Author: robertalanrife

I have spent the better part of my life as a professional musician. Primarily, that has meant the fun and challenging world of church music. Most recently, I have transitioned out of my role as worship and music director for Yakima Covenant Church, Yakima, Washington to global service in Edinburgh, Scotland. I'm a singer-songwriter, liturgist, poet, and writer. I love words. I love to read them. I love to write them. Most of all, I love the many intersections, like a sacramental tapestry, of life, liturgy, literature, the arts, and spiritual formation...oh, and I love haggis.

Life in post-it notes

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

You live your life in post-it notes

pinned to the outside of balloons,

shaved, polished and properly named

for your amusement.

 

Skipping through fallen leaves, all with names

of used to be friends, now just concerns,

you pepper your imagination with pretty bird calls

and nice stories with happy endings.

 

The bad people, the ones unlucky enough

to fuck up somehow are safely tucked away

in the soles of your shoes, right next

to the dried dog shit you leave for posterity.

 

“Come, love me,” you say.

“Come, watch me live,” you say.

“Why are you here?” you say.

So, I came and loved and watched.

 

Now you say nothing. Why would you

when life is a singular word with only two letters:

m, e?

Perfectly imperfect

On By robertalanrifeIn Beauty, Christian spirituality, sacramental living, spiritual formation2 Comments

Our Christmas tree, rather smallish and completely unimpressive this year, stands as a reminder of many things. First of all, it’s green. A kind of middle green not too forest-y for the rest of the trees who might think it pretentious and showy. But, not that insipid, noncommittal green that might cause others to look down on the poor bugger. Second, it’s delightfully imperfect…like the place it now calls home. Like the occupants of said home. Also, it is a daily reminder of the fact we are alive, but imperfectly so. It is transient, clinging tenaciously to its quickly waning life. From time to time, nutrients must be found from within when not forthcoming elsewhere. It looks rather forlorn in its present state; shoddily adorned, incomplete, perhaps even a little awkward.

 

But we totally love it. Why?

We are often too busy this time of year to properly Christmas-ify our house, let alone the poor tree. Like our sad, little tree, in our lowest state of being we retain so much of our original beauty, our verdant smell so pungently alive, our prickliness that tells the world not to get too close too quickly and to treat us with tenderness; our delightfully obvious imperfection. All of it becomes a unified, shining mess of perfect wonder under the labors of loving decorators. Upon its branches are things old and new, classy and kitschy, profound and facile.

Then, step back a minute. Breath it all in. Let this sorry little wonder be ample evidence of loving hands eager to participate in the process of making something so simple and unadorned into something still simple, but also beautiful, whole, communal…perfectly imperfect.

Morning, thirsty for attention

On By robertalanrifeIn Words...always wordsLeave a comment

Liturgically, a little early yet, but isn’t that how it works with most mornings?

 

Straining her neck and peeking out through

falling dark is nosy morning, thirsty for attention.

She rubs her eyes with hands, cold but certain,

wisps of cloudless fingers still too stiff to touch.

 

The early creatures forage for their dew reward

and only find hard, stale barrenness already gleaned.

Their efforts stymied, they turn their thoughts up

to sky and the grey expanse of day.

 

Leftover stars, eyes ancient and well-rehearsed,

hide now behind a bigger light, too broad to

pierce with such weak particles. Stroke my hair

with your bristling breath and leave the shivering to me.

 

Patience, patience now dear dawn of day,

for soon your rising will tell a different story.

No more counting minutes in centuries –

soon, your breast shall boast the brightest Eastern star.

 

 

Pinched with dampness, day is leaving

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

moon

 

 

 

 

 

Pinched with dampness, day is leaving;

grieve her passing, nighttime, heaving,

clutches not her chest with sadness,

leaves, she, room for sudden gladness.

 

None too soon the day is passing,

bids farewell to dark enmassing;

shivers, too, her haunches, swelling

till remembers, she, her dwelling.

 

Puckered clouds, their bellies rip’ling

fanning out, horizon’s crip’ling

shew away from their place, hanging

stopped by windy morn, haranguing.

 

Soon, when ev’ning stops her frowning,

then comes day, the morning’s crowning

breathing light and hope is burning,

then, we’ll rise, to sun’s returning.

Now…?

On By robertalanrifeIn Christianity, faith, life together, sacramental living17 Comments

I posted this last year at this time for the express purpose of guiding our feelings, raw and bloody, to begin to find their way back to our minds, murky and afraid and, as a result, begin the process of reintegration and healing. For Newtown…

Now, as we peer into the dead sky and from horrible places within us we didn’t know we could feel we say, what now…?

now, as dust settles and the terrifying picture of the new day becomes pungently clear…

now as brothers and sisters, their mutually constructed lego house still proudly standing on the cold living room floor, sits empty and unfinished…

now, as Moms and Dads, the shrill heaviness of grief still shredding their throats, their unslept, red eyes looking aimlessly forward to futures never lived…

now, as beds left from the night before where once a young life snuggled her doll, his teddy bear, sheets now cold and tousled with no more purpose but to wrap up more pain…

now, as a community, once certain of its place in the world, of its face and the sound of its collective heartbeat loses its own soul and its sense of decency and truth…

now, when the carefully crafted words of political rhetoric begin the inevitable ping-pong game of tit for tat, wrong and right vs. rights and wrongs, begins its forward march…

now, in a nation already riddled with divisions that cut to the bone, brother against brother, father against son, mother against daughter-in-law, in an insistent need to be right…

now, when rage soon replaces grief, outrage replaces reason and vengeance replaces peace…

…now comes the true test of Christian virtue: how to forgive and love one who turned an angry rifle on innocent, blind-sided children, teachers and parents. Despite what we all may believe on the issues involved, everyone grows up surrounded by those who support them or don’t, love them or don’t, see them or don’t. For reasons known only to God, this young man found the darkest places within himself and, from those places, lashed out in acts of unspeakable violence.

I write this from the quiet of my living room, both of my beautiful boys nearby, my wife enjoying the quiet of a Sunday afternoon. Therefore, I will not shame the memories of those dear, lost souls, ripped from their yet-to-be-lived lives, by claiming I have any idea what the parents and friends are enduring right now. I can say only this with authenticity, if it were me now living their hell, I would most certainly be shaking fists at both the gunman and the very God I serve who seemingly did nothing to prevent him.

And yet, it is precisely at such times as these, when fires are burning around us, when blank-faced murderers stare out at the world through dead eyes, when the cries of childless mothers are heard in the streets, when communities are forced to pick up the jagged pieces and rebuild, that we must find it in ourselves to stop the cycle of violence; not simply by changing laws of one kind or another; not just by delving into solutions for all of the maladies at play, whether social, spiritual, mental or physical, but to say with an unjustly murdered Jesus, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing.”

Lord, have mercy.

I saw you today

On By robertalanrifeIn faith, life together, sacramental living, spiritual formation, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Tomorrow, Saturday, December 14th, marks the one year anniversary of something unspeakably wrong.

I posted this just under a year ago on my Litbits blog. I posted it then primarily as poetry aimed at dealing with my own shock and outrage at such an atrocity and, hopefully, to aid in our mutual healing over the shared sense of grief and shame. A year later, I post it here at innerwoven because it was a scenario deeply illustrative of the overwhelming but often neglected needs of a human soul. This is what happens when sickness, either of soul or mind or both, is left untouched or worse, unnoticed. Any statements needing to be made from socio-political, policy places I leave for others.

A year later…Lord, have mercy.

* * *

Dedicated to the 26 sweet souls whose tears, now dried, fears now abated, pain now gone and thirst now assuaged can rest tucked in the bosom of God. From our vantage of dark remembrance and empty ache we remember you. We remember you.

I saw you today.

You wiped your nose on the new sweater Grandma made for you.

I saw you today

picking up the rabbit by her ears a little too rough. When she scratched your arm you cried.

I saw you today

fighting with your sister over the last of the McDonald’s fries, a Happy Meal’s empty promise.

I saw you today

playing with the other kids in the nasty ball pit that smelled suspiciously like pee and bleach.

I saw you today

crying over losing your Auntie Doris’s broach you had silently stolen from Mom’s bureau.

I saw you today

yelling at your brother to stop bouncing you so hard on the see-saw.

I saw you today

at your piano recital. You played a piece from “Chopin for Kids.”

I saw you today

through the window as you were coloring something. You chewed on your tongue.

I saw you today

as the school nurse dried your tears while applying the bandage to your wounded shin.

It’s Saturday,

I didn’t see you today.

Photo courtesy of www.funtasianyc.com

Stop shouting

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

Warning: not for kids! Oftentimes, the most inhumane violence done to others is that which we inflict through our passive-aggressive silences. Sometimes a punch to the face is easier than seeing the back of someone else’s apathetically silent head. I explore that a bit in this rather visceral piece.

My ears are ringing, ringing,

ringing from the deafening roar of stony silence.

Someone has been shouting at me for so long

without stopping,

never stopping,

ever.

The lids of my ears are pinned back

as scenes of your violent ennui pelt my psyche.

Ghoulish shrieks of the banshee gash holes in my bowels

and any remains of touch and sound lay shredded and splayed

on the table, once of communion, now of refuse.

Quickly, cut open my gut with a heated knife of angry words.

Split my head with the axe of honest, unimplied hatred.

It is more compassionate to watch another bleed,

their blood still wet on the tip of your axe than it is

to watch through a mirror as another

squirms and writhes under the torturers knife

of guesses, unanswered questions, pale assumptions, made up half-truths.

Like the wanderer, banished and scapegoated,

the unforgiven walk in barren, featureless landscapes

peppered with the memories of better days.

The shrieks of silence are so much louder

than the shouting of angry, cutting…but honest, words.

Wordless words spill out into the aether

through sealed lips, drowning in their own denial

of non-communication. Oh, I hear. I hear. I hear,

SO STOP YOUR FUCKING SHOUTING.

Your victims are only fed enough sanctimony to forbid reality,

deny context, withhold boundaries for the untold story.

The din of merciless words is quicker,

the pain, short; the gouching, swift.

Silent pain is relentless, without pity,

casting scorn through indifference,

hatred through unspoken speech,

unforgiveness through apathy,

vengeance through willing ignorance.

_

In seeking truth, you’ve become the biggest lie.

Friends, fellowship, fun, frolic and…a contest

On By robertalanrifeIn life together, sacramental living, spiritual formation2 Comments

From time to time God bowls me over with a renewed sense of God’s faithfulness, goodness and, frankly, sense of humor. Many of my best life experiences can find their way back to times spent with quality people discussing quality things for quality reasons. These are the times that refresh me when too much rust builds up on the underbelly of my life. Good friend, fellow blogger and writer, Chadwick Walenga, is celebrating new pathways of grace in his life together with a wonderful woman, Amy. (Follow them on Twitter).Chadwick

Chadwick and I have history. A short history but a good one. We both studied Spiritual Formation and Leadership online through Spring Arbor University, Michigan. In that place was forged a meaningful bond that will last to our dying day and beyond. He is deeply sensitive, spiritually aware, devilishly handsome (sorry, I promised), extremely funny and just…a good man. He has pastored churches for many years and is father to four of the coolest kids, like, ever.

He and Amy have recently begun a new website with a rather unimaginative but to the point title (dude, really?). I want to endorse not just their website but them, the road they’re on together; the shared invitation to explore life, both theirs and ours. It’s what lives lived openly and honestly can look like.

What I’m particularly jazzed about however is a writing contest they’re hosting through their site. I’m always down for these kinds of things. Anything to keep me writing. Besides, I love this guy and simply want to support he and his new life, his own writing and to say, “dude, you’re awesome!”

Check it out, friends, and throw your hat in the writing ring. I’m gonna. They’re not exactly promising a new car, but if you saw what he typically drives, you’d be grateful.

Let’s have some fun, shall we?

Your partner in shameless shenanigans among the jokes, words and cries for help…Rob

Once we sang

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

Originally posted on the CenterQuest website, I wanted to share it here with you as well. That said, do come and visit us at CenterQuest and we’ll have tea or coffee with cigars…whatever.

Gabriel strikes Zechariah dumb

 

 

 

 

Once we sang the blustery tunes

of a people bloated on happy promises.

Now, we wait, the words long forgotten

of songs happier still but too faint

to make any difference.

 

Once we told tales of kings and giants,

maidens and madmen, serpents and swords

walls that crumbled and glories won.

Now, we inhale the night stars of a brittle,

unfamiliar sky into lungs long dry,

heaving for the breath of Heaven.

 

Once we sang in dulcet tones

with brothers strong, and sisters proud

the songs, full-throated of Yahweh’s arm,

God’s nurturing wings of holy enchantment.

Now, entombed in raspy voices, we sing,

unpracticed in liberating sounds.

We have lost more than a note or two,

suspended as we are

between the music of here and there,

once and again,

Gehenna and Gabriel,

ranting and ruach.

 

Once we sang a single song.

Now, too many disparate notes vie

for heart and hearth and the demands of presence,

too dim to matter, too far to see, too good to hope for.

 

Joseph’s bones still cry out from Egypt,

the one with onions, olives and overflowing fullnesses,

not the one the skinny prophets told us to avoid.

Broken reeds too weak to hold up heads

too bored, too forgotten to feel shame.

Even that would be better than

these furrowed grey skies, frowning in apathetic non-wonder.

 

Lately, we’ve heard rumors of a man

and his pregnant mistress.

Some girl from who knows where

who talks with angels.

 

Picture found here

Tonight

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing Poetic6 Comments

Tonight, a tired world slumps, dusty-shouldered,

living large in a tapioca dream, puréed and puerile.

 

Tonight, the moon decides our fate but blows,

instead, a kiss of light outward to the squinting stars.

 

Tonight, there sit angry men, rye and ribald

as coffee grounds in the wine, telling cold stories.

 

Tonight, the light has scurried down the wall

to tease her cache of frozen friends, weeping silently.

 

Tonight, in the destitution of morbidity,

a son refuses comfort, a daughter, embrace.

 

Tonight, a mother’s touch unoffered, renders

a mind, once hopeful, to break with yearning.

 

Tonight, a once great man’s manhood hangs

in the balance of his choice of self-destruction.

 

Tonight, a people sleep restlessly, awake

to nothing new, asleep to all that’s old.

 

Tonight, when clocks tick forward, marching

like soldiers, the seconds grasp for more of less.

 

Tonight, a humble priest, lips now entombed,

trembles in happy disbelief with news of eternity.

 

Luke 1:5-20