Seeking truth through beauty? Seems like a good idea to me. My life mission statement is as follows: “drawing seekers to God through my life and work which strive to effectively communicate God’s beauty and truth.” A little dry I admit. This short bit says it in more interesting ways. Enjoy.
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.
Still moving still
Standing still to move forward
is like looking at someone
with your eyes closed.
Moving forward by standing still
is like closing your eyes
when another draws near.
Standing still with desire
of moving forward,
is like opening your eyes
to see someone, perhaps
for the first time.
To have moved forward enough
to stand still is to find yourself
once more looking at another –
and seeing.
Morning has swallowed whole the night
Morning has swallowed whole the night
and out of its belly is teased the day,
dripping with invitation to ingest what gifts
are ripe and waiting. The tree of good and best
sits silently in the midst of the garden
and beckons me to investigate. Look
not for the reddest, brightest fruit,
blushed and bursting, it says.
Look instead for the fruit which looks for you,
pregnant with promise. Let it choose you.
Bite into it with abandon and let God anoint you
with the juice running down your chin that aims first
at your mouth, too full to speak,
then to your heart, hiding beneath your shirt
and to your feet, now wet and sticky but ready
to leave this place where other mouths
are hungry for fruit.
Living for tomorrow’s yesterday
I’ve managed to turn brooding and melancholy into a cottage industry. It’s what I love and hate most about myself. I write much about embracing the moment, living into the time as it is given us right now. For example, here. There is an inexorable draw like a lover’s fragrance to mystique in the artist’s emotional vocabulary. It’s hip and sexy to be a little sad which, ironically, is the only thing that keeps us happy…well, keeps me happy. I must drive God up the wall, if that’s what God does when frustrated. There are times my heart seems to hate me. What causes some to shrug their shoulders can paralyze me like well-stuck spider’s prey. Where others build healthy todays on the good gifts of yesterday and the hopes of tomorrow I remain stuck in a yesterday that for me was better than good; it was holy, Otherworldly.
I’m working hard on this (because the meds are only partially helpful). It is hard spiritual work for me, but I’m making baby steps in claiming the brightness and immediacy of now rather than pursuing a pinkish yesterday or projected tomorrow. It’s the best way to show love to those given to us. Presence. Eyes open. Ears tuned and ready. Mouth closed. I love the times in the gospels where Jesus looks directly at those he is about to heal or to whom he is about to speak. To look at someone iris to iris and see past the decor of image and the fear in posture and see him, see her, see me or you as they/we truly are right now is a gift beyond all telling.
People, places, events, experiences; all of these root themselves deep in us, in me. They become a part of the turning pages of the Spirit writ large on the lives of those of us who believe, who boldly affix our little story to the Great Story. An early morning (late night?) reminiscence that pushed itself upon me is evidence of this kind of existential intrusion that hurts, but that I really love. I write of it here.
Jesus is convincing me as I continue to read of his deeply personal exploits among us that that, too, is my task. Live in such a way that whoever I am at this moment is the gift I give to another even if that ‘me’ isn’t the stellar individual my inner press kit says I am. The task at hand, together with the I AM God, equally present in every moment, is to better define my past and let it go. Such authentic encounter with people, with places, with…life, is the best, well the only, way to really live for tomorrow’s yesterday.
So be it.
Sometimes the evening speaks loudly
“…The stars need darkness or you would not know them.” –Dorothy Trogdon, poet
The day presents itself to him at an unacceptable hour. The time of night when end of one day hasn’t completely surrendered to another. But the early thin place wasn’t an enemy by any means. The typhoon-like week that led to this moment hadn’t finished depositing its day-timer detritus. He is tired, but a certain contentment holds sway and hunkers down in the deep parts that make themselves known at such times.
Faces like so many stars in a sequined heaven begin to seep into his memory. As though bobbing up from underwater, one face after another implores to be remembered, mentally photographed and then, in the quiet of gifted moments, developed into softly gilded perfection. Was this mere whimsy, the unfettered gloating of overly romanticized ideas? Life was good. Why then the unasked for intrusion of yesterday’s communion? Couldn’t the wealth of immediacy be enough, just this once? Is then always so much better than now?
He wondered to himself whether he should banish such ghosts or to allow them free passage through heart hallways a little dusty that often smudge such images. He chooses the latter and, for a few moments, coffee now cold in his cup, joins them in meandering parade through the ballroom of his conscious. Through closed eyes he draws deep breaths of the night air and touches each face. But in doing so, they vanish, leaving only his finger pointing heavenward – the place where each of them are called. The place to which they call others.
Then there is clarity. Without the backdrop of the deep black night, stars are not stars. Without stones, the river doesn’t dance. Without falling leaves, the wind makes no sound and the world is just a little sadder. He smiles, dares a sip of cold coffee, and steals another breath from the evening, not so quiet after all.
Image: www.pptbackgrounds.net
She has walked these roads before
She has walked these roads before,
these swollen pasturelands of life lived lush.
She still sees footprints from the last pass
through grass like cotton under calloused feet.
This time around she’ll not forget
to breathe, to sigh and, with the overflow
of air-filled moments sing the songs
even of the crows, nasty and loud, but present.
Severed, now, from her the times freshly gone
where dislocated streams interlocked their
watered journeys, cutting banks to spell
healing words, seen only from above.
The crows’ din, songs gruff, bloated and stifling
are replaced by her solitary voice,
wavering with quavers birthed in silence,
the symphony of her own breath.
Image: www.flickr.com
Conversing with Conversations, pt. 7 (August)
As of this post, we’re caught up with my contributions to Conversations Journal blog. I’ll be more vigilant in making them available once they’re actually published. Thanks so much for your support of my blog and, through this, Conversations Journal. They do good work and I’m so proud to share in a tiny part of that.
Here’s my August piece.
Shalom, R
An ironic request…
So, here’s the thing. I write a lot of stuff about a lot of stuff. Spiritual stuff mostly. Stuff that relates to the life of faith and the common spiritual life to which Christ calls us and into which he seeks to mold us. Blogs are vastly insufficient platforms in which to discuss such matters. But, they’re a start. Patheos, a totally cool place seeking to head such discussions has begun an online initiative to help people find “top Christian blogs.”
Because being one of no reputation is what the Christian spiritual life is about, I’m asking, ironically, for you to consider voting for me on their site. If you do, your skin will glisten like Edward’s in Twilight, your teeth will outshine Joel Osteen’s, your abs will suddenly line up in 2 rows of 3 each, and your derriere will dance like two eggs in a hanky. Thanks for your ongoing support of my blog and…for voting, which can be done right here.
; ^ )
Humbly yours (no, really), R
Conversing Through Conversations, pt. 6
Monasticism and, now, “New Monasticism” is a fascinating discussion under any circumstances. The blog at Conversations Journal sinks the communal pen into it for our July topic. Here’s my take on it.
Conversing Through Conversations, pt. 5
A particularly poignant topic was given us for June: the Kingdom of God. Since it is such a trite and tiny topic ; ^ ) I thought I’d include my June post here, despite the fact that anything I could write on such a thing makes me quake in my shoes!
innerwoven 