No laughing matter

Haiku of unexpected fecundity

There, at Mamre’s oaks

Abraham met three strangers;

he made them welcome.

Hospitality:

bread, cheeese and a barbecue;

the men were grateful.

She will have a son,

Sarah, your wife. Hearing this,

the old woman laughed.

Shall we have pleasure;

is life in these old bodies?

(The young don’t think so!)

Why did Sarah laugh?

God wants to know. There’s nothing

too tricky for God!

The thing came to pass

as the Lord had promised them:

Isaac, laughing boy.

Sarah was most pleased;

God has brought laughter to me,

laugh out loud with me!

Abraham, Sarah;

hard to believe such old folk

could become parents!

© Ken Rookes 2023

They walked in darkness

 Haiku for illumination

They walked in darkness,

languishing, all hope was lost;

but light is coming.

We were blanketed

in deep darkness, but on us

God’s light is dawning.

We can now rejoice,

like when the harvest is good,

or sharing the loot!

Our heavy burdens

are lifted; our subjection

has come to an end.

Our blood-stained garments,

our oppressors’ boots, become

fuel for the fire.

A child has been born

for us, he shall reign for God

as our Prince of Peace.

Endless peace is ours;

the Lord of hosts will do this,

ruling with justice.

© Ken Rookes 2022

Making matters clear

Haiku of servanthood

Avoiding the crowds,

hanging with his disciples,

making matters clear.

Betrayal awaits

the Son of man, and then death;

but there’s more to come.

His words seem riddles.

to his friends. Afraid to ask,

not understanding.

They were arguing

as they travelled. Which of them

would be the greatest.

They are embarrassed

when he asks them, will not say

why they had argued.

Those who would be first

must be last of all, must learn

to be a servant.

He takes a small child

in his arms. When you welcome

such, you welcome me.

Some self-styled Christians

climb the ladder, reach the top,

then forget to serve.

© Ken Rookes 2021

Who will be the greatest?

Haiku for the competitive

Speaking quietly

Jesus taught his disciples

the things that must be.

Of the Son of Man

he spoke, about betrayal,

and untimely death.

It won’t be the end.

After three days he will rise.

They don’t understand.

They were arguing:

which of us is the greatest?

He made them ashamed.

Would you be the first?

Then you must become the last,

serving your comrades.

He placed a small child

in the middle of the group;

took it in his arms.

Welcoming children

is the thing you are to do;

so you welcome me.

When you welcome me

you welcome God; and take part

in God’s own being.

© Ken Rookes 2018

The vulnerable Divine

We celebrate this child that is called the Christ but I wonder how much we understand it. When we find our hearts softened when we look at a child we are receiving a profound message about the nature of ourselves and the spiritual power of the child.
This Christmas many of us are feeling pretty vulnerable ourselves. The human race seems hell-bent on its own destruction and the destruction of the planet. As a Christian I continue to be horrified at the way our nation is treating asylum seekers and at the wars and cruelty that continue to plague our world. The church is also in a time of great vulnerability and uncertainty. As individuals I am sure there are many of you facing personal challenges that confront you with your own mortality and weakness.
In these times especially the subversive message of Christmas couldn’t be more significant. The message of love and vulnerability that this child is bringing is to transform the world. It is to bring a great light into the darkness. It is to tell that the power of the divine is not in powerful structures or domination, but that true power lies in vulnerability and love.
The way the Bible tells it, the baby worked a kind of magic on the surrounding world on the night of his birth. Here is a new image of this ‘God’ not as an all-powerful God but rather as a helpless, vulnerable infant. The magic that surrounded the baby lifted people above the misery, cold and darkness that surrounded them so that all they could think about was the birth of this child. But it did something far more powerful than that. It was a message of hope that God is present in the small, shy places of the world. Today, Jesus would be more likely to be born in Aleppo in Syria, or in an indigenous community in Central Australia, or in Palestine. This is a message of hope to the powerless of the world. Our God is not only on our side but lives with us. At the heart of this sacred time lies the message of a God that is Emmanuel - God-with-us!
Christmas is about an event that many believe changed the world but also one that continues to have the ability to do so. It is a day to celebrate. I urge you to pay attention to your inmost self sometime on the day. Take time to give honour to all that is vulnerable, innocent and holy within you and in the world around you. Christmas is a time of the heart. Allow the spirit of the child-Christ to lead you on a journey to the manger where the tender and vulnerable God lies.
And in this may you find blessing and hope this Christmas.
Rev Gordon Bannon

But they were silent

 

They kept their mouths shut

embarrassed
naughty children caught out
arguing.
 
I’m better than you,
cleverer,
more worthy,
with leadership qualities.
 
He gathered the silenced ones
together. All twelve.
Maybe even some of the others,
like the women.
 
Be the greatest, he told them.
The best at caring and loving,
the first among servants.
Be friends of children.
 
They still had nothing to say.
Not sure what he was getting at,
but afraid to ask.
Speechless.
 
 

© Ken Rookes 2015

Remembering Neil Postman

Childhood was created

when we stopped sending children

down mines, up chimneys,

into factories and out to the fields.

From this imprecise point

children began to be valued for who they are,

and to be protected and educated.

Quite right, too.

It was not, is not the case everywhere.

In some places childhood ends,

at least for girl-children,

with marriage, and its upshot,

motherhood..

So it was for the mid-teens Mary

from Nazareth, two thousand years ago;

and countless others.

Childhood contracts and shrivels,

threatening to disappear

as innocence is torn away.

The secrets of adulthood,

once wrapped in safe brown paper,

lie rude and exposed,

as children are devalued,

sacrificed and cast aside.

Childhood’s beauty is painted over,

and trained to perform before judges;

while digital technology offers

a thousand doorways to a sad adulthood.

Toddlers with cigarettes; children

who know how to calculate the odds.

Let the children come to me,

a carpenter-teacher once said.

Let them climb; let them rise above

all that would limit and deny,

and discover holy childhood life.





Neil Postman (1931-2003) wrote The Disappearance of Childhood, published in 1982.



© Ken Rookes 2012