Psalm #19 (Spring Stones)

Last night I had a brief exchange with a friend, a good woman who speaks timely words. We were discussing the status of public discourse, especially in concern to matters of faith. I said that I was growing weary of the endless battle royale, the endless war of words that has taken to the hallowed halls of the internetShe replied with a simple statement: this week I'm reminded that God (and the church) are bigger than the internet. Wiser, more nuanced words haven't been spoken to me in some time.

Last night I considered us, this grand swath of humanity. We are more than digital arguments, avatars, and coded bits and blips, no matter how much we might wish otherwise.

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Psalm #19 (Spring Stones)

I. In the turning over of spring's stones I see the unfurled woodlouse, unafraid, the lichen that lives best undisturbed, and the soil that is the medium of our genesis.

From dust I came and dust will be my home.

II. There was once a Great Awakening that started with clay and God, and it knew nothing of one thousand pixel bosoms, or men whom, in their pyromaniacal fits burned every expendable, sexable good down to its consumable, silicone dust.

We were created clay paupers, at once began collecting orgasmic baubles.

III. If there were a man who could be all to everyone, he would not be a man but a god. These are the days of the every-god, god the terrible, god the kind, god the electronic omnipresent, god the straight, god the gay, the ever opinionated, sometimes quiet unjust semi-sovereign.

These are the days when men turn over stones in spring and see only dirt, forgetting that the soil is our cousin.