Adventures in the Word

We walk down halls with unobstructed views,
they call us constantly through windows clear,
and yet we focus on our cluttered rooms
while misty mountain vistas disappear.
Our papa sits ensconced, removed, his eyes
are on his food. My siblings – silent now –
their missing conversations eulogize
the death of life that could have been allowed.
My neighbor sits alone, his fridge is bare,
he numbs himself with fantasies galore –
I know, but can I face my lack of care
and walk outside to knock upon his door?
Our modest Bethels, where God erects a stair,
they often find us humans unaware.

– David Herin

At lunch I sit alone surrounded by four
other tables also taken by one –
the only other one has two, and though
face to face, they too are absent and alone.

The air of afternoon hangs over
and around us, a clouded atmosphere
of crowded thoughts and fears that stare
us down and will not leave us be.

The chair across from me sits vacant,
not reserved for any person,
yet phantom eyes are somehow blankly
staring back at me and beckon.

Even when I’m by myself
I can’t stop searching other faces –
people walking, laughing, talking,
nothing draws my eye as well.

Why can’t we peer above our papers
long enough to look around –
to spot a human being near,
who’d like a cup of coffee, right here?

But when I finally sit and sup
with someone so our words
embrace and intermingle . . . hmm . . .
Someone else is seated at our table.

– David Herin

Here I am –
a new man!
Now I can bodily
belong to you Lord.
        This is your place.

Here’s my eyes –
extend my sight
beyond myself
to see the light
        patina on your face.

Now my ears –
tune them to hear
your healing words
clearly spoken.
        Turn me from the silent spaces.

Then my mouth –
open it to sow
my words without
the spoil of bitter thoughts,
        but with love and grace.

Here’s my hands –
arm them to tend
my own piece of land
content to want no more,
        through all my hours and days.

Here’s my feet –
turn them to seek
the paths that lead
us to your peace,
        through all my winding ways.

And last, my mind –
let my thoughts entwine
around your words.
We’ll sit and dine
        where our talks will mix with praise.

— David Herin

In the quiet spaces of talks with my son
the air hangs still while I wait for his answer,
I’ve spent all the words I can muster
and my gaze falls on the floor – fumbling,
trying to hide my want for just one word.

The still air – fragile, breaks
with a welcome single sound, asserting itself,
so simple – and not even a word –
but an ‘uhm’ that awkwardly stakes
its claim and pledges more of himself.

With words we carve the course
of our conversation’s flow.
Most times we glide the waters slowly,
at times, we portage ’cross the shallows,
and now and then we’re shot like a gun through the foam.

Endless tangles of trees line
our way, while bluffs and sandbars witness
and bridges stand and guard our progress.
But the Unseen Word flows beneath us;
these are the Waters that move and hold and turn us.

My words, his words, flow freely now,
but these trees and bluffs and sands
have seen centuries of currents pass.
The waters move us faithfully on,
but one day he’ll be further along,
and farther down Stream than I’ve ever gone.

–David Herin

I love the hour or so before bed
after some have gone to sleep –
when the lights cast a quiet glow
and conversations slow and take a lower tone.

I often sit in my overstuffed, wide chair
and contemplate the universe
and think myself into places too lofty for me.
I tend to dizzy myself in the rarefied air.

I hear footsteps padding down the stairs
and distorted metallic voices on TV.
I listen to parts of one-sided talks on the phone –
muffled, masked behind the closed doors.

I hear someone open the fridge, and pans
and pots randomly clang against the kitchen’s hardness.
My son must be fixing a late-night snack to
numb the fickle phantom hunger pangs.

Darkened windows mirror the pair of lamps
in my room and shadowed cars swish across,
chasing each other; strangers all fixed on
racing to unseen, nameless places.

I feel alone in such a quiet fury – the flurry
of brave faces all in such a hurry to go their own way.
Sunk in my chair, I’m one more face in the subway mobs,
grasping, gasping to breathe some fresh air.

Up from my padded throne, I turn the corner
to wander from carpet to linoleum. (I’m not alone!)
Opening the freezer door, a cold gust washes my face –
I say: “Hey, let’s split this pizza, and maybe more.”

– David Herin

In our t-shirts and grubby jeans
my boys and I walked out like farmers,
out to our backyard plot – newly spaded, bean
seed packages in hand and ready to plant.

It must have been a Saturday morning, late
in May – the air warm and fresh on our faces,
the soil still dark from where we had tilled it just last night –
and I was hoping to have a talk about the secrets of seeds.

The oldest one wasted no time ’cause he had done it before.
He took the hoe – taller than he was –
and drug it along behind him and across the soil.
He made the furrows long, but wiggly – about like he was.

The youngest one stooped with me and one by
one we neatly laid the beans, smooth and white, in their narrow grave,
“spaced two to three inches apart,” just like it said.
I thought: but he’s too young to know what even comes next or why.

The middle son came along behind us on
his knees, and buried the beans with his hands
and smoothed and crumbled the clods over –
never to see those seeds just that way again.

We walked back to the ‘barn’, shovels and hoes on our shoulders,
our jeans blackened with earth. Now was my last chance:
I wanted to explain this mystery, but – I sighed and told myself
to let it just sink in; one day, they’ll grow up and understand.

– David Herin

In parts 1 through 3 I’ve been talking about human conversation, but there’s another mode of conversation too – the human/divine kind. We usually talk about this by using the term prayer, which is a perfectly fine term, but too often it’s loaded with baggage that warps our view of it.

Can we really have a conversation . . . with God?

If so – and I think most would answer yes, at least to some degree – does our human conversations, or lack thereof, have any bearing at all on our conversations with God? If so, how?

When I think of conversation, I normally imagine sitting in a comfy chair, maybe with a cup of coffee, relaxing, sipping and casually chatting. But can we really picture ourselves doing that with God (of all people)? Can we really do that with the Lord of Lords and King of Kings? Shouldn’t we sit up a little straighter, suck in our gut, be quiet and just listen?

That question makes me think of a friend of mine who somehow got the opportunity to meet and talk to President Bush. The thing that struck me as I heard his story was just how comfortable that George W Bush made him feel. At first my friend was nervous and justifiably in awe of the man. But shortly after sitting down with him, the President had a way of putting my friend at ease. At the end of their conversation, my friend John told me that all of them – John, his friend, the President, and First Lady Laura Bush – they all literally ended up on their knees praying, at the suggestion of the President himself.

I think that may give us a window into how the Lord can be in our conversations with Him – if we let Him. Yes, He’s the God of the Universe, and like the President, He has a lot on his mind. But somehow He finds the time to shut out everything else and is completely ‘present’ with us. Being who He is, He doesn’t have to ‘put on any airs.’ He’s ‘comfortable’ with Himself and can easily condescend to us without being condescending.

My friend was completely blown away by the fact that President Bush appeared to be genuinely interested in him and apparently didn’t see their conversation as an imposition OR a photo opportunity. His meeting lasted about 20 minutes and was completely behind closed doors without one camera.

Hearing about President Bush in this light surprised me and I found myself drawn to the man, George Bush. But then I also found myself admiring and respecting him even more. But why? Shouldn’t his ‘self-humbling’ have brought him down a little closer to my level? No. Actually it’s just the opposite.

I hope this helps us see the paradox that God is both transcendent and imminent. Somehow He’s able to oversee the movements of the entire universe while at the same time, sit down with us and have a cup of coffee.

Awesome.

I don’t know about you, but I’m turning the snooze off this time. That aroma from the kitchen tells me that Someone’s in there making a fresh pot.

One way that love is expressed is through the sincere simplicity of our words. If I could have added one line to Paul’s masterpiece, it would be, “Love . . . doesn’t have to be dramatic.” It’s in the everyday averageness of our day with others that love is shared (or not shared).

So I wanted to pair some common conversational phrases to Paul’s characteristics onagape. See if you can hear yourself in these lines. Some may sound a little sappy or superficial – I don’t know, maybe they really are – but I don’t think they have to be. If we can’t imagine ourselves saying these words, maybe we just need a little deeper agape.

Love Agape . . .
is patient makrothumei

“It’s okay, I’ll wait for you.”

is kind chrasteuetai

“Here, let me do that for you.”

isn’t envious ou zaloi

“It wasn’t just me.”
“No. He did it.”

isn’t conceited ou phusioutai

“Oh thanks, I hadn’t noticed.”

isn’t rude ouk aschamonei

“Please be quiet.” [not: ‘Will you shut up!’ ]

isn’t just looking out for his own things ouk zutei ta eautas

“I’ll wait up for her.”
“I’ll make the time for it.”
“It’s all right; you go ahead first.”

isn’t reactionary ou paroxuvetai

[silence]

doesn’t automatically assume the worst ou logizetai to kakon

“Oh – I never imagined that it could be that bad.”
“Absolutely not!”
“Honestly, I could be tempted, but, I’m just not going there.”

doesn’t celebrate the wrongs done to others ou chairei epita adikia

“Oh, how terrible.”
“[weeping] Oh no!”

smiles when truth wins out sugchairei detzolytheia

“Wow! That’s great!”
“Wonderful!”
“I was hoping you’d win.”

keeps all confidences panta stegei

“You can trust me.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“I won’t say anything.”

isn’t naïve or cynical panta pisteuei

“I still think it’ll work out.”

perseveres panta elpizei

“Don’t give up!”
“It’s not as bad as you think.”
“You can still make it!”

puts up with everything panta hupomenei

“Hey, don’t worry about it.”
“I forgive you.”
“Oh, it used to bother me, but not any more.”

never withers oudepote ekpiptei

“I’m still here.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Call me anytime.”
“I’m ready to listen when you’re ready to talk.”
“ . . . whenever you’re ready.”
“I still love you.”

In the last post I confessed that I disliked talking on the phone.

I procrastinate.
Sometimes I actually dread it.

I do everything except call ‘Bill,’ who’s been on my list to call for the last two weeks. (I’ll use the name Bill since I actually don’t know a Bill other than my Dad, and I never have any angst about calling him.)

And I know why I don’t call him too; and it’s not because I dislike talking to him and it’s not because I’m afraid of being rejected or hurt. I don’t want to talk to him ON THE PHONE!
I’ve pondered this for a while and I’m absolutely certain that THIS is why I don’t call – Ready?
Here ’tis:

I don’t like to call Bill because I hate the idea that I’m calling simply because I ‘need’ something:
• to borrow something
• to see if he can do something
• to remind him to do that something
• to [your ‘need’ here ]

I realize that all these are legitimate reasons to call, but I just feel really guilty that it happens to be the only time I will have talked to Bill in a long time. And for that reason the call feels like I’M JUST USING HIM.

One piece of evidence that I’m afraid of appearing to use Bill is, when I do call, I feel the sudden urge to ‘catch-up,’ or at least to say, “Hi, how are you?” – before I start plowing into what I need.

But no matter how sincere or attentive I may be at the beginning of our conversation it seems completely spoiled as soon as I bring up my need: “So . . . yeah, umm . . but, I guess the reason I called was . . . ”

UGH!

Then all that apparent sincerity over Bill’s well-being vanishes and I feel like a cad.

I don’t see any way to avoid the fragility of these disembodied conversations – I think we simply have trouble discerning sincerity without our bodies getting into the conversation too. All the communications experts say that our non-verbal body language, facial expressions, and gestures play a huge role in conversation. And since our voice has to do all of the heavy lifting in the phone conversation, we wonder how we’re being perceived. And the attendant anxiety over our potentially apparent caddishness doesn’t help us come off so smooth either.

Maybe all this just reveals my own insecurities; maybe all my words here are just a tempest in a teapot.

But I still don’t think I’m alone in this.

And we can’t use emoticons on the phone either.

Maybe I just need a little love.

Anybody want to give me a call?

[In an attempt to try to protect this person from embarrassment, I’m going to use the term ‘he,’ but it could actually be ‘she.’]

Several months ago one of my kids started coming home from work late and without planning to, we started just hanging out at the kitchen table. He’d usually fix himself something to eat and I’d maybe have something too, but mostly we just sat and talked and laughed – usually about nothing in particular.

Oh, occasionally we’d get into a more serious discussion, but mostly it was light and we just talked about . . . nothing.

But I noticed that I started to look forward to these apparently ordinary times and I think he did too. And I realized that this ‘purpose-less,’ ‘agenda-less’ talk was accomplishing something that purposeful and ‘fatherly’ talks couldn’t. I sensed that something good was happening between us, but it was subtle.

And I think the reason that our relationship grew with this kind of conversation was that I simply valued HIM — JUST for HIM! He didn’t need to say or do anything special at all – and that’s the very thing that made it so valuable! It’s a silent recognition that, what we have already is priceless as is because he himself IS priceless and our relationship is priceless. And without saying anything, I know and he knows that. This kind of conversation reflects and confirms that I love him as he is.

I think ‘purposeless conversation’ dips out large scoops of grace to our fellow human beings.

Maybe this has always been self-evident to you, but it certainly hasn’t been to me. I wish somebody had warned me a long time ago that my well-meaning, but contrived ‘fatherly talks’ were scaring people away.

Now . . . don’t get me wrong! Don’t assume that I think purposeful talk is bad or unnecessary. Of course it can be good and very necessary, but I’ll leave my thoughts on that for another day.

I really can’t point to any verifiable evidence that our relationship is better or deeper, but I can feel it! I know it sounds hokey, but when we just make eye contact and talk I somehow know that our love and respect for each other is growing.

Next time, in Part 3, I’ll talk about conversation and why I dislike the phone.
Yea, you heard me! I really don’t like the phone! And maybe it’s time for some of my fellow phone haters out there, to come out of the closet too!