This is the second part to my spoken word project.
Last time people found it helpful to understand the poems if I provided what they mean to me, so I'll do that again, in the comments section of this blog post. So be sure that if you want to interpret the poems for yourself, avoid reading the comm
ent section until the end of your listen(s) so as to not...er...spoil(?) them for yourself. I don't believe there is any right way to interpret these, not even my own. So I hope some of you really take different things from these.
I hope some of these poems really speak to you guys, provoke your thoughts, make you feel something...make you feel anything. I know they mean the world to me, so I hope they can mean something to someone else too.
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Good God, Sunday Morning (I)
Speak.
Only what you believe.
Certainty.
The idea of knowing exactly what everything you read must mean.
Justify.
What I do not have to do for you about anything I have ever said.
Small.
Must be the size of God in your head.
Small.
Must be the size of God in your head.
Small.
Must be the size of God in your head.
If everyone who is not you is wicked,
And you are the righteous,
And you are the chosen,
And you understand every word and verse of that 1635 page book
And that book was written by the thing that created the whole universe?
And you think you understand even a fraction of what is written in that 1635 page book?
Then small is the size of god in your head.
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Cherem
Like a volcano eruption on an island off the coast of I don’t know where
The rumble of missionaries foot steps, sent to people who can’t even speak their language, but they say “God DOES care”
But these words have their wear.
So poised to reach out,
Don’t you ever wonder what these people would think
When we point at the water and the sky and whisper “You must be saved from a damned fate”
Well then I point at myself for the crusades
I point a finger at myself for all the hate speech against gays that Christians make
I point a finger at myself like the street preacher yelling about the end and “Repent! You sinners, you heathens, it IS too late!”
Well if Jesus Christ had been buried he would be rolling over in His grave
You use your words to speak of a life that none of us can obtain
Diamonds as ears nothing can be chipped
Nothing worth an open mind too hear
Your words are nothing if not empty to these people on the street.
I speak for a thousand strong, but you will never speak for me
I do not speak for Jesus Christ, I speak from what I see.
My life is a representation of grace laden imperfection, and a testimony of everything I believe.
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Black Letters
Don't let your compassion leak into waters that can never feel warmth.
Don't condemn off of words of men who simply wrote down their thoughts.
This is not what the world needs
Another finger pointing group of zealots
Like they are the righteous, and you are the wicked.
Pour a cup of water into the Grand Canyon
Let me know how quickly it can become a body of water.
I'll even let you name it!
We are all a portion of empty waiting to be filled.
Bur our cups will never spillith over because we are completely deaf to barking orders.
This is a war of who thinks they have the most spiritual intellect.
Who can twist the black text enough to fit into a baseball into an axe like Jezebel longed to make heads roll?
"Cherem! Cherem! Cherem!"
The modern day prophets and messiahs cry
As my old friends and my same enemies are busy throwing nooses of words at and around both of our necks
I will remind you that I am at the gallows with you
I will remind you that there is so much more than the knives that cut their ropes to keep our feet from dangling above the ground.
So much forgiveness and grace to be found once we loosen the weights at our ankles, once we have the strength to stand on open air and trust we won't fall down.
Once we allow ourselves to have get swept away by His song, and not their sound.
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Good God, Sunday Morning (II)
There is an alternative version to this.
There is a different way that we could exist.
I am lost amidst sand storms that bite at my lips and wear away at "that kiss"
Even better than the first time I stood at your door way and I considered the thought of "us", could be more than just a fleeting oasis--my mouth was dry and full of sores from all the deserts I've wandered through before
But as you stood there
As you stand there
With your keys shaking in your hand
You had seen a lot of movies, I referenced one, knowing that you would understand
Do you understand?
I don't just want to have Paris with you.
I am settled to have chance decide when we are looking at the same sky turn red, then blue.
Do you know what I am saying to you?
I don't want to know you in twenty years,
I want to know you in-between that space of now, and then.
So maybe the sunflowers will stop blooming
And maybe we'll move far on and forget all our songs
But--tiny, clumsy, dancing girl, this skinny love will only last as long as you want it to carry on
So pick yourself up,
Tell me how much you care.
Meet me at the airport, I'll say goodbye to you there.
First of all, this whole collection of poems is about basically being "thrown under the bus" by people that are close to me that are Christians.
ReplyDeleteGood God, Sunday Morning (I)--->This is about how arrogant I feel some people can be, when they claim that the entire Bible was written (basically) by God, and that they claim to understand soooo much of it. To which I say: if the Bible was written by the thing that created the WHOLE WORLD, love, people, etc.etc., how can you begin to understand and how dare you even begin to think that your interpretation of what it is the ONLY way to see it. Your god must be really, really small to think that you know EXACTLY how to interpret and understand what It wrote.
Cherem--->The word "Cherem", which appears in the poem after this one, is a Hebrew word that meant; the most severe form of excommunication used by rabbi's to sentence wrong doers. In my Old Testament HIST class, it was very closely tied too the idea of a holy war in which no one of the "enemies" side is left alive. This poem was greatly inspired by a SOC class I took and an article I read in that about how Americans see (for example) a fully veiled Muslim woman, and think "Wow, look at how oppressed she is." But rarely do think, that SHE might be thinking "Wow, look at those American girls, and the standard of dressing that their society has made for them--that they have to wear these tight shirts and tight pants to show men what they look like 'so they know what they're getting'. I can't imagine having to have to show off myself in order to be loved, or even talked to, based off the shape of my body." This line of thinking led me to think of ethnocentrism (the belief that one persons culture is more superior and correct than someone else's), which then led me to think of Christianity, and how so many of us (notice: us, myself included) are absolutely determined that we're right, and everyone else is wrong. Which, naturally, wether people like it or not (I think) it puts us on a higher level than other people. This poem is also a lot about what Rob Bell would call the "blow horn guys".
Black Letters--->Black letters refers to every written part of text in the Bible that was not God or Jesus spoken. I had someone tell me that I was "the righteous" and another person I care about (that they disapprove of me caring about in the way I do) was "the wicked", based on what Paul wrote to Corinthians in 2 Corinthians 6: 14 - 18. The key verses that this person was talking about, was Paul actually referencing the Old Testament, which many reformed Christians don't take too literally anyways--what with the crazy stoning laws and whatnots--but this person was determined to tell me I was not only wrong, but ALSO that I was sinning, because I wasn't following what Paul had written (to the Corinthians, mind you). Needless to say, I have multiple theological disagreements being told that I, myself, are "righteous". Yes, I believe that Jesus's righteousness washes over those who ask of it, but that does not make them/me righteous. ...It makes Jesus righteous. I also do not agree with trying to interpret and take the Bible out of context, as it is as much a historical document laced with contradiction and inaccuracy, as it is a theological basis for my beliefs. It is my theological belief that things that are specifically God or Jesus spoken should be heeded with far greater warning than say...Solomon, who was just a man who was a sucky king, had over 500 women he could sleep with, who wrote poetry when he wasn't busy over taxing his people. Make sense? Not to you? Well, that's okay, because it's what I believe, and am not asking you to.
ReplyDeleteGood God, Sunday Morning (II)--->This is as gentle as it gets, from 3 really intense, pissed off poems, to this one. I know it seems out of the theme of "righteous anger" persay, but it's still about the same (positive) person, that was attacked and called "wicked" that created a better portion of those other poems. It's impossible to capture in words what you think or feel about someone...but that doesn't mean that we all shouldn't try when we feel truly moved and inspired by them.
The first one I loved, but this one sounded more like a poem based around whining about personal problems. I can't really say I liked this one with or without the interpretation because I just kept getting this pervasive feeling of the author whining about things going on. Better luck next time, this one didn't do it for me like the first one did.
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