an Alanis kind of day

I don't want to pause and ponder today...

Any spare second I give my brain

it cycles back down quickly to the depths of despair.

I hate myself so much today.

I keep catching sight of my face in my computer screen

and I want to slash it open, smash it, grind it into the ground.

Appropriate punishment of the self.

It helps to talk to you about this, 

helps to tell you. 

And I certainly can't focus on my work right now, 

but I want to focus on something!

Paul would tell me to focus

on whatever is pure and noble and true

something lovely. 

That's the problem, 

I'm stuck with my self, my face, my mind to brood over

again and again. 

I need a circuit breaker.

Something lovely, something lovely, something lovely...

I know this is somewhat stupid, 

this casting around for something good to focus on

when you've promised so much good, 

delivered it, surrounded me with it. 

But I'm to upset to see it right now...


Help!

prayer after Hebrews

Almighty heavenly Father, 

You know where the mountain goats give birth, 

and you watch when the doe bears her fawn. 

You let the wild donkey loose, you untied his ropes

and gave him the desert as his home. 

The hawk takes flight by your wisdom

and spreads his wings toward the south. 

Father, you made creatures we've not even seen

and you know every detail of their lives. 

We cry at destruction we do see 

but you're so much more aware than us of every detail that is wrong in this world. 

So we pray for our brothers and sisters in the horn of Africa, 

those people you've made who we've never even seen. 

We don't know their names, their families, their faces, 

but they're starving to death and being swallowed up in violence. 

Rescue them Father in your compassionate wisdom!

You are holy, powerful and loving! 

You can fix this!!

Search us Lord, and examine our hearts. 

You know already what you'll find there, 

a totally muddled confusion of good and bad motives,

strong desires you've given us, 

and twisted plans for feeding them... 

Sometimes we even deliberately do the wrong thing, 

thinking wrongly, or acting wrongly, 

knowing what you really want from us. 

Why?!

Thank you so much that when you examine our hearts

you wash and clean them also

and love us fully. 

Help us not to shrink back and be destroyed. 

Amen.