On Mondays I’ve taken to writing psalms. This week's psalm is inspired by Rob Morris and the work of Love 146, an organization that "provides holistic care for survivors of child sexual exploitation and journeys with them as they are reintegrated back into communities." I count Rob a friend. He is an activist, a gent who believes in the Kingdom, and one of the rare few who carries joy in the midst of a multitude of sufferings. Yesterday, Rob flew south to spend some time in the Ozarks, and to share with a local church about the work of Love146. At one point during his talk, Rob proclaimed (and I paraphrase), "Jesus went to the rich and tidy only at their pious invitations, but he sought after the poor and marginalized, pulled them out of their desperation and into the Kingdom."
Rob's comment inspired today's psalm.
Our Father, who art in heaven, how now will your kingdom come? By four verse invitation will you come, or the invocation of gentle sacraments? In a hearse on roads paved with offerings, one-tenth of the unfortunate but better parts of ourselves, will you come?
If I were a whore, a mess of a whore, a by-God whory whore, and caught in the act of whoring--
If I were lame and lying by a voodoo pool, a by-God voodoo pool of audacious hope--
If I were slow bleeding my way into death's dirge, the by-God dirge of death, my life always mingling with dust--
If I were marginal with pregnant hopes, the by-God pregnant hopes of widows and unwed lovers--
Then how would your coming come? With pleasantries, and platitudes, and tiny wheat wafers? Or rather, would you come like a tour de force, an intruder, a thief stealing the worst of what is, and restoring it to the new could be?