Blessed

One of the most haunting stories I’ve ever read was “A Good Man is Hard to Find” by Flannery O’Connor.  O’Connor was such a master storyteller that this one story has generated numerous theories, countless essays and other writings.  O’Connor didn’t pull any punches; the story of the family who happens upon ‘The Misfit’, a type of psychotic serial killer straight out of the darkest episode of  “Criminal Minds”, is  horrific. 

There is much to consider in this story, but the thing I was thinking about today was what ‘The Misfit’ says, just before he shoots the grandmother (such a terrible thing, shooting the grandmother, irritating though she was).  I don’t have a copy of the story, but he says something like ‘Jesus threw everything off balance.’  How true that is.  It makes me think of the Beatitudes, and how upside down they seem.  And then I think of my family and all the negative things I could say about us, and then I think about how God loves us anyway, misfits that we are, and then I write my own version of Matthew 5 where Jesus turns everything upside down.   

                         Blessed are the black sheep,            
                                For their shepherd knows them.
                         Blessed are the unlovable,            
                                For they shall be adored. 
                         Blessed are the illiterate,           
                                For the word of God is written on their hearts. 
                         Blessed are the afflicted,            
                                For they will know grace.
                         Blessed are those who doubt,            
                                For he will be revealed.
                         Blessed are the addicted,    
                                For they shall be released. 
                         Blessed are the disenfranchised            
                                For they shall be restored.                       
                         Blessed are the generous,           
                                 For they reveal the heart of God. 
                         Blessed are those who seek God,            
                                 For they will find him. 
                         Blessed are you when surrounded by doubt, and you believe; by ugliness and you see beauty; by violence, and you reveal peace. 
                      

Crossing Over

I. 

Maybe it’s like

standing in the wings

waiting to go on.

Terrified.

Unable to remember the words.

Unable to remember where you are. 

  And it’s almost your turn

to step out

take your place

on your mark and

you’re afraid.

It’s so easy to make a fool of yourself.

Maybe it’s like that.

And then, just as you’re

past all hope

it comes back:

the words

the music

your voice.

The spotlight is waiting for you.

You walk into warmth

raise your arms

and begin to sing.

II.

Maybe it’s more like

balancing

on a tightrope

and the panic

that has been lurking

somewhere above you

perches

   on your shoulder

refusing to let go.

So there you are

too far gone to go back

and the other side

seems so far away.

Every muscle strains

     for

        balance.

You’re shaking

crying

calling for help

but really, no one can help you.

  You’re going to fall.

First the head, then the shoulders

then the arc of your lovely body

lean into release

like a dancer

like a baby being born.

And you’re off the tightrope

but strangely, not falling

after all, but soaring

light as air

into the stars.

III.

Or maybe it’s like a summer day

that’s gone on too long.

And the cozy old boat

That seemed like such a good idea

at the time

has dropped its oars.

The river widens

fog sneaks in

the sun is gone.

You can’t believe you didn’t notice

the rusty bottom, seeping water.

And the swelling nausea

from

that insistent smell

of old, long-gone fish guts.

You long for shore

a solid piece of ground

to plant your foot. 

A tree,or a bush,

anything but this endless drifting

on flat, lonely water

accompanied only

by the missing sky.

Maybe you see it from afar,

and you wave your arms

like a sailor calling “Land ho!”

Or maybe it catches you by surprise

as you feel a small bump

   and then another.

And suddenly,

you’re sitting in a sweet old boat

on a pebbled beach

under a blue sky.

The smell of a campfire,

     The song of voices,

                  voices of those you love.

You are certain of it.

And then you’re sliding

    out of the boat,

slipping on pebbles,

running toward the sounds

and the smells

because,

above all else,

you know

you’re home. 

Maybe it’s like that -

   bliss.

 

February 12, 2011 

For Connie