Poems of Doubtful Hope

I humble myself before you, God, And ask for your forgiveness. Forgive me for assuming I have all the answers, Forgive me for acting as though it's true. Forgive me for being self-righteous. Forgive me for assuming malicious intent In the hearts of those with whom I disagree. Forgive me for doubting in your goodness. Forgive me for thinking I would make a better arbiter of justice Than the Lord of all the earth. Forgive me for assuming I know Who is and isn't welcome in the kingdom of God. Forgive me for assuming any would be unwelcome at all. Forgive me for being angry that your mercy is with those I'd rather it abandon. Forgive me for being jealous that others hear you better than I do. Forgive me for struggling to find hope Over the last few years as the world feels darker and darker. Forgive me for not doing more to shine your light into that darkness. Forgive me for being so very human While also so utterly inhumane. Help me to be better. Show me your light and fill me...

Fists clenched tight around their hoards While the masses wait for the excess to trickle down. Instead they build bigger storehouses, Lining the pockets of the ones who prop them up By robbing Peter and Paul to pay Herod. Some are still convinced they deserve it all While the chasm between us grows wider and wider. They offer up poor Lazarus as a sacrifice For daring to look too longingly at the rich man's table. So many woes and cares; God save the billionaires! Holding the weight of the hopes and dreams Of those foolish enough to believe someday they might be like them, Refusing to believe they have a right to say What other people ought to do with their money While the rich continue to shape policies That dole out an abundance of subsidies And tax breaks to line their own pockets, Slashing the pittance reserved For the widow, the orphan, and the foreigner in our midst. "For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?"

The rapid breathing of a wife grieving. Holding a mother while her world falls apart. A heavy weight hangs on your shoulders And wraps itself around your heart. Your hands start shaking as the adrenaline flows. Fight or flight, stand or run. Your knees grow weak, and your chest gets tight Hearing all the sounds at once (or else none). The visceral feeling of world-ending pain As a crying mother screams out her son’s name. Calling on Jesus’ name and blood Surrounded by the relentless flood Of sights and sounds and people and noise: Trading our sorrows for all of our joys. We yearn for the resurrection of the dead But can’t help but wonder: why all this instead Of a world that’s kinder? We sit and we pray, hoping for a reminder Of your grace and your goodness while we lament. The weight of these burdens has us bent So low we can hardly stand. Hold us today in the palm of your hand.

 I'm listening for that still, small voice  But I don't hear it. I'm yearning for your comforting presence  But I don't feel it. I'm desperate for guidance and purpose  But I don't see you leading me. Have I wandered away? No more so than usual. Have you stopped speaking? Have I forgotten how to hear your words? I'm trying to figure out how to stay myself While still seeking to become more like you. I burned my old road map; The new one is painfully lacking in details. That freedom is hard to stomach.  How can I trust myself to navigate in the direction you're leading  When I can't believe what my intuition says about day-to-day life? Where's the line between conviction and shame? How do you distinguish the dark night of the soul from clinical depression? Every answer leads to three new questions. None of the answers feel solid enough to help me stand. I trust; help my doubt. I hope; help my hopelessness. I listen; help my deaf ears. I seek; help...

Shame keeps me from doing what I can. Shame makes it harder to do what I do. Every time I look someone in the eye, I'm afraid. Afraid that they'll see through my half-hearted facade. Afraid that my cover will be blown; I'll finally have to admit my doubts, The whole house of cards will come tumbling down. Afraid that I'm not strong enough. Afraid that I can't keep white knuckling my way forward, Desperately pretending I'm not falling apart. Ashamed to not be stronger. Ashamed that I haven't done more. Ashamed that I'm drifting along, Barely getting by, when people need my help. Ashamed of my weakness. Ashamed that I can't shake my sins. Ashamed to not be a holier holy man. Ashamed to not believe more fervently. Ashamed that my continued existence Is an obstacle to God using someone more competent Who would undoubtedly do a better job Being the person I wish I was.

You lay your head down on her chest, She runs her fingers through your hair.  Unsure of whether to sleep or to weep,  The burdens come sliding off of your back.  Maybe it's a lover or your mother; She's somebody's daughter all the same.  Gentle as a softly falling rain,  Her strength drives the darkness away.  She smells like flowers and sunshine, Her skin is soft and silky smooth.  When it's hard to embrace God as Father Mother God can help to ease the pain.  Her arms melt away your sorrow,  Transport you back before the years of shame.  Sanctuary found when you lay your head down In the arms of the one who knows your name But loves you deeply all the same.   

Sanctuary. A place of peace, A refuge from the storms of life: Both those that rage within our minds And those that rage against our bodies.  Somewhere we find shalom.  Not just a lack of violence or conflict, But a world ordered according to  The will and purposes of God, Where everything is as it should be.  But where do we go when the violence  Is perpetrated by people who claim to know The God whose shalom should care for all? Where do we find shelter When our houses of worship become Places where we worship ourselves instead, Where the ones who gather find no kinship With the breadth and scope of humanity,  Only fear of the ones who don't fit Into their narrow and toxic definition of salvation? We shelter in the places that we find peace.  In the bars, the libraries, and the hobby shops.  The bookstores, the gay clubs, and the public parks.  We seek out places where community flourishes,  Where no one hates us Because of who we are ...

I've spent enough time in church on weekdays To wander through empty sanctuaries,  Gaping chasms in the dark Full of the pregnant pause of anticipation.  There's a comfort there,  But also fear.  Perhaps it's merely the primal fear of the dark  Combined with a space so large, But I think the fear comes from its wildness;  A space full of God's presence and devoid of people, Where God can speak words beyond our control Without the distraction of human voices Or the posturing of social gatherings.  A place where there's nothing to stop us  From hearing whatever follows  "Thus said the Lord." Perhaps that's the root of the idea of  The fear of the Lord;  We find ourselves terrified in God's presence  Not because of the possibility of annihilation But because of the certainty That we can't leave that hallowed space Without a divine purpose guiding our footsteps.  We are terrified because we know  The Lord cannot be tamed ...

My mask is breaking, enamel flaking, Straps threadbare, my hands are shaking As I slide it on and try to survive; In times like these, who could hope to thrive? A moment of comfort as my face is hidden Then the thoughts that come unbidden Weigh me down as I trudge along: "How long can you keep singing the song Of hope? Because your voice is cracking, Your knees are weak; the volume is lacking. So is any conviction that might empower The words you're aping hour after hour. Do you think anyone's fooled by this act? Your mask is wearing thin." I don't react. If I don't acknowledge the pain, it's not real And I can pretend that I don't feel Like the world is on fire and my brain is too. Just smile through the pain as you ask, "How are you?" Of the people you wish you could care about like you should, And would be doing just that if only you could Shake off the trauma that haunts you through The halls where you've watched people die, Talking a...

 I tried to talk to God today. But the words? They wouldn't come out. Does it mean that my faith is DOA If I can't find any words to say? Can't entreat or pray or shout. Wouldn't have thought to try and prepare  For a day when my voice just wasn't there To ask for a blessing, forgiveness, or hope; To cry out for mercy at the end of my rope. There's no pain or sadness or anything. Just a hole where there wasn't before. Or maybe the hole has been there for years And the last of my hope just leaked out. Not that it matters with bills to pay And kids to insure and a house to maintain. I can't wonder whether God is real If invoking him pays for their next meal. No matter how fucking depressed I feel, For their sake I'll just continue to deal. It would be funny if it wasn't so sad  That it's my job to peddle something I can't have. Like a wine seller allergic to grapes Or a bee who hates pollen; No matter how I feel, I'm all in. Hopefully t...

I shouldn’t be surprised. History is full of examples of people of genuine conviction Starting movements with the best of intentions That begin to collapse under the weight of their own power After long years removed from the source of their mission. Even the biblical story of God’s relationship with humanity Moves in cycles of renewal, rebellion, remonstration, and revival. Sometimes even our most beloved institutions and symbols Move beyond the possibility of renovation and restoration, Leaving us no choice but to tear them down. I shouldn’t take it personally. Even with all the pain of the last few years I honestly believe that most of the people I know and love Advocating for ideals I believe to be monstrous Are earnestly trying to do what they feel is right, Hoping for the brightest possible future for themselves And the people they love, Scared by how quickly the world is changing. Worried about the legacy they’ll leave behind If the world leaves them behind. But, I am deeply ber...

THEY are my Nineveh. What they, you ask? The they that deserve to be punished. (At least, according to my metric.) The they that are wicked and despicable. The they that are beyond redemption. The they so horrible and revolting That not only would I gleefully condemn them To the headsman's block But I'd smile while I wielded the blade. You ask me to speak truth to power; To let them know of your disapproval. But I know the God that I serve. I know your boundless mercy And have seen the wonders of your unrelenting grace: Willing to leave the 99 on the hillside, Bear the weight of the cross, And welcome thieves into paradise. THEY don't know, and I'd like it to stay that way. Otherwise they might have a chance. They don't deserve that opportunity  Because they'd never give it To any of their enemies. So I've run and become my own Nineveh. By selfishly refusing to show grace to others I've cut myself off from the light And damned myself to wander in darknes...

"Feelings are dangerous" Is a feeling I'm still struggling not to feel. I don't want to open the floodgates Lest I be overwhelmed with an emotional deluge So relentless that even just the thought Of it happening makes me tired. So I live my life at a distance from myself, Muted colors and dampened sensations. I thought I was better. I thought my depression and anxiety Were under control; Consistent, but manageable. Irksome, but not unbearable. Shouldn't I feel worse if things are worse? Have I gotten so good at lying to myself I don't even know when I'm doing it anymore? I'm still waiting on my white knight. My savior who'll slay my dragons And lead me out of the darkness Back to a place where joy feels possible again. But the truth is I'm kidnapper and hostage All rolled up into one. If you slay the dragon, Will there be enough of me left to save? I hate how easy it is to doubt myself. I hate how hard it is to believe I'm worthwhile. I hat...