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James 2:14-26

 

Praying is what you do
When you pick up the shovel
and plant a tree,
Surrounding the roots with mulch,
Dirt under your fingers.

Prayer is what you have
When you cook a meal for someone
Who is ill. Give respite to a
Caretaker. Take on a task
Someone else would usually do.

Praying is visiting hospice
When you are tired of death.

Prayer is cleaning a toilet that isn’t yours,
Building a house you won’t ever live in.
Sow seeds for food you will never eat.
It is the knock on the door,
The letter in the mail,
The call on the phone.
Marching in the street.
Chaining to the door.

Praying is holding someone else’s hand,
Listening to someone else’s story,
Holding space after they have left.

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Posted by on November 17, 2017 in philosophy, Poetry, Religion, Social

 

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Revival

There is a woman preaching to the river. Standing on the sidewalk, next to the new blue Toyota, gospel music blaring from the car speakers and open doors, she holds her Bible high in the air yelling to the dolphins, the cranes, the pelicans, and any tree that may hear. Any flower that may be blooming. Anyone.

She is a revival of none with a tent of clouds, looking to redeem the river, an evangelist for the fish, witnessing to the water, which, already holy, laps at the shore, listening, leaving, returning, receding, in no need of being saved.

No one listens. A few look, perhaps wondering from where comes the music so disrupting the call of the gulls, susurration of trees, the sounds of creation.

In white sneakers, dungarees and T-shirt of bright red, she holds a meeting to the open space. On her shirt, bright white letters front and back tell anyone who looks she is a Christian Soldier. Her short afro bounces as she jumps up and down. She is buxom and not slight, waving her arms in the air – the bible, flashing back and forth, thrust now and then toward the waves, black and shiny, as though it is sweating, like her, is held at the bottom, upright, so tightly, or so often, one can see the wear at the edge. The curling. The discoloration. And the cross on the cover has begun to wear faint.

 
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Posted by on March 24, 2015 in Culture, Religion

 

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