Het Koninkrijk van het skelet

Geïnspireerdc door geruchten van herenhuizen in hemel
De bouw begint voor zijn koninkrijk ter wereld.
De stapel van de levering omhoog; de arbeiders worden verzameld,
Opgeleid, en gezet aan verschillende taken,
Elk met een gebied, een itch, een handvol hulpmiddelen.

Maar aangezien de kastelen hun het eindigen aanrakingen ontvangen,
Niemand komt in hen leven, in plaats daarvan,
De arbeiders allen gaan naar hun eigen bedden voor rust naar huis.

Onderverdelingen, steden en zip codes,
Uit aangezwengeld door de arbeid van dreamers
Who bouwt het koninkrijk hier ter wereld
Enkel aangezien het in hemel is, of misschien een weinig veranderd
Slechts omdat de dromen, vaak skewed zijn of
Hard te begrijpen om omdat zij meningen van zijn
Wat nog niet is gedaan of zelfs gezien,
Een revelatie van onzichtbaar.

En één bemant gebouw, resulteert in een andere bemant'.
Als reactieszigzag over het landschap,
De concurrentie onderbreekt de droomwereld.

De muren houden opheffend, de linten
Houd snijdend, maar de buurten liggen
Troosteloos zonder om woonplaats op te nemen.
Alle arbeiders keren aan hun bedden voor rust terug,
Slechts om opnieuw toe te nemen, bouw opnieuw, opnieuw wedijveren.

Al modder, bakstenen en het mortier, al bloed
Van vrienden en vijanden, allen voor een koninkrijk
Dat niemand wil binnen leven, een skeletkoninkrijk.

foto door Anim8ir

Auteur Bio:: Het leven van Emily Miller in Durango, Co met haar echtgenoot Brian. Zij geniet van Argentijnse malbec, goede boeken, het letten op futbol van de Plaat van de Rivier, die en zowel ongeveer dromend als weldra levend de incarnatie van Christus door zijn Lichaam en Koninkrijk kookt dat is gekomen.

WAT riep u enkel me?

Subversief?
ja is het een compliment.
om bij Gandhi worden vergeleken
of John Wesley
of Martin Luther King
(though to some it sounds more
like Guy Fawkes
or Che Guevara
or someone like that)
to me it just means
you’re not ready to sign up
for the standard plan.
the basic introductory package.

I’m trading comfort for awareness
suburbia for community
middle class for creative class
American for Earthian
Evangelical for Christ follower.
Conservative for
Liberal for
Progressive for
fearlessly independent

It’s not about who you read
or where you shop
or what you drive
or even what you believe
it’s about all doing all of those things
and everything
with meaning and passion
and a conscience.

walking when you could drive
not because it saves you money
not because of global warming
not because of traffic
but because you like the flowers
and walking helps you think.

it’s learning from children

it’s peace like a tree
unmovable, growing in all directions

it’s the slow, painful process
of resensitizing.

It’s a strange life
it makes some people cringe
but to whom shall we go?

Author Bio:: Ted is currently working as a Youth Pastor in Kansas City and putting his wife Sarah through Nazarene Theological Seminary. They both like barbecue and Indian food. Ted blogs a lot, and sometimes Sarah doesn’t get his poems.

Soundtrack for Subversion: Suburban Pipedream

Inspiration for subverting the empire can be found in the darndest places. Take, for instance, my road trip to Dallas a few weeks ago, which included an opportunity to join dozens of people in a basement coffee house for a live show including Ronnie Fauss. Ronnie is straight out of the Republic of Texas, and his music reflects that. But his fan classic, Suburban Pipedream, is an incomparable reflection on the strange bedfellows the American church and culture have become:

let’s move out to the suburbs
we could buy ourselves a home
where the floors are made of granite
and the sinks are made of chrome
and our children will play soccer
and we’ll join the PTA
and we’ll never have to deal with democrats
and we’ll never have to deal with gays

we can join up with one of them churches
that looks like a shopping mall
where the wallets are the biggest
and the hearts are so damn small
and we’ll go to lunch on Sundays
in our Lexus SUVs
and the men will compare portfolios
while the women watch the babies

I don’t mean to put you down
or the life you choose to live
God knows that I curse way too much
and take more than I give
but when I’m on my deathbed
and I start to reminisce
tell me there’ll be something more than this

my boy, he’ll play football
whether he wants to or not
and we’ll bug him about his homework
until we drive him to smoking pot
and our daughter will be so pretty
and on Friday she’ll lead cheers
until 11th grade when she gets pregnant
after drinking too many beers

my practice will be the envy
of all my business school friends
we’ll have more debt than you can imagine
but at least you’ll drive a Benz
you will keep my stomach happy
twice a year we will make love
we’ll have everything our parents
have been dreaming of

I don’t mean to put you down
or the life you choose to live
God knows that I drink way too much
and take more than I give
But when I’m on my deathbed
and I start to reminisce
tell me there’ll be something more than this

pretty soon we’ll stop talking
when the trying gets too forced
and when the kids go off to college
we can finally get divorced
and our children will do cocaine
and I’ll screw my neighbor’s wife
everything will be perfect
in our Republican… fundamentalist… Christian…
college educated… I know I’m so jaded…
pipedream suburban life

The Beauty of Subjectivity

you got to look outside your eyes
you got to think outside your brain
you got to walk outside you life
to where the neighborhood changes
~ Ani DiFranco

A year ago, the Washington Post ran an article about an experiment in art appreciation. I held on to that article, knowing it would come in handy someday. Given the lively discussion on poetry we’ve had lately, I decided the time had come for it to be unearthed.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder… or listener, as the case may be. Art emerges from an individual’s perceptions and experiences, and it is received through the lenses of others’ unique backgrounds. Some art is created in response to more universally acknowledged truths, and therefore speaks easily to many people. Other art is created out of a highly unique experience, and may communicate only with a choice few.

What is art?

Once upon a time, art = beauty.

But who decides what is beautiful?

For many, art = communication.

Swirling colors, soaring rhythms and succinct combinations of words serve to express what our soul cannot otherwise utter.

What is art?

We could say that art is the expression of emotions and ideas through various mediums.

But is that enough?

Communication is a two-sided process. The speaker expresses herself, the listener processes what is being communicated, and responds to the message she has received. So it is with art. The artist creates something outside of himself to express and understanding of something he has experienced within himself. Once the art has been created, it is out there, vulnerable to the receptivity of other people.

Back to the article, what makes an artist great?

So much in art is related to the context in which it is presented. When a virtuoso assumes the identity of a street performer, does their art decrease in value? According to this grand little experiment, it does indeed.

What is it that convinces us art is valuable?

I submit for your approval, mass appeal.

Despite our best intentions, we humans are a cognitively simple society. We like our choices well defined and served up in clever packaging. We like commercials that tell us which choice will make our life better. We like options that remind us we are sane because, after all, we share the opinions of others. We like things to fit neatly into an orderly coded filing system. When we’re not quite sure where something belongs, we don’t know what to do with it, and we either sit down and think about it or we toss it aside. We haven’t left ourselves much time for the “sit and think” option.

Or, perhaps, I’m just speaking of myself.

In honor of National Poetry Month, I challenged myself to write more poems in April. I am not a poet by nature. I fear that someone may not like what I have written, or it may seem elementary, or a word may not mean quite what I thought it meant. Yet, I write. In the moment, the words are coming from an experience, and I have to believe that can speak into someone else’s life.

I also must acknowledge that it will not speak to everyone.

So how do we respond to another’s offering of art?

Objectivity is not a choice, unless we want to turn art into something lifeless and mechanical.

How about trying to see it through different lenses, walk around it in different shoes, respond to it from different perspectives? Perhaps it speaks to you right where you are, and you can interact with ease. Perhaps you encounter it in a cordial fashion, but walk away without much to say. Perhaps you sit together in a coffee shop, late into the night, struggling to communicate through an exhaustive conversation, only to leave more confused than you entered. That’s ok.

Communicate your attempt.

We don’t all connect with every person we meet, and we will not connect with all of the art we encounter, but let us strive to understand the detachment. In the process, we may not only gain another perspective, but we will learn much more about our own.

photo by chrisjohnbeckett

why can’t you be?

it doesn’t seem like such a gap
between you and me
just the mere span of this executive desk
these religious symbols and verses
these khakis
this gainful and sufficient employment
this swivel chair and computer and phone and fax

it doesn’t have to be

please
stop smoking
stop drinking
stop stripping
stop hitting your girlfriend
learn English
kill your TV
please, save $20 this month
for god’s sake, please put your kid in school
and then “hello, how was your day?” when he gets home

stop mooching
stop pleading
stop lying
stop treating me like a white god of trinkets
I am not your genie
please stop with the broken English
stop with the ignorance
stop with the lottery and polar pops and cigarettes
you are killing yourself
you are sucking me dry
please

maybe if you had learned to read
if your mother had read to you
if your brother didn’t get shot
if your father hadn’t left you
if your grandfather had the right to vote
if your uncle had legal documents
if your teacher had inspired you
if you had been born with a higher IQ
if you had gotten that scholarship
if you knew how to turn on a computer
if your skin was just a bit lighter
if you didn’t speak with an accent
if God or fate or a cosmic blip had favored you just a bit more

maybe your problems would be solved
maybe you’d be a friend instead of a client
maybe you’d be just like me

Author Bio:

Welcome to the Church of Consumer Jesus

Welcome to
The Church of Consumer Jesus
The eternal prophylactic,
Protecting you from
The scum
Of the earth
And all their mortal filth.
Protecting
For your peace of mind
The Holy Status Quo,
The warmth of knowing
That somebody else
Will get around to
Cleaning shit up
On someone else’s dime,
‘Cause Consumer Jesus
Died to give you
A mansion in the sky.

.

.

Author Bio:: John O’Hara is trying to follow Jesus. He rambles on at Arrogant Poetry and loves his wife and son.

A Better Good Friday

As I was preparing my heart for Good Friday, I was culling through the music on my computer for something that would help me find that dark place and mourn for just awhile.

This year, I didn’t want to skip ahead to Easter. The friends and followers of Jesus sat through a long, cold Saturday before Sunday ever came. But the songs on my hard drive were too busy rejoicing to notice that the person on the cross was, in fact, a person on a cross and not just a supernatural check-in-the-mail. The fault may just as well lie with my own sorry excuse for a music library, so if any of you know songs that would echo this sentiment - post away.

This is the product of my angst. The pseudepigraphal thoughts of Christ as he walked toward the cross and a challenge to those who are now living as his body.

Here hang all the dreams of old
That now will never be,
All the expectations lost
On fragile royalty.
I know that I was sent for more
Than just to live and die,
And I can hardly say how bad
It hurts to say goodbye.

Here are all the lessons learned
That now will go undone.
All that’s plain and practical
Will never see the sun.
The ones who heard me then can barely
Find the strength to cry,
And all my comfort drowns in how
It hurts to say goodbye.

Who will stand before the thrones
Of pompous priests and lords?
Who will be the voice of those
The powerful ignored?
I showed them how the world could be
And this was their reply.
There was no other way, but still
It hurts to say goodbye.

Don’t compare this bleeding to a song
‘Cause musicals and monuments are bound to get it wrong.
Don’t forget what all creation sings,
That nothing less could show you what it means to be the king.

Author Bio:: Cullen is a proud husband and father, the youth guy at a Methodist church, and a PhD candidate in NT studies. In his free time . . . oh, wait . . . he isn’t allowed to have free time right now.

Holy Week

He kept his thoughts to himself as he rode into Jerusalem on that sunny day at the beginning of the Passover celebration. It would be his last week. He knew that there would be a confrontation of some kind, but the results were hidden in dark places from which his mind recoiled. He wished that with him were more than the one woman who understood what may well happen.

Peter, James and John had it all wrong. They had it all wrong from the very beginning. They did not understand that the Kingdom of God was completely opposed to the Empires of Men. They did not know that the Kingdom of God had nothing to do with Temple Worship or Synagogue gatherings. They stuck with him this far because they thought he was going to call down God’s wrath on the Roman occupiers and the Jewish elite who cooperated with them in the oppression of his people. They were ready to take their seats in a throne room and lord it over those trampled by the Messiah’s armies.

They were like children in so many ways. They lived in a fantasy world of Jewish armies under a warrior Messiah. They dreamed of glorious battles and waves of battle flags waving under a sun that would not set until they had beaten the Romans away from the Holy Land of their God. They just didn’t get it.

When he spoke of the Kingdom as a weed in a well ordered garden, they wondered why he did not speak of the Kingdom as a cedar of Lebanon. When he spoke of the Kingdom as yeast mixed in flour to make bread, they were dreaming of armies rising up for God. When he spoke of God as a woman looking for a lost coin, they were dreaming of wealth and power that comes through war and victory. When he spoke of God as a mother hen gathering her chicks to herself to protect them from the storm, they thought of storming the gates of Roman cities and conquering them for God. When he spoke of the Kingdom as a group of little children at play, they were plotting who would get the first and second seats of power in God’s Kingdom.

He knew that they would not stay with him. He knew that when they saw what happens to those who oppose both religious and political authorities, they would scatter like pigeons when the fox leaps into their midst. They sought a new order that would be a replica of the old order, an order based on power, domination, exploitation and when necessary war, victory and peace. He understood that they simply were not ready, nor were they willing, to understand that the Kingdom of God happens when people live as he had them live. That is why he kept telling them that the Kingdom of God is here. It has arrived! Look at me! See how we live together! See how we share! See how we heal and bring peace and wholeness to those with whom we eat. This is the Kingdom of God.

He had lived with them and in the heart of the living was the message. But they were looking for something else. They were not looking for a Kingdom based on God’s radical justice which brings utter Shalom, complete peace.

Irony of ironies! He found that aside from the woman who anointed him at Simon the Leper’s house, it was Pilot who really understood the radical nature of his mission and his life. Here at last someone understood what it was all about. Here is someone who understands and also knows that anyone who has an agenda that is so radically opposed to that of Rome must die. Here is someone who understands and who will have him executed for what he always has been: a radically subversive enemy of the Roman Empire and those Jewish religious and political leaders who owe their positions and wealth to Rome.

The God of whom he preaches and of whose Kingdom he lives in and out of is far too dangerous. He must be killed. With any luck his movement will die with him. Surely no group of people, no matter how dedicated, will be willing to continue this Kingdom living after he is gone. He fears that it will all have been in vain because they might think that he’ll come back and “fix it all” for them. He hopes that someday they will understand that whatever he has done they can do…and more.

Then darkness fell.

Author Bio:: Bishop Leland Somers is a semi-retired Old Catholic Bishop whose ministry is as a now and then homilist for Holy Spirit Ecumenical Catholic Church and a teacher and learner of the meaning of discipleship. He believes that only JESUS IS LORD and no other loyalties may come first and this is the only meaningful creed.

Another Song About Me?

I wanted to let you all in on a conversation I was having this afternoon with some friends of mine about worship music. To fully disclose my bias—and it’s probably not much of a secret to those that know me—I have been trying to make sense of my evangelical worship tradition (not merely about the music) for a while now—maybe ever since I was a kid. In fact, I distinctly remember my 7-year-old self sitting in the front row pew of Neighborhood church in Redding, Calif. singing along with the “song director,” Pastor Joe, learning to mimic his fluent hand gestures, seeing myself as co-directing our choir of voices, and wanting to be just like him. Despite the pull I often felt then (and continue to feel now), my experiences with worship music in an Evangelical setting have been too often painfully distracting about the most important things. I love to sing and to freely express myself in music and song and lyric—especially at church—however, the more I’ve encountered the limits of those very worship songs I have grown up with, the more I’ve wanted to move beyond their tunnel vision of American Christianity. The real issue, for me, isn’t simply a resistance to a style of music, but instead a search into, around, through and beyond some of the most fundamental questions/doubts I have had about what some are calling the contemporary “worship industry.” More specifically—and aside from the ominous commercial tones that come from such a term—I have been bothered and saddened by the apparent domestication of our gospel to sappy pseudo-psychological, over-spiritualized, and hyper-individualistic worship songs. Wouldn’t it be nice, I thought, to get a conversation started about the kind of culture we’ve created/are creating as we sing our songs in worship?

This most recent reimagining of worship music started when my friends and I fed some homeless folks at the Jesus Center (a local soup kitchen and recovery house offering hospitality in Chico, Calif.) and it has stayed with me since then. Both during and following that event, I began reflecting about the worship songs I had sung there and I suddenly realized how very limited (in terms of theological and moral imagination) my song choices had been. That is, as long as I stayed within the boundaries of our most popular contemporary worship songs, I sensed there would be something very important and needful missing. These songs, generally speaking, seemed to almost always fall short of or even distort what the Bible clearly included in most (if not all) of its sacred narrative. At the Jesus Center I found myself wanting something more from the songs and, frustratingly, I pretty much knew I would be searching for it without much hope of finding what I was looking for.

It was there that I started wondering and asking questions like these: Could it be that our songs lack the real stuff of life—especially in their spiritualized (i.e., disembodied) themes? Will their messages be a truly authentic alternative for the lives lived by most of the homeless folks at the Jesus Center (who in a lot of ways may not be as interested as you or I in having a deeply personal/intimate mental or emotional worship experience)? I persisted with more questions: God must have had more in mind for our worship music than the self-centered stereotypic songs about how much we love God, how much He loves us (spiritually, that is), and how great it is to be saved, right? How has this sanitized version of God’s all-inclusive dreams for the world crept its way into our worship services? Will we ever get beyond self-absorbed mental massages and romantic (self-congratulatory?) love songs about Jesus? Or will we ever get into deeper missional stories about Love’s embodiment within our local households and communities?

The majority of the contemporary worship songs I have come across seem to exclusively offer a dualistic (that is, unearthly) and individualized (that is, private) version of the Bible’s message, which, unfortunately, set theological (that is, practical) limits to one’s real relationships-in-community as well as how we understand the world God finds utterly loveable (see John 3:16). The social, contextual, and/or historical notes and themes found throughout the Bible’s poems, narratives, letters, and prophecies—along with our current struggles and longings for community—turn out to be strangely absent and/or passive in our contemporary music. It’s as if God were only interested in our personal well-being (i.e., prosperity), on the one hand, and our disembodied soul in heaven (i.e., abstract security) on the other! Especially for our homeless friends—who may just want to get something to eat or to find a “fix” that will satisfy their addictions (or perhaps to give us middle-class White folks a few awkward moments!)—the language of self-love probably rings a bit incomplete. After all, do our songs really include them? When we apparently (and unwittingly) baptize/mythologize a Jesus who dresses himself up in the American Dream, how could we expect anything different? When we present God as someone who ultimately only shows concern for our individual mental (or spiritual) state and wants nothing more than to tell us how His sacrifice made possible a salvation after we’re dead, why would homeless folks give a shit? It’s not that I’m questioning the goodness of our worship music per se, just that something significant occurred in me as I sang some of my favorite worship tunes in that context.

Truthfully, though, I’m a hypocrite. In fact, I say God concerns himself with our whole lives as members, participants, and co-creators in His Kingdom. I try to embody Jesus’ revolutionary and holistic Way (Luke 4:18-19). But most of my favorite Evangelical worship songs were created in a spiritual vacuum of sorts (more or less Gnostic). So, when it comes to what the Empire is selling, I am one of the first to get in line—quickly seduced by the consumer culture of greed made spiritual through poor lyrics.

This realization of mine begs certain questions for me to wrestle with. For example, how different could my worship culture be if the songs I sing grew locally out of a particular context instead of from foreign impositions by placeless psychology or self-help reading? In other words, can we create art that is both spiritually incarnational and deeply sacred? The Hebrew and New Testament scriptures seem to demonstrate local and traditional (i.e., native) ways to prophetically reimagine culture and truth in light of God’s ongoing dreams for His creation. How can we embrace this model, on the one hand, and get past the cultural/political/economic traps set for us on the other? Who would want to be known for a culture (famous for their artistic expression) which ignored or, worse yet, tacitly endorsed the very tools used for destroying neighbors and communities? I know I must sound crazy—and I’ve likely exaggerated my case in order to make a point—but what I’m getting at is this. Maybe it’s time we write some new worship songs that are more shaped by Christ’s mission in our place. Want to experiment with me?

Author Bio:: Jason is married to a beautiful Peruvian gal named Julissa (who, incidentally, knows how to make the best ‘comida peruana’ in the whole wide world!). His current life consists of grad school, work, and procrastination–the real work of any serious student!

The Last Breakfast

“Is Jesus here yet?” Simon Peter asked.

“Not yet, but he should be arriving shortly. We sent for him,” Matthew said.

There were four apostles in the room: Simon Peter, Matthew, James the Just and Philip. A large table sat in the center, and cushions and mats were spread around the table on the floor.

“Who’s bringing the wine?” Simon Peter asked.

“The wine’s over in the corner on the table,” Philip said.

“Did anyone think to bake any bread?” Simon Peter asked. He looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to him.

“Mary dropped some off,” Philip said. “She said she had some laundry to do and would come back later.”

Judas Iscariot and Simon the Caananite walked in.

“Judas Iscariot, did you bring the chariot?” Simon Peter asked.

“Very funny, Big Si,” Judas said. He called Simon Peter ‘Big Si’ and Simon the Canaanite ‘Little Si,’ in order to differentiate them. Also because it bugged Simon Peter to be called that, as he was still struggling some with getting his weight down.

“Just call me ‘Peter,’ Judas,” Simon Peter said.

“Oh, so you’re the Rock? Sounds like some kind of wrestling moniker. Are you thinking of giving up this line of work and going into the ring?” Judas asked.

“Hey, Jesus called me that. I didn’t make it up!” Peter said.

“Yeah, but I think he’s getting tired of you always asking for the keys to the Kingdom,” Simon the Caananite said. They all laughed, except for Peter.

Jesus, brothers James and John, Andrew, Thaddeus and Bartholomew walked in.

“Jesus is here,” James said.

“And I’m on his right side,” John said.

“Guys, quit fighting. We’re just here to eat some breakfast,” Jesus said.

James and John softened their looks at each other and smiled.

“Okay, who’s missing?” Peter asked.

Jesus started counting heads.

“Lord?” Peter said.

“Everyone is here except Thomas,” Jesus said.

“Why’d you have to count?” Peter asked.

“Simon Peter, there’s a time and place for everything. It’s not necessary to work miracles that have no meaning. Now, let’s gather ’round and have a meal. Thomas will get here when he does. I don’t believe we need to wait for him.”

They all sat down. Philip brought over the bread and wine.

“Philip, aren’t you going to eat?” Jesus asked.

“Well, Lord, I’m not really that hungry,” Philip said.

“What?” Simon Peter said. “You’ve already eaten this morning?”

Philip looked down and rearranged his robe.

“Well,” Philip said, “I did have a small snack.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have anything to eat,” Peter said.

“Peter, Peter,” Jesus said. “When did you last eat?”

“Lord, My God, I haven’t had anything since last night. I think anyone who’s already eaten this morning shouldn’t eat with us,” Peter said.

“That seems rather childish, don’t you think?” Jesus asked.

Philip sat down quietly.

“Philip, how long ago was your snack?” Bartholomew asked.

“I don’t know, Bart. It was after sun up.”

“What are you getting at?” Jesus asked.

Bartholomew looked around at everyone.

“Maybe if it has been a while, then it would be okay. Maybe if we said, ‘if you haven’t eaten within the last two hours, or since sunrise, then it would be okay to eat with us.’”

“Bart, why all the rules? All of you, haven’t you been listening to me? I suppose I even have to tell you how to eat and drink? Which hand takes the bread? Come on!”

“I have, Lord!” Thomas said. He came walking in confidently. “I doubt you’d really care about the time. Am I right?”

Thomas grabbed a cushion and sat down.

“What, just wine and bread? What kind of breakfast is this?” Thomas asked.

“You know we’re almost out of cash,” Judas said. “We’ll have to eat light for a couple of days.”

“Thomas, Peter, all of you. I want you to do this in memory of me.”

“Do what?” Matthew asked.

“Break bread. This is my body,” Jesus said. He raised a piece of bread up in front of him for all to see.

“Whoa, Lord! What? That’s a piece of bread,” Judas said.

“No, Judas, it is not. By raising this up, I have changed it from bread into my body. And I will raise the cup, and change the wine into my blood.”

Andrew put his cup down and looked into it. The others looked at Jesus in disbelief.

“I want you to do these things to remember me,” Jesus said.

“You’re leaving?” John asked. “Can you give me the keys first?”

“Lord, we broke bread last night. Do we need to again today?” James asked.

“You broke bread last night?” Thomas asked.

“Yeah, we did. You weren’t there. So, I’m thinking, why do we need to again this morning? I mean, didn’t last night count?” James asked.

“What time last night?” Thomas asked.

“Does it matter?” James asked.

“Well, I’d like to know when you guys are getting together without me,” Thomas said.

Andrew looked up.

“Where were you last night, Thomas?” Andrew asked.

“What’s it matter to you?” Thomas said.

“You always seem to miss our evening meals, that’s all.” Andrew said.

“He was with a woman,” Judas said.

“So? I saw you going into the temple. What was that about?” Thomas asked.

Simon Peter stood up.

“It sounds like you both sinned,” Peter said.

“Yeah, so maybe you shouldn’t eat this morning either,” Matthew said.

“You should confess your sins first,” Thaddeus said.

“Guys, guys!” Jesus said. “Why all the bickering? Why can’t we just enjoy a meal together?”

Those standing sat back down. A woman appeared in the doorway.

“My Lord,” she said. She knelt down in the room.

“Give her a blessing, Jesus,” Peter said.

“Come here, woman, and share some bread with us,” Jesus said.

“What?!” Peter said.

The woman stood and hesitated.

“Woman, my body and blood are to be shared by all,” Jesus said.

She looked at him strangely, then quickly grabbed a piece of bread and ran out of the room.

“See? You give them a handout and where are the thanks?” Peter asked.

“Peter!” Jesus said. “Do not limit those who want to be with me. Why put up all these barriers? Do not underestimate how sharing in my body and blood can change you, or anyone.”

Bartholomew dipped some bread into his wine. He kept his eyes low.

“I want you to remember me, to everyone,” Jesus said. “This table is open to all.”

“Yes, Lord,” Peter said.

Author Bio:: John Rehg is a writer, a programmer (that’s where the money comes from), a poet and a non-disillusionist. (That means I don’t get disillusioned by all the crap that goes on today in God’s name, or not.)
He writes weekly reflections for several Ecumenical Catholic churches around the country. This was not one of them.

Next Page »