Posted in Longreads & Essays

The Not So Wicked Bible (or the Worship of Prince Baalberith)

A MIDWEEK ESSAY

In 1611, Barker and Lucas, the royal printers in London, published what was meant to be a reprint of the King James Bible. There was one major omission. In one of the Ten Commandments, Exodus 20:14 which should have read “Thou shalt not commit adultery,” the not was omitted. The printed passage read “Thou shalt commit adultery.” Needless to say the printers got into big trouble and most copies of the Bible were destroyed.

I find the story ironic in two ways. Based on current statistics, it seems that the mistaken commandment in the Wicked Bible is the one that is being followed. Polygamy is still being practiced, only now it is done so in secretive and illicit affairs. Pornography, sex trafficking, and prostitution continue to feed insatiable lusts. The Church continues to be so obsessed with sex that other principles are not emphasized with equal importance.

Which brings me to my second point. Would there have been as big an uproar if the printers had omitted not from verse 13 so that it would have read “Thou shalt kill?” I don’t know. But for all practical purposes in this day and age we act as though the “not” does not exist.

We continue to glorify killing through incessant media broadcasts of tragedy that feed our insatiable appetite for such. We justify killing through our continuous need to be engaged in one “Holy War” after another. The two are not unrelated. For when we approve of killing in any form we create an opening for that spirit to be present in our society. The murders and violent tragedies so prevalent among us are a direct result of our justification of killing through war and other “accepted” means. There are those among us who have more compassion for the unborn than for those birthed and living.

My friends, this must not be so. Thou shalt not kill. Period. We must close the portal that allows such things to invade our society. We must defeat the Red Horseman, Prince Baalberith, and his legions.

We can do so only through Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace.

Originally posted October 21, 2011

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

I Am a Stew of Treats and Tricks

I am such a mix
a stew of treats and tricks
distracted
the truth redacted
full but emaciated
living but not liberated
I honor the Saints who have gone before
yet I leave them alone outside my door
their wisdom is a precious thing
so why am I not listening?

I have collected the burrs of this life
until I’m completely covered by a thousand tiny knives
my mind is a morass of many things
that smile and laugh and bite and sting
I have bitten my tongue so many times
that my voice now is little more than a whine
yet I am innundated by so much regret
when I think of the bitter words I have said
one moment my tongue is content to bless
the next it is a cursing mess

sometimes I think I’d be better off blind
but that wouldn’t change what I see in my mind
and the disconnect between your world and mine
how far we have fallen from the Divine

so I will continue to stumble and bumble into Grace
a reluctant participant in this human race
and perhaps like King when I get to the top of this hill
I can look over and say I did God’s will

Posted in Musings

k(NO)w Justice

You’re surprised?

It doesn’t mean we don’t keep working towards it.
But don’t act like it’s an entitlement.
Yeah, you deserve it.
But so does everyone else.

And be careful what you wish for,
cuz we’re all under the same judgement,
and for the final one there ain’t no parole.
If we choose another way, the Judge will simply say, okay.
Your Honor won’t be happy about it.
(You won’t be too thrilled either.)
But the Judge don’t want no zombies.

It’s a choice.
You’ve been given the complete freedom to royally and utterly screw your life up.
(How has that worked out for you, btw?)

Or you can choose life.
And the way of love.

Look around you.
It don’t take no rocket scientist to figure out that we got a ways to go before that healing stream really gets rolling.

It may not be here yet.
But it’s coming.
And God’s justice has got some teeth to it.

We better hope and pray you and I aren’t what it’s having for lunch.

Posted in Longreads & Essays

The Gospel of Eve: Confession of the White Man

In light of recent events, I felt that it was rather timely to republish the following as a confession and a call to all of us as men to forever exit the locker room.

I am the White Man;

I blamed Eve for my lust for power and ever since, for generations, I have been the serpent biting at her heels.

And because of this thrown out of the Garden,

and losing touch with God, my Father,

and my Mother, the Earth;

Banned from the Cradle of Civilization and so bent on destroying it and its people;

Rewriting history, lies, mythology, that I am the source of civilization.

I killed my brother and became the builder of cities, havens of murderers, slayers of people and the earth. I, created from clay and brown earth, which I now smother in concrete and steel, white monuments to my killing fields around the world.

Pale, sickly from years in dark caves, hiding from the light of the sun;

Born of a womyn yet taught to forget my mother, that life comes complete from man, yanked from her breast and taught to be hard and strong, to survive, separated from her and so from all womyn;

Beheader of Medusa and all womyn of strength, rapist, pillager;

Crusader; destroyer of all cultures and religions save my own, hating myself and so all other life, taking all with me in my self-destruction;

Creator of God, in my Image, white man, slavemaster;

Creator of Hell;

Wanderer of the earth, homeless, disconnected, unsettled, hopelessly searching for what I can find only in myself, eternally feeding on the flesh of the Earth and her people in vain attempts to satisfy my hunger and emptiness, afraid to see the welts I have put on myself and the people around me;

Killer of the Prophets; Isaiah, the Baptist, King, Romero, Womyn;

Killer of the Messiah, and his willingness to become a little Child, Servant, who sacrificed his power to destroy and so created a New Way, blood to end all bloodshed;

Consumer of his flesh and blood, his children, the peoples of the Earth, in his Name.

I am the White Man;

I have sinned.

And I ask you, Womyn, Man, of Color, what is the Way, the color of my Healing?

I am the White Man;

I cannot change the Color of my skin or my heritage.

But I have looked within and I have seen a heart of stone so I ask you, Womyn, Man of Color, can you help me crack it?

Written 9/22/91 and 3/8/92

Posted in The Sunday Driver: Life in the Slow Lane

Garbage Day

image

Though I could use a longer period of time than just a day, maybe a year, to take care of my stuff.

But a regular day each week to get the trash taken care of is a good thing.

Things tend to stink if they sit around too long.

But I do have to make the effort to collect it, bag it, and put it out so it can be picked up.

I cannot refuse to pay attention to my refuse.

You are aware, of course, that I am speaking metaphorically here.

Sigh.

Well, let me go pour me another cup of detox tea.

Posted in The Sunday Driver: Life in the Slow Lane

Divination

I have not always been gentle with parts of myself.

The scarlet pieces lie strewn across the road of my journey,
like the occasional roadkill I see,
entrails cast down in disgust as if to
divine the future.

Blue steel on blurring black,
a prison on four wheels,
my flesh missing moments in the endless drive to
somewhere that is never quite what
or where
I thought it would be.

The mountains crowd in.
I turn on the radio and search for a station.
Only one thing comes through on AM and FM.
The same preacher is on both stations
preaching the same sermon.

The last word I hear before I turn off the radio is
sin.

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

Confessional

Sooner or later, I become the Confessional;
hearer of the Sin,
giver of Absolution so that the
healing may begin.

Caught in the Compartment
I cannot get out or in,
separated from the tasting by the thin
skin partition.

Too afraid to partake,
too sinful to resist.
If she in the shadows offers Revelation,
will I desist?

October 28, 1996