Anaheim 2009

By Faith Chatham - July 9, 2009
Some look on from benches, googling instead of genuflecting this year
Divorce is tough
Jesus says "Don't do it."

My two oldest sisters used to vie and juggle
Playing politics and presenting cases
Why each should be the "best", "right", deserve to be "most loved"
Mother never would choose
She lived for them both
How different is the Father's love?

It's Anaheim this year.
It's been Denver and other places where blood was let
The cup was passed in Jesus Name
Yet Cain smite Able
"It's because they said this" or "They think that…"
We're at the table arguing we can serve better only "if" and "when"
Can we? Do we?

It's Anheim this year.
Familiar faces from the crowd are at home across the nation
Some are missing from other continents
Some from down the block.
Between the lines folks are reading from within the hall and from cyber portals
To see how if "just rewards" will be melted down
Or only empty spaces will walk in columns
Past the line in the sand where discernment becomes judgement.
Oh, wait!

That's what the Father said -- only the Son can judge.

It's Anaheim this year.
Those I hold dear are within the room and at home.
I agree with "this.." over here and "that.." over there.
I see imperfectly.
It isn't quite so clear
Who is "right" and who is "wrong."
The Father said: "Don't sue".
"Don't judge".
"Don't marginalize".
"Honor my Word. Don't add or take away."

We live Him imperfectly.
He loves us immeasurably.

Mother hated holidays.
Sisters sat at table with agendas and grievances
She loved us all
And wouldn't choose
Her daughters were all imperfect
She'd held us in her womb
Wiped our tears and spanked our butts
She saw promise in our eyes
And believed that hearts can mend

Mother may understand God's heart better than clerics
And Bishops, delegates in Anaheim and delegates of previous years
Creation breeds hope from the dust

The bell rings.
God is near.
The cup is passed.
He decided, He alone decides
Who knows him best.
He alone knows who calls upon His name.
He alone recognizes the hand which reaches sincere and weak
Trusting

God needs no defender.
He is God.
He seeks no one to "prove His truth."

Reach.
Know God is God.
See the chasm.
Know shortness of our mortal leap.

None of us earned our Mother's love.
None of us understand the Father.

We are imperfect in our leap.
Their love doesn't measure the shortness of our dreams
Or charge a premium for inches not fulfilled on measuring sticks.
Those at home and those in Anaheim are in His heart.
He's neither deaf nor weak
He has patience
Waiting for spiritual toddlers to run out of steam
And be still
Getting quiet enough to hear His voice
And feel His hand comfort and encompass.

We see a bit
Think we know the rest.
He sees all
And holds us to his breast.
-- by Faith Chatham
copyright 2009

Break the Cord (excerpts)

By Faith Chatham - excerpt from SACRED SPACES - copyright 2009

...
Loving is more than merely touching
on the physical you see.
Love is both spiritual and mental,
defies the mortal touch.
It is stronger than mere phrases
uttered in haste or casual words.
Once mutually acknowledged,
recognizing what is real,
the mental and the spiritual resists attempts
to banish it or break it.
It's a unity of spirit,
the touch of God on man,
that makes it hard to crush it
and makes it hard to understand.

...
Just because it doesn’t fit
into our preconceptions,
what we previously thought
we really wanted or was best for us somehow,
doesn't stop the reverberations,
of communications through the air!

Maybe it's because love is really spiritual,
though sometimes expressed
in myriads of different ways.
Some folks use their hands, words, and actions,
physical bodies, or whisper words of praise.

Those are but ephemeral ways of expressing
what can’t be captured or held
within human hands.
Perhaps that might be why loving
sometimes seems like trying
to catch light and motion,
attempting to culp energy within our hands!
...

I hold these moments sacred,
frustrating though they are.
Not good at meshing or adjusting,
we dance in some weird precocious love.
Two spirits seeking God,
not letting go of each other,
we neither ended nor grew-to-fit
love’s transforming fire.

We ran and hid from joy and fulfillment,
making excuses,
not truly embracing
either solitude or rejection in our flight.

I love you still, my darling,
though at times I wish I could wish
that were not true.
Despite hurt stemming from perceived rejection,
I have not fully let go of you.

Until we both let go of each other,
in our thoughts and reverie,
we’ll continue dancing
in some spiritual dimension,
where love isn't ended
and hope defies mortal imagination
and overwhelming odds.

If you want to be free of me
you'll have to think it and really mean it,
be convinced through and through,
that you want to be free of me forever.

If you say it to yourself and really mean it,
will to let those thoughts
travel through the golden cord,
to singe the imprint of our being
from each other's psyche and each other's hearts,
then our minds will get the message.
It will close it off finally.
We'll stop searching for each other's souls,
listening for each other's footsteps,
and the cord will break which connects us.

If you want it, you have to really mean it,
to anchor it through and through.
or we'll continue to dance united
in spirit.
To break the cord between us,
we must unite in indifference,
not hearing the other's cry.
We must not care about joy or passion,
or comfort knowing the other is nearby.

If you truly want to break the cord between us,
you must not even slightly care!
Hurt, anger, love or longing
keeps the cord intact and strong.
Only the finality of indifference
can severe it in-two.

-- By Faith Chatham
copyright 2009

Tissue Paper

By Faith Chatham - excerpt from SACRED SPACES - copyright 2009

I tell God: ‘I don’t understand?
Don’t know
what I should feel,
or do?’
Wonder if I could do
what “I should”
if I only knew!

I’ve asked you
to help me
put it into context,
to help me
understand.
Yet, for some reason
you can’t
or won’t,
and I’m left wondering
why I still seek your soul
when you flee
from mine!

I railed at God,
and asked Him
to “take this love away.”

He told me “No!”
He reminded me
that I’d told Him
if He ‘honored me
with some
of His love for you,
I’d honor it,
and you,
as long as He chose
to trust me with it!’

Now you’re gone.
You seem to have moved far beyond
loving me,
yet my hurt and anger
gets replaced regularly
with a glimmer
of God’s incredible
love for you!

I talked to God about “pride” one day.
He told me that “this time, your pride
is not the most important thing!”

When the words I had for you
weren’t very kind,
He filled me with His words
and called you “his innocent!”

O Magnificent Betrayer of my heart,
O Sweet Obsession of my soul,
I wonder how long God will fill me
fresh every morning
with prayers for you?

Will my soul ever stop
searching
for yours?

Will I be able to take some of the trust
and hope
and joy
I knew in you
and wrap it gently
in tissue paper
and lay it in the “keep chest”
until we reach that other world
where love knows no boundaries
and does not
grow cold?

Why,
when your love for me
has gone dormant
does mine
still tremble?

For now, I have to trust
that in God’s time
I’ll cease to weep
when I think
of what we shared
and what we miss
in the silence
of these hours.
-- by Faith Chatham
copyright 2009

This Time

By Faith Chatham - excerpt from SACRED SPACES - copyright 2009

I didn’t get what I wanted.
I’d fallen in love before
and it had been disastrous.

This time I wanted to walk into love
carefully, prayerfully,
with both of us having time
to explore our own hopes and wishes,
and to consult with God’s heart,
to be sure and steady.

I sought a love that was sound and solid,
suited for earth
with the bliss of heaven.

Instead we found the bliss
and soon we were far
beyond the careful or the steady.

Soon after I trusted and believed,
you came and told me
you were “in over your head”.

I thought I could back-up,
give the love I’d found for you
back to God, and “move on.”

Instead, I found that I didn’t get what I wanted.
Finding myself far from shore
in loving you.

Though God is here,
He doesn’t seem to want
to help me get back.

You’re gone
and I wonder how long
my soul will keep searching for you
in the dark and in the day?

This time, I began in prayer loving you.
I’m still in prayer, seeking a way beyond the dream
which froze in my hand.

I wanted to walk
into love with you.
But love can’t be contained, or timed
or melded out by the tablespoonful.
It flows like water through life’s conduit.

I’m left wondering “what’s happened?”,
listening to see
if “over the head”
is like bobbin’ in the water,
a transitory interruption,
or a permanent outage.

I didn’t get what I wanted.
This time I wanted to walk carefully
into love.

-- by Faith Chatham
copyright 2009

Pots ‘n Pans

By Faith Chatham - excerpt from SACRED SPACES - copyright 2009
You told me
when your Mom used to bang those pots and pans,
you used to cringe
and wish
she’d just come out and say
what was bothering her.

You left and won’t talk to me.
I wish you’d tell me
what you think,
what you want,
what’s bothering you so much
that despite your loving me
you fled.

The silence is as loud
as those pots ‘n pans
reviberating though our minds.

-- by Faith Chatham
copyright 2009

I Used to Listen Better in the Church

By Faith Chatham - excerpt from SACRED SPACES - copyright 2009

God, I’m not comfortable with your church.
I feel closer to you when I’m here at home,
or in the yard with the air caressing my cheek,
or watching the bird perched on the patio fence.

Though I love the liturgy
and am fed by your word,
in congregations of people
I feel the distortion;
Distracted by others’ imperfections
I fail to recognize my own.

I used to hear you better when in church,
though I always seemed to hear you best
in church alone!

There is no sweeter chorus
than those I hear
when “no one’s there”.

When kneeling at the chancel rail,
when no mortal footsteps are near,
I feel the breath of Saints and Mary’s presence
and hear you speaking, Jesus.

I’m never closer to you Lord,
than at the communion rail.
Then I close out the world
and taste your Grace.

Though Church is social
and partly intellectual,
I find mortal chatter distracts me
from your face.
Frequently, it’s an arrow
directing me to prayer.

Sometimes,
someone says a phrase
which draws me closer to you.
Yet, usually,
I get distracted
or distract others.

Frequently,
I find it sweeter to sit
and listen
for you Lord, when alone.

In solitude
I hear
the heavenly host,
let you
test the spirits,
and fill me
with your peace.

I don’t fit in
with any of them,
yet they are my brothers and sisters.

Of all times
to be a “high church
Episcopalian!”
I have no peace
about either staying
or going.
I certainly have no allegiance
to the diocese of the Southern Cone,
yet recognize the violence
which propelled
those I love from the fold.

Instead of “evangelism” or “spiritual formation”,
energy and resources are enmeshed
in litigation.

Some mutter
about “them
hijacking a diocese.”

I mutter
about “them
hijacking Advent and Christmas!”

Instead of penance
and Holy Expectation,
communicants
of “both camps”
were thrust into incessant meetings
of reorganization!

I shook my head in dismay,
bewildered,
thinking what a sad way
to welcome the Messiah!

I see the flaws
in all of us;
am repelled
by “self-righteousness”
as each attempts
to “reflect God
as we understand Him”.

Some stand on canon and scripture,
caught in the web
of judging.

Others interpret it
as they see it,
feeling righteous
in “being broadminded”
and “more generous”.

It seems we’re all caught
in the web
of our own thoughts.

Come, Lord Jesus.
Deliver us from ourselves.

May we be protected
from the state
of “us and them.”

There is nothing righteous
in either camp,
yet in You,
everything is Sacred
in both.

-- by Faith Chatham
copyright 2009