The Little Monk and the Samurai: A Zen Parable

A big, tough samurai once went to see a little monk.

"Monk!"

He barked, in a voice accustomed to instant obedience.

"Teach me about heaven and hell!"

The monk looked up at the mighty warrior and replied with utter disdain,

"Teach you about heaven and hell? I couldn't teach you about anything. 
You're dumb. 
You're dirty. 

You're a disgrace, an embarrassment to the samurai class. 

Get out of my sight. I can't stand you."

The samurai got furious. He shook, red in the face, speechless with rage. 

He pulled out his sword, and prepared to slay the monk.

Looking straight into the samurai's eyes, the monk said softly,

"That's hell."

The samurai froze, realizing the compassion of the monk 

who had risked his life to show him hell! 

He put down his sword and fell to his knees, filled with gratitude.

The monk said softly,

"And that's heaven."

To the Holy Spirit

O Thou, far off and here, whole and broken,

Who in necessity and in bounty wait,

Whose truth is both light and dark, mute though spoken,

By Thy wide Grace show me Thy narrow gate.

Wendell Berry

SUNDAY SERMON BLUES

Mark 8:21

If Jesus preached this Sabbath,

Would He:

Ask his Father to disable all the smart phones

while He spoke?

Wait in silence

until all hearts were turned toward Him?

And after He spoke

would He ask

as He did of His followers,

"Do you understand what I have told you?"

And we nod our heads,

knowing we missed the kickoff

of the Cowboys game

or 

silently

cursing we will be behind 

the Baptists

at the cafeteria. 

Bomb (rosalarian.com)

Grass

Carl Sandburg

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo. 

Shovel them under and let me work--

          I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg

And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.

Shovel them under and let me work.

Two years, ten years, and the passengers ask the conductor:

          What place is this?

          Where are we now?

          I am the grass.

          Let me work. 

These poems, she said,

Robert Bringhurst

These poems, these poems,

these poems, she said, are poems

with no love in them. These are the poems of a man   
who would leave his wife and child because   
they made noise in his study. These are the poems   
of a man who would murder his mother to claim   
the inheritance. These are the poems of a man   
like Plato, she said, meaning something I did not   
comprehend but which nevertheless
offended me. These are the poems of a man
who would rather sleep with himself than with women,   
she said. These are the poems of a man
with eyes like a drawknife, with hands like a pickpocket’s   
hands, woven of water and logic
and hunger, with no strand of love in them. These   
poems are as heartless as birdsong, as unmeant   
as elm leaves, which if they love, love only   
the wide blue sky and the air and the idea
of elm leaves. Self-love is an ending, she said,   
and not a beginning. Love means love
of the thing sung, not of the song or the singing.   
These poems, she said....
                                       You are, he said,
beautiful.
                That is not love, she said rightly.

The Does' Prayer

The does, as the hour grows late,

med-it-ate;

med-it-nine;

med-i-ten;

med-eleven;

med-twelve;

mednight!

The does, as the hour grows late,

meditate.

They fold their little toesies,

the doesies.

Christian Morgenstern 

 translation by Max Knight

Blessing for the Raising of the Dead

This blessing

does not claim

to raise the dead.

It is not so audacious

as that.

But be sure

it can come

and find you

if you think yourself

beyond all hope,

beyond all remedy;

if you have

laid your bones down

in your exhaustion

and grief,

willing yourself numb.

This blessing

knows its way

through death,

knows the paths

that weave

through decay

and dust.

And while this blessing

does not have the power

to raise you,

it knows how

to reach you.

It will come to you,

sit down

beside you,

look you

in the eye

and ask

if you want

to live.

It has no illusions.

This blessing knows

it is an awful grace

to be returned

to this world.

Just ask Lazarus,

or the Shunammite’s son.

Go to Nain

and ask the widow’s boy

whether he had

to think twice

about leaving the quiet,

the stillness;

whether he hesitated

just for a moment

before abandoning the place

where nothing could harm

or disturb.

Ask the risen

if it gave them pause

to choose this life—

not as one thrust into it

like a babe,

unknowing, unasking,

but this time

with intent,

with desire.

Ask them how it feels

to claim this living,

this waking;

to welcome the breath

in your lungs,

the blood

in your veins;

to gladly consent

to hold in your chest

the beating heart

of this broken

and dazzling world.

paintedprayerbook.com

THE ONION

(From The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky)

“Once upon a time there was a woman, and she was wicked as wicked could be, and she died. And not one good deed was left behind her. The devils took her and threw her into the lake of fire. And her guardian angel stood thinking: what good deed of hers can I remember to tell God? Then he remembered and said to God: once she pulled up an onion and gave it to a beggar woman. And God answered: take now that same onion, hold it out to her in the lake, let her take hold of it and pull, and if you pull her out of the lake, she can go to paradise. 

The angel ran to the woman and held out the onion to her: here, woman, he said, take hold of it and I’ll pull. And he began pulling carefully, and had almost pulled her all of the way out, when other sinners in the lake saw her being pulled out and all began holding on to her so as to be pulled out with her. But the woman was wicked as wicked could be, and she began to kick them with her feet: ‘It’s me who’s getting pulled out, not you; it’s my onion, not yours.’ No sooner did she say it than the onion broke. And the woman fell back into the lake and is burning there to this day. And the angel wept and went away.”

Worst Comes to Worst

In the South Pacific Islands, there’s certain animals that don’t

Experience fear, like Galapagos iguanas

A newborn sea lion in the Galapagos Islands

They never had predators, so their adaptive responses

Evolved to be as calm as a pack of Dalai Llamas

So then, why do we have to live with violence

When this whole planet could be like a pacifistic island?

Do we need fear to escape invading aliens?

The only predators here are called Homo sapiens

And yeah, we can be dangerous but we can also be

Motivated by affection and reciprocity

Or by that Old Testament animosity: an eye for an eye

But that philosophy’s got the whole world blind

Let’s not pretend it’s gonna be a cake-walk to end it

If violence is an instinct, it’s not entirely senseless

But the logic of human destiny is reciprocal altruism

Yes we can change our perspectives

And as soon as this is widely comprehended

Then I predict we’ll be as calm as Galapagos finches

Worst comes to worst, my people come first

But my tribe lives on every country on earth

I’ll do anything to protect them from hurt

The human race is what I serve

Baba Brinkman

Lovers in a Dangerous Time

Bruce Cockburn

Don't the hours grow shorter as the days go by

You never get to stop and open your eyes

One day you're waiting for the sky to fall

The next you're dazzled by the beauty of it all

When you're lovers in a dangerous time

Lovers in a dangerous time

These fragile bodies of touch and taste

This vibrant skin -- this hair like lace

Spirits open to the thrust of grace

Never a breath you can afford to waste

When you're lovers in a dangerous time

Lovers in a dangerous time

When you're lovers in a dangerous time

Sometimes you're made to feel as if your love's a crime --

But nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight --

Got to kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight

When you're lovers in a dangerous time

Lovers in a dangerous time

And we're lovers in a dangerous time

Lovers in a dangerous time 

Contains Flashing Images by Lily Hamourtziadou

The narrative of terror is 

the narrative 

of justifications, 

of explanations, 

of accusations. 

It is the narrative of 

the names and faces 

of the innocent. 

It is the narrative 

of the helpless and the poor, 

the millions of refugees, 

the bodies found and picked up 

from the streets of Baghdad, 

buried in mass graves, 

unidentified, unclaimed. 

We are the lucky ones, 

who witness the horror from afar, 

our TV screens, 

our newspapers, 

our computer monitors. 

We can watch in shock and awe, 

as it all unfolds, 

less and less frequently now, 

safe from the missiles, 

safe from the car bombs, 

the only danger 

those flashing images 

hurting our eyes. 

That’s why those reports come with a warning.

Every Grain of Sand by Bob Dylan

In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need
When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed 
There's a dyin' voice within me reaching out somewhere, 
Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair.

Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake, 
Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break. 
In the fury of the moment I can see the Master's hand 
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.

Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yesteryear, 
Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer. 
The sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way 
To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay. 

I gaze into the doorway of temptation's angry flame 
And every time I pass that way I always hear my name. 
Then onward in my journey I come to understand 
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand.

I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night 
In the violence of a summer's dream, in the chill of a wintry light, 
In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space, 
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face.

I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea 
Sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me. 
I am hanging in the balance of a perfect finished plan 
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.

Copyright © 1981 Special Rider Music

:

Saint Peter

Malcolm Guite

Impulsive master of misunderstanding
You comfort me with all your big mistakes;
Jumping the ship before you make the landing,
Placing the bet before you know the stakes.

I love the way you step out without knowing,
The way you sometimes speak before you think,
The way your broken faith is always growing,
The way he holds you even when you sink.

Born to a world that always tried to shame you,
Your shaky ego vulnerable to shame,
I love the way that Jesus chose to name you,
Before you knew how to deserve that name.

And in the end your Savior let you prove
That each denial is undone by love.

A Prayer in Brokenness

O God,

I cannot undo the past,

or make it never have happened!

– neither can You. There are some things

that are not possible even for You

– but not many!

I ask You,

humbly,

and from the bottom of my heart:

Please, God,

would You write straight

with my crooked lines?

Out of the serious mistakes of my life

will You make something beautiful for You?

Teach me to live at peace with You,

to make peace with others

and even with myself.

Give me fresh vision. Let me

experience Your love so deeply

that I am free to

face the future with a steady eye,

forgiven,

and strong in hope.

Celtic Daily Prayer 

The Cure

Katharine Harer

baseball is a good antidote for death

where else do we mutter belief scream

hope over green grass bathed

in light where else do we coach the best

out of one another

it's all right baby

you can do it

settle down guy

you'll be okay just hang in there

we need you buddy

we need a spark

be the ignitor man

our whispered pleas combine over rows

of seats and peanut calls and pour into the ears

of our boys fixing them

with our best hope the best we have to give

nowhere else do we do this together

reverently from some untapped place

in our chests saved for our children

and our lovers we thought we'd used it up

but listen to us croon making our voices

carry just the right mixture

of love and demand

our throats are sore

the peanut shells under our feet flattened

from jumping up and sinking down again

our heats extended

pumping belief

into this one afternoon

you can do it

you can do it for us

do it now come on

do it now

The Greeter

Robert N. Watson

He’s not the Reaper, but he does stop by

To say, to everything that’s ever lived, “Nice try.”

Adam's Complaint

Denise Levertov

Some people, 

no matter what you give them,

still want the moon.

The bread, 

the salt, 

white meat and dark,

still hungry.

The marriage bed 

and the cradle,

still empty arms.

You give them land, 

their own earth under their feet,

still they take to the roads

And water: dig them the deepest well, 

still it’s not deep enough

to drink the moon from. 

The Candidate

Mt 15:22-24 / Mt 19:13-14 / Luke 15:1-2 

They did their best

to keep the marginals

away

from the Candidate.

The children.

The sick.

The possessed.

 For a moment

they let down

their guard,

 and find Him

dining with sinners.

And the Twelve

frustrated

with Him

wonder,

"How is this guy 

ever gonna be 

our Messiah?"

Arsonist

Luke 12:49-53 

Oh,

how the Arsonist

thought He

was gonna

cause a revolution.

All will burn

then turn

learn

and be reborn.

Alas,

His first attempt

was a fizzle.

And before 

going on the lam,

He sent His Spirit

down to set off

 a global warming.

And from His hideout,

only the Arsonist

appreciates the sad irony.

 His followers

hearing His story

in quiet,

air conditioned comfort. 

Good morning - Midnight!

Emily Dickinson

Good morning—Midnight!

I'm coming home,

Day—got tired of me—

How could I—of him?

Sunshine was a sweet place—

I liked to stay—

But Morn—didn't want me—now—

So good night—Day!

I can look—can’t I—

When the East is Red?

The Hills—have a way—then—

That puts the Heart—abroad—

You are not so fair—Midnight—

I chose—Day—

But—please take a little Girl—

He turned away!

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam trans. Edward Henry Whinfield 1883

375

In a lone waste I saw a debauchee,  

He had no home, no faith, no heresy,  

No God, no truth, no law, no certitude;  

Where in this world is man so bold as he? 

Testimony

Stephen Dunn (2012)

The Lord woke me in the middle of the night,

and there stood Jesus with a huge tray,

and the tray was heaped with cookies,

and He said, Stephen, have a cookie,

and that's when I knew for sure the Lord

is the real deal, the Man of all men,

because at that very moment

I was thinking of cookies, Vanilla Wafers

to be exact, and there were two

Vanilla Wafers in among the chocolate

chips and the lemon ices, and one

had a big S on it, and I knew it was for me,

and Jesus took it off the tray and put it

in my mouth, as if He were giving me

communication, or whatever they call it.

Then He said, Have another,

and I tell you I thought a long time before I

refused, because I knew it was a test

to see if I was a Christian, which means

a man like Christ, not a big ole hog.

Hands-off Policy

Robert Capon

 God still insists on running the world

 without running it at all. 

The question is put loud and clear: 

Why in God’s Name won’t You show up? 

And the response comes back 

as supremely unsatisfying as ever. 

To show up would be

 to come in your name, 

not Mine. 

No show, 

therefore. 

And, of course, 

no answer.

Corporate

Numbers 20:1-13/ Matthew 16:13-23 / Isaiah 55:8-9

The underlings protested

to Moses

about their circumstances.

Specifically,

the lack of food

and drink.

So, Moses stepped out

to talk it over with 

his Boss,

and returned

with His instructions.

And as Moses came back

to the assembly,

he became increasingly

fed up about

the situation.

He got on his podium,

he raised his voice,

and said,

"You want water!

HERE'S YOUR WATER!"

The ungrateful 

slurped it up

without a thank you.

And 

Moses received 

a memo from Corporate

stating his project

was suspended

indefinitely. 

II

The Boss

saw that 

Peter had 

management potential

and gave him the

keys to the Kingdom

and the powers of

loosening

and binding.

And then,

Jesus gave

the executive summary

of how it was all

going to go down,

complete with 

murder and

resurrection.

After hearing this,

the newly minted executive

said the words

a manager should never verbalize,

“Have you really thought this through?”

So after hearing this,

Corporate does

what Corporate does,

and shamed him

in front of his peers

for not being in favor 

of the Plan.

Daydream #852

Luke 12:13-21

Sometimes

I think I could

write

a best selling

self-help book.

It would be an

old-fashioned 

budget spreadsheet

with the categories

already filled in:

Love

Faith

Friends

Health

Generosity

Justice

Forgiveness

Change

Hope

And written 

to the

right

of each item is:

How much can I budget of this today?

Working title: Life Budget

But that can change 

if you come up with 

a big enough advance

and an endorsement

from Joel Osteen.

Loaves and Fishes

 David Whyte

This is not

the age of information.

This is not

the age of information.

Forget the news,

and the radio,

and the blurred screen.

This is the time

of loaves 

and fishes.

People are hungry

and one good word is bread

for a thousand.

Idiot Psalm 12

Scott Cairns

A psalm of Isaak, amid uncommon darkness

O Being both far distant and most near,
             O Lover embracing all unlovable, O Tender
             Tether binding us together, and binding, yea
             and tenderly, Your Person to ourselves,

Being both beyond our ken, and kindred, One
             whose dire energies invest such clay as ours
             with patent animation, O Secret One secreting
             life anew into our every tissue moribund,
             afresh unto our stale and stalling craft,

grant in this obscurity a little light.

help me.....

Mark 10:13-15

in trouble

in peace

in pain

in health

in the noise

in silence

in doubt

in faith

Father, 

help me

your child. 

Jerusalem

Yehuda Amichai (1959)

On a roof in the Old City

Laundry hanging in the late afternoon sunlight:

The white sheet of a woman who is my enemy,

The towel of a man who is my enemy,

To wipe off the sweat of his brow

In the sky of the Old City

A kite.

At the other end of the string,

A child

I can’t see

because of the wall.

We have put up many flags

They have put up many flags

To make us think that they’re happy

To make them think that we’re happy.

An Arab Shepherd

Yehuda Amichai (1980)

An Arab shepherd is searching for his goat on Mount Zion

And on the opposite mountain I am searching.

For my little boy

An Arab shepherd and a Jewish father

Both in their temporary failure…

Afterwards we found them among the bushes

And our voices came back inside us, laughing and crying

Searching for a goat or a son

Has always been the beginning

of a new religion in these mountains.

Love Covers a Multitude of Sins

Soren Kierkegaard

John 8:1-11 / 1 Peter 4:8

The scribes and Pharisees

soon discovered her guilt,

which was indeed easy

since her sin was open.

They also discovered

a new sin,

one of which 

they made themselves guilty,

when they artfully laid snares 

for the Lord.

But Jesus bowed down

and wrote with His finger

upon the ground.

Why,

did He bow down?

I wonder.

Why, 

did he write  

with His finger

upon the ground?

I wonder.

Did He sit there

like a judge

who listens attentively

to the story of the accusers

and then

jots down the principal points

so he may not forget them,

and may judge strictly.

Was the woman's guilt 

the only thing 

noted by the Lord?

Or

did He write it down

in order to erase it

and forget it?

There stood the sinner,

surrounded perhaps by

those more guilty,

who loudly accused her.

But Love bowed down

and did not hear 

the accusation,

which passed over His head

into the air.

He wrote with His finger

in order to blot out

what He himself knew.

For sin discovers 

a multitude of sins

but love covers

the multitude of sins.

For by one word

from the Master

the Pharisees and the scribes

were struck dumb.

There was no longer 

an accuser.

No one who condemned her.

But Jesus said to her,

"Neither do I condemn you,

go and sin no more."

For the punishment of sins

breeds new sins

but love covers

a multitude of sins.

The Greatest Question

Matthew 22:34-40 / Mark 12:28-34 / Luke 10:25-37 / 

John 21:15-17

In the Synoptics,

the faithful ask

Jesus:

"What are the greatest commands

God has given?"

And in a rare instance,

He responds with a direct answer:

"Love God with all your being

and love neighbor as yourself."

In Matthew, 

He concludes by saying:

"The Law and 

the words of the Prophets

all hang on this."

In Mark,

the questioner

whole-heartedly

agrees with Him

and Jesus states

he is not far

from the Kingdom of God.

In Luke,

the lawyer

follows up

with a question about 

the meaning of neighbor.

Jesus responds with

a story we all know.

But in John,

after the Cross

and

after the Tomb,

the tables are turned.

It is Christ asking 

the question repeatedly.

Calling you by name 

and asking

the greatest question:

"Do you love Me?"

God goes subprime

I always thought Church of the Morally Bankrupt God

would be a great name for a payday loan shop.

Rule Number One

I

Genesis 18:16-33

God waited for Abraham

to finish with

his pleading for Sodom.

And as He heard

his repeated requests,

He wished mortals

knew the 

number one rule of the gods:

A god got to do

what a god got to do.

II

Matthew 8:18-22

God waited for the scribes

and other disciples

to finish with

their excuses.

And as He heard

their explanations,

He wished mortals

knew the 

number one rule of the gods:

A god got to do

what a god got to do.