12/19/2006

A poetical conversation.

(To friends on the web and in the blogsphere… do not attempt to determine my theological bias, much less my Angelology, on the basis of the following poetical conversation with God. It is only a small rumination on the question of why God really decided to join us -– I know, I know, to save a wretch like me -- Still the poetical conversation went another way.

Since the cat is out of the bag, for which reason we celebrate the Incarnation, and oh, by the way Christmas, I feel free to share the conversation, even if I had assured the Almighty that mum was the word. Ah well… We dreamers and poetical writers are scoundrels and our words tend, if we are any good at it, to take the doors from the jambs and the jambs themselves from the walls.

Let me also say, blessings this Christmas, Peace in our hearts and in the world as well.

So here is the conversation / poem.)


Your secret’s safe.

Your secret’s safe with me.
You bet.

No one needs know that You,
The Almighty,
The Know everything,
The Super powerful,
The Everywhere present,

Decided to be born into the world
because, fundamentally,
You were plain tired
of Angel humor;

Not humor about Angels,
although, as You know, there are
some funny jokes about Angels.

No, Angel humor:
unimaginably dull jokes
told, for goodness sake, by Angels,
with no point, no struggle,
no denouement, no pratfalls.

The trouble with being Your messengers
is that these Beings take it all soooo seriously.
Still I suppose it’s just as well they do.

I mean, imagine an Angel as a practical joker.
“Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee….”
“Just kidding…Gotcha!, or,
“He is not here…I know where He is, but
I’m not going to tell you.”
“gotcha again!” or,
“He’s going to Galilee…no really,
Would I lie?”

You see the problem.
We don’t actually want funny Angels.

So I understand just why Your Greatness
might think that hanging out with Angels
is a little less than satisfying, humor wise.

I suspect Angels are even worse storytellers.
Sitting around the campfire with Angels
would cramp the storyteller in any of us.
After all, suppose this messenger stuff
worked in both directions
and it gets back to Your Supremeness
that one of us mortals
was given to telling really really
exaggerated accounts of our
last fishing expedition?

No one knows how you feel
about those lies we think of
as essential to a good story.
And goodness knows
we don't want to make you angry.

Angels aren’t going to tell those sorts of stories,
at least around You, (no disrespect of course,)
so, there you are, stuck:
hearing for the five thousandth time
about the that really great halleluiah
at the last choir fest.
I mean, you have probably had enough halleluiahs
To give you screaming fits,
which would only make your humble
servants (count me as one)
even more nervous about
coming into Your Presence.


We humans, on the other hand,
tell great stories,
in fact we tell REAL stories,
filled with fiction,
yet telling truths about ourselves.

Hang around us for a while
and you will hear exaggerations,
lies, laughter, and later,
when we’ve gotten to know You,
stories told through tears,
with cries of agony.

I know your secret.
You came among us
to hear real stories
of real people,
to hear a really good joke,
to hear confession,
to hear reality in the dread of death
or the laughter of children.

The only other beings beside Your self
with enough soul to actually
pull off a good joke
with a fine and poignant ending
that leaves tears and laughter
mingled together
are human beings,
of which group your humble servant
is a dues paying member.


So, I know you came because
You wanted company.

Just to let You know
(as if you didn’t already being all wise,
And so forth,)
we really need Your company too.

Its hard to make sense of it all,
I mean life and death, and everything else,
the whole mess,
particularly when the thought police
and the propaganda machine
are grinding through our minds.

It is hard to see humor in it at all,
to live lightly,
to tell jokes, and lies,
and fears and small confessions;
Damn (pardon the expression)
near impossible, actually.

It seems we are mostly Puritan
at heart, and earnest.

If we can’t get Your sense of humor
in creating emus and giraffes

then what hope are we?

So we are glad You can join us.
You are welcome.

Come into this created

space and time which
you seem to think is a good example
of your overwhelming presence.

Come in, sit by the fire.


You tell us your stories,
we’ll tell you ours.

The stars will shine brighter,
And even the Angels will be jealous.

Amen.

5 comments:

  1. Mark, this is just lovely. Thanks for much for sharing!

    ReplyDelete
  2. If we can't laugh what's the point of it all?

    ReplyDelete
  3. But, it was serious!

    Even I can admit to being Puritanical (but not a round-the-bend-headed Puritan in their currently resurrected fidgety form)! I'm a nice and solid God fear'n queer Puritan from afar...a sitting around the fire roast'n marshmellows Puritan not a light'n people on fire kinda Puritan.

    Thanks for sharing a peek into your heart...

    Your a grand fellow and I'm send you a big abrazo from south of the borders!

    Love to you and yours y Padre Marcos!

    Leonardo Ricardo

    ReplyDelete
  4. Booooring angels and Bad Christmas songs--oh, thank you, Mark. It's just the way to start this wrapping-aganza say.

    DMD

    ReplyDelete
  5. I just wanted to say I really enjoyed reading this.

    ReplyDelete

OK... Comments, gripes, etc welcomed, but with comment moderation but with some cautions and one rule:
Cautions: Calling people fools, idiots, etc, will be reason to bounce your comment. Keeping in mind that in the struggles it is difficult enough to try to respect opponents, we should at least try.
Rule: PLEASE DO NOT SIGN OFF AS ANONYMOUS: BEGIN OR END THE MESSAGE WITH A NAME - ANY NAME. ANONYMOUS commentary will be cut.