The 60-Second Sabbath

God's Imagination

God has a marvelous imagination.

Just think of a butterfly...
    a giraffe...
    a wombat...

Or how about the humble amoeba...
    a fiery volcano...
    an immense galaxy...

God's imagination
    outreaches ours;
we cannot imagine
    what God imagines.
God's imagination
    dumbfounds us.

All of creation--
    an expression of God's marvelous imagination.

Which means, of course:

    You are an expression of God's marvelous imagination.
        God imagines you into being.
    In this very moment.
        Wonder of wonder.

Imagine that!

Text and image © 2020 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
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On Becoming an Anti-Racist: Part Sixteen

 

CAWS

I propose we create a new organization:

    Christians against White Supremacy

or CAWS for short.

Our logo/mascot
    will be the common crow,
who, as you know,
    caws.

As Christians,
    we share this common CAWS.

Every time you hear a crow caw
    you will know it is speaking out against
white supremacy.

    Caw, caw!
        I condemn white supremacy!

For, as Christians,
    we are indeed called to condemn
all systems and movements
    that exist to suppress, oppress
any identified group,
    any system that seeks
to maintain control over others
    for their own benefit.

I hope that all Christians
    can immediately and wholeheartedly say:

    I condemn white supremacy.

In fact, I'm wondering
    if that could be a helpful way
to identify fellow believers:
    Can you say, with me,

    I condemn white supremacy.

Will you say it with me now, aloud:

    I condemn white supremacy.

And then, say it aloud some time today
    with your family,
with a friend,
    when you gather with other believers:

    I condemn white supremacy.

Why is it
    that so many who claim the title Christian
are not preaching, teaching, shouting this?

I wonder...

    Caw! Caw!

 

 

Text and image © 2020 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
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In God

Whatever is in God
    can't be lost, will never be forgotten.

God is all
    and in all.

Whatever is in God,
    no matter how small,
    no matter how (seemingly) insignificant,
can't be lost, will never be forgotten.

The snail in the garden,
    the mug in the sink,
the ring on your finger,
    the dog snoring at your feet...

Whatever is in God
    can't be lost, won't be forgotten.

The Lego hiding under the couch,
    the squirrel attacking the bird feeder,
the homeless woman at the corner,
    your grandfather, your mother...

Whatever is in God
    can't be lost, won't be forgotten.

The cake in the oven,
   your fears, your hurts, your hopes, your joys,
the keyboard on which I type,
    you, me...

Whatever is in God
    can't be lost, won't be forgotten,
will never be left behind.

God is all
    and in all.

Amen.

Text and image © 2020 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
Visit PhotosByDirk.com for fine-art photography.
Visit The60SecondSabbath.com, where spirit and image merge.

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The Point

When I walked into the kitchen this morning,
eager for my warming cup of cinnamon decaf,
I found a note on the counter
    ...from Sophia.
It started:

    Sorry we missed you.
    Figured you were sleeping in
        because of the gray skies and snow.
    Enjoy!

Then she got to the point:

    Was talking with the guys this morning,
    and we thought you could use this reminder:

The purpose/point/intent
of the life of faith
is not sometime in the future,
but now.

To know and love God
now.

To serve and love others
now.

To inhale and exhale joy,
now.

To absorb and exude compassion,
now.

To cultivate union with
and love for God
now.

The focal point
of the life of faith--
of your life of faith--
is this moment.

I've been reading and re-reading this since.

Text and image © 2017 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
Visit PhotosByDirk.com for fine-art photography.
Visit The60SecondSabbath.com, where spirit and image merge.

Thanksgiving Dinner

"I worship," says my uncle,
"in the woods.
The duck blind is my sanctuary,
    the fragrance of wet earth and pine my incense,
    the campfire my altar, receiving my offering
        of solitude and of thanks."

The others at the table,
more conventional with their believing,
    cautious to move beyond the boundaries
        of the walled church,
sit in skeptical silence.
Some frown.
His brother-in-law clears his throat and says,
"That may be fine for you,
but most of us need
the community of the faithful--
the church--
to truly worship."

I watch my uncle's face,
and in that face, his faith.
Unphased by their doubt,
he returns to his turkey, stuffing
and the memory of sacred space: 
    rain on leaves,
    birds on the wing,
    time on hold.

Text and image © 2017 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
Visit PhotosByDirk.com for fine-art photography.
Visit The60SecondSabbath.com, where spirit and image merge.

On Disagreement

How well do we
disagree?

How well do we--
    as individuals,
    as a culture,
    as a nation in the world arena--
disagree?

Part of maturity,
part of an evolved faith,
is the ability to disagree
    with respect,
    with appreciation,
    with empathy,
    with acceptance,
    with grace

(and therefore
    without ridicule,
    without defensiveness,
    without anger,
    without fear).

I think, for example,
of American politics*:

If God watches to see
how well we disagree,
how sad she must feel.

*or religion, morality, social media, etc.

Text and image © 2015 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

A Door

I am a door
that must open.

I fear what waits
on the other side.

Shut,
I shall not transform;
I shall not transcend;
I shall not live.

I must open to release
    years of unresolved memories.

I must open to let out
    the stress clawing my neck and back.

I must open to bid adieu to
    childhood's haunting shame.

I must open to escort to the porch steps
    the demons who would hide forever
    in the closet beneath the stairs.

I must open to welcome grace in,
grace that sweeps like Pentecost wind
    across the threshold and down the hall
    fresh air and fire light,
    acceptance and knowing.

I am a door
that must open.

Text and image © 2015 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

Good Dough

Like a good dough
destined to become fragrant, hot bread,
dripping with melted butter and sweet honey,
I, too, occasionally need to be punched down,
deflated,
returned to an earlier state,
and left in a warm, quiet place
to rise again.

Like a good dough,
I, too, relish a hard knead
by hands knowing and strong.

Like a good dough
ready for presentation at the dinner table,
golden and crusty on the outside,
yielding and finely textured within,
I, too, must withstand the heat of the oven,
the cut of the knife.

Text and image © 2015 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

Maundy Thursday

It's probably not your feet
most in need of washing,
but let Jesus begin there,
and when he's done,
you may have the courage
to request a fuller cleansing.

I mean, he's already here (right?)
with the basin,
the warm water,
the clean towel,
those beautiful, gentle hands,
    soon to be shattered.

Text and image © 2015 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

Essential Self

You are not your history;
your history is not you.

You are not your family;
your family is not you.

You are not what you believe;
your beliefs are not you.

You are not your accomplishments;
what you've done is not you.

You are not your thoughts about you;
what you think is not who you are.

You are not the friends you have;
your relationships are not you.

You are not the job you have;
your career is not you.

You are not the body you've sculpted,
    the car you drive,
    the salary you make,
    the clothes you wear,
    the stuff you own,
    the identity you cling to...

All of the above is over there;
you are over here.

Without it all,
here you are,
same you,
no more, no less,
complete,
worth celebrating,
definitely worth celebrating.

Do you affirm your stripped and naked,
    solitary, essential self?

Text and image © 2015 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.