Faith, Family, & Focaccia

A faith and culture Mommy blog, because real life gets all mixed together like that.

Tag Archives: Poetry


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Emanuel Consolation: Day 15 of the April Poetry Challenge

The last few days have brought me repeated reminders of just how painful life can be: friends facing health crises, a new (powerful) book about addiction and recovery, and story after story of people who have been hurt by churches or church people.

All this has made me wish I had the power to change all these pains – to heal both physical and spiritual wounds wherever I see them. Of course, I don’t have that power.

My second instinct is to wish that God would do it for me. And I pray, sincerely, for this to happen. But I also know that God is not my puppet, or my on-call Doctor, compelled to alleviate all manner of pain that results from the realities of a broken world. Sometimes horrible, painful, ugly things just happen and we can’t just snap our fingers and order God to fix the mess.

That raises a lot of theodicy issues, and those discussions are worth having, but today’s poem isn’t about that. It’s about the way that Christians talk about those horrible moments in life, and the way we offer each other consolation. We can’t change the pain, but maybe we can work on changing the way we talk about it.

 

Emmanuel Consolation

 

Have you ever heard it?

that most hurtful Christian consolation?

“God never gives you more than you can handle.”

 

Have you ever been struck in the gut

when you are already curled up,

weak as a fetus,

around your all-consuming pain?

 

I know it’s well-intentioned,

an effort at encouragement,

a way to say

“you’ll make it”

with the extra certitude of FAITH.

 

But…

it’s

just

not

true.

 

Oh, I know the texts they quote

Romans 8:28,

or Philippians 4:13,

But these are not the blanket promises that some so blithely represent.

They are not a fool-proof safety net to guard against the impact

of life,

and death

and fear

and pain

and powerlessness.

They have to do with following the path of faith,

and having access to the strength for that path.

 

But… what happens when life stops you in your tracks?

when the thought of another step cannot even register;

when you are just trying to keep breathing;

and faith is not – cannot be –  a task you must accomplish in this moment?

 

What if they knew

those pious well-wishers,

those good-hearted believers trying to honestly offer you hope,

that their words might push you off the pilgrim’s path?

 

Because, if their words are true,

then the problem,

the darkness,

the hopelessness,

is all your fault – your lack of faith.

The promise only holds true

if you are the one who broke it,

the one who walked away.

And now the dark blanket of shame must wrap around you too,

holding in the words that might release a bit of pain,

blocking out the light of love and true consolation –

one who supports.

 

But I have GOOD NEWS,

that sounds at first like gospel’s bad, ne’r-do-well cousin

DOOM.

God never made those universal promises:

that it will all work out for good,

that you will have the strength.

In fact,

it might get worse.

your fear might materialize.

you might break down and not know how to put yourself back together.

 

And that horrible prospect

is my GOOD NEWS for you.

Because

no matter how dark,

how desperate,

how weak,

how wasted

you feel

It Is Never Evidence That You Have Walked Away

nor

That God Has Walked Away From You.

 

Because the promise God DOES make is:

Emmanuel

God with us.

With us in the darkness,

with us in the tears,

with us on the cross

with us in the grave.

AND

somewhere,

somehow,

in some completely unexpected way

in NEW LIFE.


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Lucky Thirteen: Day 13 of the April Poetry Challenge

I am not usually a superstitious person, and I have never been very convinced by numerology. On this thirteenth day of April, however, I am inspired by another 13, probably the most important of my life. Last August my husband and I celebrated 13 years of marriage.

It wasn’t our easiest year, but it was very important, and I learned a lot about love. So, today’s poem is my effort to share (and celebrate) those lessons.

Lucky Thirteen

 

It’s supposed to be unlucky.

Number 13…

the thirteenth floor,

the thirteenth day,

the thirteenth year.

 And in marriage, at least, this makes

So.

Much.

Sense.

Thirteen years after the wedding, the honeymoon is nearly

forgotten.

Life is full of

responsibilities and restlessness,

disagreements and distractions,

frustrations and foibles

that aren’t so endearing anymore,

Thirteen years worth of everything that pulls two souls apart.

 

But… all those reasons

are what made our thirteenth year

so lucky.

Not because we avoided all these things,

the pains and petty grievances.

Not because we proved our love exempt

from burns in the crucible of marriage.

 

But rather, because we didn’t.

 

It is so easy to become complacent,

to take for granted the presence

of a life-mate,

a companion,

a lover,

a friend;

to forget to practice daily gratitude in acts of care.

Until things start to rub,

to chafe

to scrape raw the thin veneer of passive toleration.

Until minor irritations begin to spread,

like a rash,

spreading across the skin,

the surface of daily interactions.

It is then that you realize the need for

attention.

The rash is not infected, not acute,

but if allowed to spread

it can compromise the entire body.

It requires gentle care

a soft caress,

a soothing balm on irritations,

the medicine of daily acts of love.

And in the simple things,

the ointment of paying attention,

of thinking once again

how can I put him first? her first?

you find the luck of being married

thirteen years.

Marriage isn’t magic.

And it’s not really about luck.

But…

here’s to hoping.

No!

to knowing

that the next thirteen years

will be just as “lucky”.

And the next thirteen.

And the next.

And the next.