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From the Daily Sip: Creating

From the Daily Sip: Creating

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This originally appeared as part of the Daily Sip, a ministry of St John’s Cathedral in Denver, CO

 

by Charles LaFond

 

 

Last night someone I love asked me

“where is home” for me.

I fought back tears like

a sailor holding back the

raging waters while sirens and

echoes off metal hugs and

red lights twirl and flash –

trying to secure the bulkhead-door

against a breach in the hull.

 

We want home, we humans do.

And to speak the lack of home

threatens, unnecessarily, to insult

those with whom

we live and move and have our being.

But it need not.

 

My home, with its dark,

old family woods

and its roaring fire is just a place

where I live with Kai;

where I massage his haunches

as he ages and aches

and as I do. As we do.

 

 

And my home is in God.

 

Hallmark called and wants its

trite truism back.

 

Everyone’s home is in God.

 

We need not know it

in order for it to be true.

God does not need to be believed in.

 

But it can sound so sappy.

And yet sometimes

we humans want a home.

And some people have them,

or think they do.

 

And some of us have never

really found one;

except the one

beyond this world, beyond

wood and glass and even fire.

Beyond honest or effective bishops.

Beyond gentle, kind clergy.

Beyond sneaky or dull bishops,

Beyond climbing clergy.

Beyond absentee or bullying leaders,

in mitres or oval offices.

 

Which is worse?

Bully or absentee?

Neither.Both.

 

But out there,

it seems

– when the light is just right

to catch a glimpse-

is a Great Soul which is God.

And in that Soul ours rests,

like a piece of kelp

floating vertically in the sea,

buoyed up by air sacks, keeping it

lunging, waving and leaning to the sky and sun

even as the currents

wash us to and fro;

and even sometimes in great

storms which rage far up on the surface

of things we no longer can see, but feel.

 

Nature; the life which teems

around us is pointing to this

One Great Soul

which surrounds and envelopes us.

It says to us,

“Your home is not to be found here.”

So why do we so long for one?

It felt like a trick.

 

We long for home because we have been

programmed, like a computer, by a scientist.

Our work is to try to remember

that our Programmer is Good.

That we are.

 

We live within a program designed to

propel us within that home

which surrounds us.

Within which existence is like

a planet in a cosmos

or rice in broth

or Aids in blood.

Night exposes reality if we look up,

and shut up.

 

We will work hard to make homes.

We will marry people trying to make one.

We will have children trying to make one.

We will build churches trying to make one.

We will ordain bishops, trying to make fathers

we do not need.

We will build bank accounts trying to make prestige

we do not deserve.

We will climb ladders, and be bowed-to, trying to make one.

We will build fires and serve tea or port

trying, trying, trying to make a home.

 

So much harder is it to realize that

the only home we will ever have

is within a God

whose shyness and woundedness

will always make The God hard to see.

 

God is like a fox.

Quiet.

Still.

Aching from that last sprint.

Waiting.

Deeply aware.

Orange.

 

Even homeless too.

 

The irony is that God’s home is

only, and has only ever been,

the presence of all life.

Us and all living things, within it.

 

Just as a good cup of tea

makes little sense unless,

within it, there are tea leaves.

 

That is God’s great, secret vulnerability.

God can exist as a mug of steaming hot water.

But God would rather, it seems, be a

cup of steaming hot tea.

 

We co-create.

Our co-creativity

is our only home.

Not where we live

but rather, how we abide.

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