The day of the Dead

Halloween and the 'Day of the dead' are big news this week. They reflect our understandable fascination with death and the after-life. The gospel this week tells the story of yet another smart-alec trying to trick Jesus with an ethics-twister of a question and yet again Jesus turns it all around. The Sadducees asked Jesus a question about the after-life and the nature of family and judgement and power. I remember once when i had just finished a grave-side funeral service, being approached by a friend of the family who was concerned that the person who had died had not been a Christian and therefore would not be 'saved'. I was taken aback by the question and the timing, but answered her that i felt that if we take Jesus' teachings about the after-life, then his main teaching was that only God knows the nature of that space after death. Just like in today's gospel, he gives an answer that points us more towards mystery that clarity. On the occasions that Jesus does speak clearly about the afterlife he tells us stories like that of Lazarus and the rich man that focus on the tables being turned and on justice for the poor and merciful. Much of our modern teaching about life-after-death is more tradition than theology. Our funerals imply that their is a heaven where we will meet our lost loved-ones, but this is not the church's teaching. Strictly speaking, the traditional teaching of the church is that the faithful will be physically resurrected on the day of judgement. This is one of the reasons behind the Roman Catholic church's seemingly strange pronouncements against the scattering of ashes.
For myself, i am happy enough to stay with the mystery that Jesus implies, and to rest in the spirituality that acts from the certainty that 'nothing can separate us from the love of God.'
Rev Gordon Bannon

The heaven was opened

The opening of heaven,

by all accounts,

was not an every-day occurrence.

At Jesus' baptism, by John,

in the flowing waters of the Jordan,

this rare event,

(according to some ancient stories),

took place. On that occasion,

we are told, heaven's stately doors

swung wide on their ethereal hinges,

allowing the divine spirit to descend

and to mingle outrageously

with that which is human.

While the record may well be incomplete,

no mention is made

of their subsequent closure.

© Ken Rookes 2016

Abide in me.

                  

 

Do I want to live forever?

It’s not a priority.

My mind struggles with notions of heaven;

of existing somehow, conscious and individual,

beyond one’s allotted days

in this corporeal world.

Across earth’s stones and tracks I journey,

love, rejoice,

wonder and rage.

I breathe its red dust and taste its sorrow;

here I belong

and yet am never quite at home.

 

Perhaps I never shall be.

Striving, longing and hoping

I seek the company

of those who also yearn

and weep and groan.

My comrades are my abode,

my sisters and brothers are my home.

Perhaps this is what the gospel writer meant

when he spoke of abiding in Jesus,

earth-dweller, brother of us all,

and true child of heaven.

(Whatever that means).

 

 

© Ken Rookes 2015

In Paradise

In Paradise

I could never get much excited
by the notion of Paradise / heaven / the hereafter.
It sometimes seems to be a construct of the church,
attached to the teachings of Jesus
and distracting us from his command
to get on with the work of love.
At best, it is a bit-player,
thrust on to the centre-stage, to claim the spotlight.
There it assumes the role
of an all-controlling Master of Ceremonies
through whom ecclesiastical authorities,
popes, priests and everybody in-between,
direct the thinking and the behaviour of the masses.
If you want to get there, as opposed to the other place,
remember; we hold the keys!
It suited, too, the civil authorities
with its message of divinely ordered patience.
No need for revolution,
in Paradise you will receive your reward / recompense
for all the indignities, pains and brutalities
suffered during your earthly sojourn!
In Luke’s story of the passion
the word is placed upon the lips of the cross-suspended Jesus,
as he responds to the justice and compassion of a fellow criminal.
Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.
To die with Jesus;
perhaps this is the proper meaning of Paradise.

© Ken Rookes.

Things that have been written in heaven

Things that have been written in heaven,

the Platonists tell us,

become blueprints for the things

that happen upon earth.

Except that the earthly copies are fuzzy,

diminished and incomplete reflections;

the polished brass mirror

that the great apostle mentions in his letter.

Our names, says Jesus,

have also been written,

giving cause for rejoicing.

We picture them;

penned flowingly in indelible ink

upon the parchment pages

of some large, quarter-bound, cosmic journal.

Some say that it is a ledger,

a record that will be called into play

in the final summing-up

when we all will receive the just rewards

for the ways in which we have been stewards

of the wondrous gift called life.

Perhaps.

But what if the writings

do not constitute a book of accounts.

Maybe it is merely a simple list,

a sort of honour roll

that reverses the Platonic order.

A list, not ruled-off,

that blurrily registers in heaven

realities that are enacted upon earth.

A list to which names are continually added,

identifying humble and imperfect people,

like you and me;

uncertain disciples

making their hesitant and stumbling steps

towards a deeper truth,

and thereby entering into life.

© Ken Rookes 2013

In paradise

I could never get much excited by the notion
of Paradise / heaven / the hereafter.
It sometimes seems to be a construct of the church,
attached to the teachings of Jesus
and distracting us from his command
to get on with the work of love.
At best, it is a bit-player, thrust
on to the centre-stage, to claim the spotlight.
There it assumes the role
of an all-controlling Master of Ceremonies
through whom ecclesiastical authorities,
popes, priests and everybody in-between,
direct the thinking and the behaviour
of the masses. If you want to get there,
as opposed to the other place,
remember; we hold the keys!
It suited, too the civil authorities
with its message of divinely ordered patience.
No need for revolution, in Paradise
you will receive your reward / recompense
for all the indignities, pains and brutalities
suffered during your earthly sojourn!
In Luke’s story of the passion
the word is placed upon the lips
of the cross-suspended Jesus,
as he responds to the justice and compassion
of a fellow criminal. Truly I tell you,
today you will be with me in Paradise.
To die with Jesus; perhaps this
is the proper meaning of Paradise.

C Ken Rookes.

In my Father’s house

In our imaginations, limited

and blinkered by some of the stories

that we hold so precious;

we picture a heavenly hereafter,

and make literal the metaphorical mansion,

with its many rooms, that the Jesus

of John’s gospel tells us

he must leave his friends to prepare.

Extending the metaphor, Jesus the servant-king

becomes Jesus the housemaid;

this can hardly be his meaning.

Where, then, will we find his father’s house;

where can we be at home?

Here,

among the dust. Among the struggles,

among the doubting and the tears.

Here,

in the midst of the failures;

with the anxious and the fearful,

with those who wait.

Here,

where occasional gleamings

of resurrection light flicker almost forgotten

but stubbornly; where children of hope

whisper their words of freedom

and shout against the silence;

refusing to quietly go away.

Here,

where deeds of love and grace

continue to be wastefully enacted,

and strivings for justice and generosity

seek fulfilment in peace.

Here,

where unfashionable songs are sung,

uncertain paths are trod,

and the joy is defiant;

here is the dwelling place

with its many rooms.

Nowhere else.

© 2011 Ken Rookes

I try to post my poem early in the week. This means that I may well revisit it, and make some changes. For a more definitive version, check later in the week.

In Paradise

I could never get much excited by the notion

of Paradise / heaven / the hereafter.

It sometimes seems to be a construct of the church,

attached to the teachings of Jesus

and distracting us from his command

to get on with the work of love.

At best, it is a bit-player, thrust

on to the centre-stage, to claim the spotlight.

There it assumes the role

of an all-controlling Master of Ceremonies

through whom ecclesiastical authorities,

popes, priests and everybody in-between,

direct the thinking and the behaviour

of the masses. If you want to get there,

as opposed to the other place,

remember; we hold the keys!

It suited, too the civil authorities

with its message of divinely ordered patience.

No need for revolution, in Paradise

you will receive your reward / recompense

for all the indignities, pains and brutalities

suffered during your earthly sojourn!

In Luke’s story of the passion

the word is placed upon the lips

of the cross-suspended Jesus,

as he responds to the justice and compassion

of a fellow criminal. Truly I tell you,

today you will be with me in Paradise.

To die with Jesus; perhaps this

is the proper meaning of Paradise.

© Ken Rookes.