Un-finished

i am unfinished in the Hands of a Working GOD.
there are mountains before and mountains behind, things will always change.
God is Himself unchanging.
i have not the strength to carry on nor the will to do so,
but through CHRIST, i can do all things.
i am weary of religion, and weary of carrying the weight of a world laden with hurt and bondage.
weary of hearing empty words spoken from empty mouths, with eyes so full of despair.
mourning the cry of the poor, the hungry, the forgotten in a world which has deaf ears.
we all see the need, and yet we all think of ourselves first.
i condemn no one, only what i fight in myself.
there lies within a longing to fight for a change to help others, but when you cannot even combat yourself on your own strength, what arrogance to think i can take on a world of people just like me.
God can change the world.
God can change my heart.
i trust to God the future, as i am yet just as unfinished as it.
we are unfinished works in the Hands of a Working God.
HE has never left anything unfinished, and all that He makes is good.

Farewell

Here's to travels and crazies.
Who knows what the future holds?
After all, "The wonder of it all--
is where I'll be next year" as Monday Morning
would say. You really couldn't come up
with these kind of adventures on you own.
I'm glad God has a much better imagination
than I.
Change is in the air, even as seasons
change. And not everything will be as it
has been. But there is Hope in the future
and there is Faith in the promises of
God. And there is Love. And, so really
nothing will change so much.
I leave now to do laundry... and to
practice the art of bowing in a respective
manner...

Cherenobyl's Children

Perhaps no one quite knew the magnitude of operations being carried on inside of a Communist era nuclear reactor facility. No one ever thought that one foolish slip-up, one careless action could ever create such destruction. And perhaps no one ever thought that one selfish ambition could shake the world. But that is where we are, is it not?
There have been entire communities, a generation, the product of the nuclear catastrophe. Fallout transcending years. And disfiguration and distortment which have followed generations. These carry the scars of the past with them into their future. If only Eve knew such repercussions. We surely do.
And it is in this sin stenched earth where Eve's progeny suffer the fallout of the disaster that was never intended to reach so far. It is in the disaster where Hope has been extended. And a whole generation from beginning to end, of disfigured saints and deformed pilgrims walk towards the cross of Jesus Christ. Knowing this -- we limp now, but we will walk. We cry now, but we shall laugh. We are scorned by our imperfections, but someday we will be perfect. Maranatha!

"Lest We Forget"

Time stands like stones in the ground.
Marble marks the rest in life.
Time stands eternal still,
The lull in infinite transition.
Trees loom high above earthen tombs.
Earth covers over earth.
Sound hangs in whispered tune,
As clear-cut letter deciphers man's condition.
Time hangs still, lest we forget,
For no man.

- October 26, 2008

--------------------------------------------------

So, amidst traversing (and partially trespassing) through a field of cow-pies and boggy hitch-hiker seedy things sticking to my person, part of the adventures of this Sabbath involved a trip to a Civil War cemetery. i don't much like cemeteries, or my birthday for that matter, for certain reasons pertaining to death... but every so often, it is good to see outside of the bustle of humanity the outcome of life. For all the hustling and worrying very little attention is paid to the fact that we're all (unless Jesus comes back soon) going to be under a plot of land somewhere. Morbid, perhaps, but no less true. But to be serious, seeing all of the grave stones and a vast majority of them marked "Unknown" it got me thinking. These were men with hopes and aspirations, dreams and visions just like all men; but all they have to show for it on earth right now is a stone with narry even their name on it. Then the words etched in stone above said: "Lest We Forget" -- indeed, lest we forget that we are mortal. That we take nothing into this world with us and will take nothing out; that only what is done for God will last. Time seemed to stand still in that little plot of land, but that is only an illusion; because, really, time is an illusion -- temprality and time itself are generic knock-offs of the origional: eternity. And there is an eternity ahead. Lest we forget, we live now but a moment, but we shall live forever... who and what are you living for?

Vous n'allez pas secouer mon monde.

What happens when you ask God to do things? Tonight is a prime example: miracles happen, the unthinkable happens, the improbable has no footing, truth makes an appearance and tired grips are reaffirmed.

Gravity

It's raining outside.
The trees are undecided about which color to turn their leaves.
"The World Spins Madly On" is playing in the background.
And i know that's true.
Maybe there were days, in years past, when life felt less weighty.
Though, i can't remember a time like that. That's the beauty of age, i guess --
forgetfulness.
There's this gravity, this weight to everything i do.
Nothing is simply simple. Everything counts, everything matters.
Whether or not my actions are actually weighty, remains to be seen;
but i cannot live, i feel, in an ambiguous state of being.
i cannot say "i love you" to simply hear my words and hope that
they are enough to convince myself and others. There's this issue of gravity
that brings me down, that keeps my reigned in reminding me of what matters.
Softly, intrudingly bringing my head out of the clouds, back to the ground.
That's where life happens, anyway.
It's not possible to love without living. Though it may be possible to live without
ever really loving. And that's terrifying. Gravity, pull me down. And i'll wait
for this fog to clear.

one. thing.

"I have one regret: I regret words."
(Prof. C.C. Chapel series)

"I'm hungry"

in the Bible, there's a part where Jesus is talking about the end, and all people would be gathered and God would look to the people at His right and say "When I was hungry, you fed me. When I was naked, you clothed me. When I was sick and alone, you took care of me and stayed with me." (paraphrased) and they asked Him: "Lord, when did we do these things?" The answer? "What you have done unto the least of these, you have done unto me." The reverse of this is also true: What you haven't done unto the least of these, you haven't done for Jesus.
my heart is hurting, you see. i see this picture in my mind of a woman sitting alone on a park bench. i feel despair in her gaze and posture. i hear her words like a knife in my heart: "Can you help me? ...I'm hungry." in Calcutta we were told to ignore street beggars when they asked for money, because "it would do more harm than good"... if that's exactly true or not, i'm not sure. but i wasn't in Calcutta, and no one was there to make that decision for me. this was walking in Philly, on a gorgeous, crisp fall day; and there was no ignoring those words. they echo in my head even now.
thinking back on the situation... she lied. she didn't want food. we tried to give food. i lied too. i said i had no money. she said she just needed to get home. i asked how she would get home... she said she was homeless. and as soon as the change in my and another's pocket left our hands, our presence was no more acknowledged by this woman. it was like we were no longer there.
more than anything, i'd like to 'feel' good about this situation. i'd like to look back and say i did everything i could have possibly done, that i hadn't lied about money, that i was going about this purely to love someone and not to assauge my concience. what do i know anyway? more than anything i'd like to see the woman on the bench smiling, filled with more than food, happy with more than money. Jesus... today i heard you speaking... and i tried to help... but my assesment on what help is, in reality, is maybe not always the way i see help... i saw Jesus today and i cannot forget HIM.

Shuffle

Honey-lemon lozenges, Sprite can, tissues, a faded burgundy canvas bound books reading "God was in Christ", deadlines, worlds to be discovered. A vast sea of memories which must swell the heart of many in the past, show up on small Kodachrome slides hilighted by the small slide viewer in my grandpa's apartment. Generations past, and yet they are so close. Smiles, and yet worlds apart. And to think of what I would have done with this evening if I had not been sick...
Shuffle, shuffle. Movement is not always advancement, and in the end, standing before the Throne of God looking at Christ for the first time, I shall not be (I don't think) finding great comfort in the fact that I "did" things. No, instead it would seem that taking time to smell flowers when they bloom, to hold hands that need to be held, to bear burdens that need to be born, to love those around regardless of deadlines, to see the royalty in the homeless man and the courage of the battered woman. To love the abused, confused, used... those things will not qualify or sanctify in themselves, but they will be time to spend with Jesus. And, after all, it makes for good preparation when we will be with Him forever, to spend time with Him now, does it not? So, tonight, let me stop the "shuffle" and take a deep (albeit, congested) breath and thank God...

Say hello to life

A mess of splattered communication.
Mulling over future generations,
Screwed over by the current situations.
This is what we wake up to.

Misty mornings find them mourning.
Walking down the tracks scorning,
Decisions made without warning.
Good afternoon, dear. Say hello to life.

The board walk's slick as rain,
Frozen sticking to window panes,
Miles behind, time brings pain back again.
Driving away, away from life.

Everyone's talking, no one's listening,
Hearts sighing, heavy. Eyes glistening,
With tears, come, come trickling.
Good morning, just take this away.

Hang it out to dry,
Let it alone, just let it die,
Don't hang over like sun-setting skies.
Beautifully out of reach, always out of reach.

Pain's comming to Christmas every other year,
Leaving hearts to writhe, eyes to drown in their own tears.
Is there redemption, redemption amidst fear?
Say hello to life.

You didn't ask me if i wanted to love.
Now i've no choice. Here i am.
And now my heart's being torn away.
Say hello to life.

Sandcastles

"All the chisels i have dulled carving idols of stone. They have crumbled like sand 'neath the waves. i have restlessly built all my dreams in the sand, just to watch them all wash away." - Jennifer Knapp

No matter how many times we built that castle -- it always sloshed and melted away beneath the torrent of water. And everytime we made a stronger structure, and reinforced caverns, it all fell just the same. Till i just sat down and salt water flowed from me and not the sea, painfully atune to the futility of our endeavor. Building on what cannot stand. Standing on what will fall. Falling with each gentle wave. These skeletons of idols littering the beach, these tomb stones marking human "acheivment" and endeavor are stale reminders of fuitile temporality of joy in "things" and not in God. So with each sweeping wave, crashing down upon the idols in my heart, may You build up, O Rock of Ages, a mountian in my heart. One not made by my hands. A Rock cut not with human hands.

"What Next?"

As my good friend Jenna would say "what next?". So i reiterate along with the chorus of witnesses around me a question that everyone in the world is asking. What's next? We're here, somthing's finished and we're not sure what's to happen now. Where do we go from here? What should we do now? How do we go about living when our routine has been kicked swiftly in it's metaphorical behind out the back door?

Honestly, i have no clue. i wake up to ask God the same questions... "what next?" i've seen Him work miracles with the "fleece" i've laid before Him. i've seen Him provide in the desert places. So how is it that now i find myself asking what He's going to do when He's only ever provided the best? Perhaps, it's because i'm afraid. i have my ideas of how life "should" look. There are plans i'd like to see fulfilled, and to behonest God does not always fulfill my plans.

Lay aside my plans, God? H'okay. Show me how.

So... what next?

Though No one Knows

We turn the lights like turning keys,
Exiting a room. Closing a door.
She smiles on the street, like a window;
No one else knows the things that go on below.
He says he's fine, texture aside,
No one else knows the pain behind his eyes.

It's like a game of hide-n-seek,
That we play, you and me.
We're like two peanuts in our shells,
Full of so much that we never show, never tell.
We don't even remember who first told us to cover up,
Gardens and Falls away, leaves and skins holding up.

Take my hand, mine's in His, i am me and He knows this.
Turn the lights out when you leave,
Don't forget to leave the keys.
Leave the doors widely open,
Hold your heart, though it's broken,
Up to One who knows

"...that age-old practice of man."

The bad guys of the New Testament are interesting characters. Herin are no thugs in ski masks marauding through the streets pillaging and plundering. No cheating money-lenders, no seductive whores... only religious leaders. The "teachers of the law". The former, are all part of the New Testament, that is, minus the ski masks I don't believe they had those. The Kingdom of God was ushered in to a people completely undeserving of grace. The only problem was, there were some who believed they were some how less unworthy than others.

If you want to see Jesus ticked off at anyone, check out His interactions with the Pharisees. Jesus had choice words to these people. But why? Why would those so close to God be so distanced from God incarnate? Who was their god, then? Perhaps, though, it is best not to speculate but to think, in "real time" as it has been dubbed. Do I derive my joy out of serving God or the feeling of accomplishment I enjoy when I see myself serving God? Do I obey out of love to God, or out of the exhilaration of accolades that follow my "self-sacrifice"? Should I like to be seen as pious and respected on the streets by my fellow Christians because of my exterior faith? If so, then it is clear what god I would be serving and what god the Pharisees served. That is the insatiable appetite of the god of self.

Let the pillars be torn down, and the plank taken out. The old wine skins disposed of and the new wine poured into new wine skins. Here there can be no room for the decaying stench of the worship of self, that age old practice of man. Let broken-ness be the aim. Never stop to think "how humble and broken I am becoming!" for then all is lost once more. [This is the summary of a chapter in C.S.Lewis's "The Screwtape Letters" on the subject of Pride] How much is lost, truly, when we come into the House of the LORD to worship and we cannot see beyond our selves? God, my God! May it never be! Break me! Let my cry be uttered with the tax collecter in Luke: "God, have mercy on me... a sinner!" refusing even to look up, but mourning my own pitious state and glorifying in the glory of God's love.

Even when His voice echoes through the fog...

Ach! My wanderlusting bones cannot begin to believe it is already that time of year. When frazled mothers lead their children who've been hypnotized all summer under the flashing lights of television and video games and occupied by sports and games -- now trying to remember how to be civil in public while picking up folders and pencils. That time, has come again. Those words which send chills up my spine: "Back to school".

Chills aside. It's really not that bad. And I'm only half serious when I say "chills". But, it's that time. Time to sit in a classroom and pretend to be learning. Time to put aside community for the sake of a degree. Time for the faithful college student to return to his or her underground existance, lit soley by the light of a computer screen and the occasional sunrise that we see when papers are due... THAT time.

We're one day closer to the future and what we'll "become". One day closer to a future that we envision, as if we can envision the end. As if the "end" were attainable on earth. Every end I've met is only another beginning entering into the next moment of life in this journey. And even when an end leaves me flabbergasted (no?) and perplexed, God's voice still echoes through the fog. He has been faithful. He is faithful. He will continue to be faithful.

This "end", perhaps not just of summer, but of familiarity, of clarity and comfortability - has an end. And this "end" is really only a beginning. It's foggy outside tonight, and my upcoming class scheduel is equally foggy... but it's okay, really. His voice speaks through the fog...

The Quiet Afters...

There's something magical about weddings.
It's almost like Christmas morning. So much time is spent anticipating, preparing, planning; mass collisions of different spheres of friends and family mixing together for one day. Comraderie and songs flow freely amongst the newest of friends. Just for a moment in time, perhaps, we catch a tiny hint at Heaven. The Wedding Feast.
Not surprisingly, on this earth even the most joyful celebration comes to an end. The Bride and Groom waltz off into the sunset on the new path they've struck up together, and the guests leave happy, but heavy hearted. Celebration is over; the music stops playing. We go back to lives full of joy and pain, laughter and crying, life and death.
Like Christmas morning, the celebration -- the joy, it's culminated. There's an end to the celebration; and the old and the new friends go back into their circle of familiarity, feeling so caught up in the joy of the past and the seemingly un-endureable future of waiting another amount of days till the next celebration.
But -- if Jesus compared Heaven to a Wedding Feast, and He will be there. What joy will there be when we won't leave heavy-hearted, because the celebration will never end?

Softly coming, gently changing

Mornings run like clock-work these days. The sun comes up too early and shines through the shade-less windows near the couch where I sleep. The puppy races down and jumps on me, licking my face excitedly wanting to be fed. Mom makes coffee, the familiar grinder whirring away reverbrating in my ears. Morning news, conversation and general chaos ensues. And then I get up.
I always thought I loved routines. Routines aren't always good. People make mistakes routinely, pain routinely follows hurt... and on and on. I wake up to routines, good and bad. We all do, really. I look in the mirror too long, criticizing. Pray. Lose my temper. Read a book to a sibling. Routinely.
The very thought of a break from the tempo of life as I know it is terrifying. This beat follows where I am, it keeps me like I am. That's just the point, I suppose. In order for there to be a new song, a next movement, there needs to be change. It's coming. Softly. Gently. Changing.

Definitely Not Befitting

Red is not your color.
You wear it like your father.
Hold it in place,
Up in your face.

Black does not match,
Brooding and attached,
To that distand look you wear.
Can you really think no one cares?

Gripping your sides,
Bracing in the tide,
Of the ocean of wrath you sail.
You try and you fail. Always fail.

Prisoners of mind,
Everything looks just fine.
Red and torn, your defenses are worn,
Why do you even say you try anymore?

Turning -- turning over,
Rolling, moving over,
Handing it all over.
Releasing and dying.
Giving up and crying.
That's natural. That's befitting.

So Long Me

Poems... Poetry. Words that I speak to hear.
Pictures, photographs. Stills that I pose to see.
Maybe you knew me, maybe you know.
Maybe you heard, maybe you see;
But, all I can say is so long me.
It's all so easy, you see.
There's so much more to reality;
There's alot to be said for self-less community.
Maybe you knew, maybe you know.
Did you hear? Did you see?
All I have to say is so long me.

and so it goes...

it was interesting. i had no intentions of staying up until 4 am watching movies; but somehow that's exactly what happened. what is stranger still, all of the movies centered around one thing: love. without concious effort i proceeded to watch "Pay it forward", "The Notebook" and "Moulin Rouge". now, two of these movies i'm not a big fan of and would probably not reccomend them or watch them again; but it was just strange how three completely different movies could center on the same thing and come to the same conclusion: life is junk, so love. it could be said more eloquently, i know. but each film showed the nitty gritty and filthy side of life; messy human beings who struggle with their own fatal flaws. each film resolved that those things will not change, the problems of life (which, though the movies do not say this, seem to allow for a sin nature in man), but the way to make life bareable - to change the world, is to love people.

in the "Moulin Rouge" a quote that perplexed me was "the greatest thing you can learn is to love and to be loved in return" -- sounds rather "Beauty and the Beast"-esqu, no? it was strange that something should come out of a film rooted in sensual lust that seemed so close to truth that you could feel it. each film, though, resolved that the fleeting moments of pleasure on earth; the love you experienced, were all that a person could look forward to. the embraces, the loving words, the companionship, the sex -- all of that, to Hollywood, is love. it's a warm feeling which transcends all of life. but if that were all that it should take to keep people together for a happily ever after, why is the world so ravaged by broken hearts and divorce? if the feelings were enough to last a liftime, then why don't they?

Questions to ponder...

LIVE

Green is sprouting, comming up, everywhere the eye can see.
Skies are blue, clouds shifting shape in an endless sea.
Kites flying high above drifting, flying, sailing above.
Bubbles float; they dance accross the wind in droves.
Laughter echoes... Smiles are spreading...
Music drifts, as life dances before time.
Father, for all these things, Thank you.
But even if grey replaces green;
Rain to take over sun.
If the only flight is of our strength;
And hearts are too heavy to float.
When tears flow, drowning out laughter;
Then music, too, becomes a lament.
Father, for this too, Thank you.

Fools tapping away...

April Fools, and here I am. Tip-tapping away at the keyboard, catching up with the work to attain that "finished" feeling that will always elude, it's always just out of reach.
Dear God. Here I am. Tapping away pencils in the moonlight, I hope you recognize me. I've grown much more accustomed to feeling nothing at all. In my efforts to fit in.
The clock's tick-ticking away. I'm still tip-tapping today.
My theology's not popular conversation. My best friend's offensive. It'd be sooner accepted to spit in anothers face than mention the name of Jesus. Dear God, I hope you still recognize me.
April fools. Who's the fool?

Farewell

I'm not quite sure where it happened, or how it did; but I changed so much somewhere along the way. Castles in the fog and muddy knees in the silt, faces in rocks and trees all so distracting. All judging; making, becoming, forming this view of me. And I don't like who I am to them, because I'm not sure. Is that me?
But it's okay, I'll still write broken love songs, with torn sheets and broke strings, I won't sing I'll scream but I'll say I am okay. What is okay? Are we okay?
And I don't chase rainbows anymore, because somehow that's not done. I don't wonder at wonderment, because growth means tollerance. I don't feel with feeling the whole world that is stealing all of me into who I don't want, I don't need. If I could just run away and think.
Does grace reside at the bottom of a bottle or the ashes in the tray? In the subtle distractions from the throbbing pain that comes from living in a world that's gone mad, its gone mad. Maybe I'm naive. I can't say. Tell that to the end of my knife clean of the blood I almost let; this life I almost let.
Does this still mean, that Jesus saves me? When I am least worthy of love? Oh, a pure love. I long, I pine. Let this whole world fade away, I'll stare into your eyes. Jesus.

Take a moment to live like you mean it

A little dry-erase board clumsily attatched to my door reads: "LIVE like there's no tomorrow". Wrist bands in my jewelry box say: LIVE, LOVE, WWJD?; and so on. Books on my shelves speak about revolutions of love, and walking in God's steps, and being reveled with our true faces in the waking light of the mercy of God. Sermon notes litter my car floor along with gum wrapers and styrofoam coffee cups.
A little paper sits upon our family desktop. Piles of papers left unatended, and pencils strewn across the horizon. Car keys sit in my pocket, finances weigh in heavy on my mind. Music practice in an evening or two. Group projects need to be finished. Email need to be sent. People need to be called. Rooms need to be cleaned. Financed need to be managed. Panic needs room to grow.
All the while there are fake smiles, always fake. Sometimes I wonder if people are real at all. All the while behind exteriors there's nothing left, victim's of petty theft. Spending an entire life hoarding what is the very factor destroying authenticity. I wonder where all those hidden smiles, those hidden thoughts go? Does anyone know? I'd like to go. Just living to get by, makes me just want to cry. Living intentionally hurts, though. Where have all the real people gone? I'd like to go.

I'll never understand

Some things never seem to make sense.
Like why we must kill to bring about peace...
How we have to tear down
So that we can build up.
Or fight to bring about forgiveness...
How maturity means experiencing,
And not reacting.
Things like death, that make us value life,
And pain that reminds us of comfort.
How our tears bring about healing,
That our anger could never bring about.
How a gentle and humble Savior,
Brought life to all by dying on a cross.

No -- it's your turn to be philosophical and deep, I just want to be me.

I'm sure this doesn't happen to others. But... I don't know, maybe it does? Getting bogged down in the little things; caught up in who you're not, forgetting who you are. It's becoming tiring, this trying to say something new so that an ear might listen. Playing a new song everytime around, forgetting the song I was given. And, it's okay to be "deep" and to "say all the right things" but when it comes down to reality, who's really going to care if I, by myself, said all the right words? Do I dare to hope for God's Words to be spoken through me? Would it be possible to dream for peace knowing that, while I may never land an Oscar, God can surely use a life like mine? You be deep... tonight, I just need to seek...

Life. Love. Live

I pulled in at 4:30 late, as always.
Who can say, really why I'm here?
But some force drew me to this doorstep,
Some heart pulled me in.
A smile and a cigarette usher me in the door,
Sounds of talk and laughter shatter worry and fear.
Rolling up sleaves, preparing a meal;
Laughing and speaking, slowly and real.
Lines formed around, first women and children,
Men waited patiently in the back of the row.
"Would you like some...", "Oh, si!"
She smiles with her tray in hand,
"That's my son over there". He's beautiful.
Tray after tray, serving up salad;
Smile after smile caught up in a cafeteria ballad.
After all is said and done, we sit among the rich;
Who speak and live and know, more than simple education.
But lives far more free than I know.
Maybe in this life, they've been cheated.
Can't hold a steady job, and their brilliance;
The world won't see...
But in Heaven, I expect to see seated -
Next to Jesus, the world's homeless, dejected and poor.

There is a Lover -- His name is Jesus

Hope

Call me crazy. I just don't want it anymore. The superficial highs of life; the moola, popularity, prince charming... I've tasted something better. Only, now it's confused with a thousand cries of my own selfish sin. I listen with my ear to the doorway hoping for the faintest sounds of change, of life in a wasteland of grasping the wind. Addictions run rampant, infecting generation to generation. Pain flows like water. Anger replaces tears. Violence takes the place of love. I'm not better than this.
But, I've tasted something better.
Something that goes beyond the reach of my ability. Hope, I'm sure, is not going to be found in you or in me -- Hope is going to be found in Faith, which is going to be found in Grace. Grace will reside with Love -- and God is Love. Not Valentine's hearts. AGAPE. God's Love -- the only real Love. Jesus knew what real Love meant. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. wrote : "Let us develop a kind of dangerous unselfishness".
Can we pray for that? That and more -- we can know that God will answer our prayers, so that we may finally pray as Jesus did "Not what I will, but what YOU will."
I'm hoping for the greatest transformation... God shape my heart... open the doors wide enough for Your will.

In dreams that cannot remember, in awakening before the sun;
A still soft voice hovers over the quiet dark horizon.
The prayer. To see through the eyes of the LORD,
the people of everyday.
An answer, hangs like breath in the air.
A gentle reminder, that today is a new day.
Pure chaos -- grueling conversation;
marked distincly by empty resignation.
Every word will not go un-heard,
every sound gathers 'round, to the cry for life.
Lord, is this right?
How does one see through the eyes of God?
To be sure, no one can. But to try, and fail,
and know that one voice is enough to shatter
flesh so frail.

Let my praise be real...

"Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe" ~Hebrews 12:28

I am not Catholic. Though, I have recited the Apostles' Creed: "I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy *catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen". I know very little about the doctrines of Catholicism (I know very little about most things). I know that statues creep me out, Holy water is a bit too mysterious for me to understand, and Transubstantiation has divided many people over the centuries. I also know, that amidst crise of "Ave Maria!", of quotes from the Pope, and of general confusion on my part as to what I should and should not say in the service of a Catholic church... there is very much left to think about. A golden lampstand hanging above the head of the priest with a flame burning suspended by the Cross (symbolizing, if I am correct, the presence of God with us: Emmanuel), stained glass windows lined the walls some drawing pictures of the life of Jesus, others the lives of Saints. But more than anything... I'll take away the picture of an old man knealing before the cross and bowing his head asking God's forgiveness. Let it be real. Lord Jesus, let my prayers not be liturgical jargon spit back unto You, costing me nothing save a scant breath (but, if they be liturgical and in complete harmony with Scripture) let me pray and seek and ask and recite with the passion of a heart set ablaze with the intensity of grace in the face of deserved judgement! Ave Christus! What can I say? Father, let me not judge the hearts of others... but clean my heart! Let my praise, amidst my pining flesh, be real.

"pining in the trenches of a retching world"

Today feels so much like yesterday and the day before; but time would have it that there is a marked distinction between the days. Today is the beginning of a new year.
"A new year!" I think "now I shall be able to move past those old struggles of last year." Resolutions and clean calendars don't make for much existential change in my heart, or extensive change whatsoever. Yet the thought of newness resonates within my soul. The very idea of renewal, of redemption, of a NEW day... my soul lies pining in the trenches of this retching world, languishing until the day of redemption. Even after the Apple drops, the excitement of a presumed new day is over, as it has become all to familiar in word and thought and deed.
A year ago as I walked along Calcutta streets, past beggars and businessmen, temples and shrines, death and life; I couldn't rid myself of the child-like exuberance of a new place. The smells and sounds and sights were all so different that I thought, surely, I was new... but to no avail. I still hated change, was still frustrated by overbearing people, thought selfishly before helping others. It was not a new year in the sense that I was longing for.
Here is what my heart pines for, the disasters of my soul (the landslides of emotions, the destruction of joy in a tumultuous tidal wave in my mind... natural disasters) the earth shares these same pains. As Paul said in Romans:

"For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.
We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.
In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express."
[Romans 8:20-26]