new wine is here, new life is come. be
found, o wedding of cana, in me and
be found in us.

a new time is here, new life is come. be
found, o wine of yeshua, in me and
be found in us.

feel the grapes of favor beneath your
feet, may we not contain the life with-
in. may it flow into the gutters of her
street: she who is homeless and with-
need.

feel the grapes of wrath beneath your
feet, you who are hung over from self-
righteousness. may we sober up only to
see clearly the wine we so desperately-
need.

new wine is here, new life is come. be
found, o feet, stained with the evidence
of nights in the press,

a new time is here, new life is come. be
found, o body, numbered among the best
of those who transgress,

behold, drunkards are thirsty for life and
prostitutes long to be wined and dined and
the bride has been avoiding the vineyard and
we are altogether in need of being together again.

(c)  justin p. heap, 2010

+

this is the fourth in the ‘kingdom confessions series’, where i, ii, and iii can be found there.

also, presently compiling and writing poems, essays, and other collections of words to be used in a self-published book – more for an historical account than anything else…but hey, you got to start somewhere!

anyways, here’s to drinking real wine and being found knee-deep in the winepress in the middle of the vineyard! cheers!

Q/ so what wine do you drink, anyway?

There is no other option, comes the reply,
so it is when we judge with our eyes.
Filled with the measure we’ve sown
selling all to buy into the lie:

Love always trusts, never does it fail,
except this once, damn it to hell.

And this the tomb, our grave hebetude,
when we align our minds with false truth.

—
this poem finds it’s weight in an endless amount of conversations and experiences. some are my own conversations, some from others, some were forward moving, others were negatively charged and rooted in fear…but it really seeks to explore a question we usually choose to avoid: what becomes of us when we align our minds with false truth and live in a place and a time where sin abounds? what becomes of a people when they choose to believe the “exceptions” rather than the “promises”?

does (true) love never fail…except when we think we’ve run out of options? is GOD the redeemer of all things…except that one thing? and so on and so on.

Light gives warmth;
all the more, light
which gives itself to the dark

but light is
notorious
also, for exposing us(

that’s what the
aurora is,
charred particles escaping.
but is this
not the hope of
sons and daughters everywhere?

)everywhere
cold hearts finding
life in the very light they
they fear. And,
growing warm, sing
to the dark from which they came.

(c) 2010 Justin P. Heap

–

but we so often want to retreat; and inevitably, we forget that we are not meant to retreat, to shrink back, to erect gates, to create ghettos.

what a ghetto we’ve created, what a savior we have!

may we abandon the ghettos we’ve created in lieu of the church: may we once again re-plant ourselves in the garden, which is the world. may we re-member ourselves to each other through the breath which binds and the wind which bends all things. may we gather our dress from around our feet and place the flowers in our hair again. maybe we could sing to the dark from which we came, for behold, the world is dark, and light is precious.*

but not without forgiveness. withholding forgiveness creates space between our limbs; indeed, it creates space between the members. it disfigures the body and makes ugly what is meant to be beautiful. forgiving as GOD forgives reveals the seal of our heart and breaks our pride. it places us within the skin of the other. and in this place, the skin of the other, we have eliminated the space in between which disfigures and have become compassion which restores and re-figures.

Q/ what steps will you take/have you taken to leave the ghetto? what are some ways your local community is living into redemption by forgiving others? and what has been your experience of “getting into the skin of the other person” that you may be compassion, singing into the dark?

*kate dicamillo

+

“With God all things are possible”—
that’s the beginning and the end
of theology. If all things are possible,
nothing is impossible.
Why do the godly then
keep slinging out their nooses?

–

here’s a call to the church: a call through the streets of the kingdom: to return again to a small theology of our great god, YHWH.

if more of us within the church and this great kingdom would put down the stones and quit slinging out our nooses, what a kingdom we would be! if we could find the courage to trust this small theology, perhaps more people could trust us…and come to trust yeshua himself.

and i recognize, it’s not because i am perfect that i proclaim this message: it’s precisely because i am not. in the words of aaron gillespie,

i’ve been / dirtier / than you / want to know

my only hope in this life rests on the one who comes to me in my brokenness, kneels to meet me in the dirt, looks into my eyes, and promises that all things are possible: restoration, redemption, and resurrection: forgiveness, fellowship, and freedom: grace, mercy, and love.

[selah]

few poets can move so quickly and with such grace as wendell berry.

i was first introduced to berry as a sophomore at cornerstone university – my philosophy prof was a big fan; even taking a week off from school to drive to kentucky, meet with the farmer-poet-teacher, turn back to grand rapids and learn us in the ways of ole wendell!

anyways. if you have a pulse and at least a sliver of a piece of a tiny shred of a desire to learn from those who have and are still going before us, then you need to invest some time in becoming acquainted with wendell berry.

i leave you now with berry’s thoughts on church leadership given by way of a brilliant analogy: that of a farm and a farmer.

When one buys the farm and moves there to live, something different begins. Thoughts begin to be translated into acts…. It invariably turns out, I think, that one’s first vision of one’s place was to some extent an imposition on it. But if one’s sight is clear and one stays on and works well, one’s love gradually responds to the place as it really is, and one’s visions gradually image possibilities that are really in it…. Two human possibilities of the highest order thus come within reach: what one wants can become the same as what one has, and one’s knowledge can cause respect for what one knows. … The good worker will not suppose that good work can be made properly answerable to haste, urgency, or even emergency…. Seen in this way, questions about farming become inseparable from questions about propriety of scale. A farm can be too big for a farmer to husband properly or pay proper attention to. Distraction is inimical to correct discipline, and enough time is beyond reach of anyone who has too much to do. But we must go farther and see that propriety of scale is invariably associated with propriety of another kind: an understanding and acceptance of the human place in the order of Creation–a proper humility…. It is the properly humbled mind in its proper place that sees truly, because–to give only one reason–it sees details.

is anyone else familiar with wendell berry? and what are some practical ways that we, as the body of the son of man, can “quit slinging out our nooses?” as we declare with a cry of victory: “all things are possible.”? how do we get to that place of “proper humility” that we may see truly and see the details?

–

despite my unbelief, i believe that who i am is a son of the only living god & king, YHWH [blessed be his name]. a son of the resurrection. a son of the wind which bends all things.

in patience,

.

with all the light the sun has to offer

and with all the rain the cloud has to bring

.

that we may become an offering

of patience

.

from death we grow underfoot of soil

so bring your march with all your plight!

and bring your chaos and floods of hate!

and bring your reign you crowds of might!

but only watch and simply wait.

from death you will rise, the hope of our toil!

.

with all the light the sun had to offer

and with all the rain the cloud had to bring

.

so you might be loved, and often sing

of patience

(c) 2010 Justin P Heap

–

Then said he, Unto what is the kingdom of God like? and whereunto shall I resemble it?
It is like a grain of mustard seed, which a man took, and cast into his garden…

leaves stir a silence.

my heart waits to see and know.

the songbird breaks forth.

–

december, cold-grey

in your eyes a soul, alive

peace, be with you, love

–

and beauty arrives

i check the clock, again and

again i say, when?

–

PRAYER OF WONDER

GOD, what have you been up to?

–

in case it’s been a while since you’ve brushed up on your haiku lessons (plural form: haiku), just remember that it is an ancient japanese form of poetry consisting of three lines set to the 5,7,5 meter – usually, but not always – tied to a theme of creation/nature…i wrote these three haiku over the last couple of months, breathing in the brisk morning air and praying for olivia (whose name is intimately bound up with an idea of ‘peace’.)

the second poem is, if you didn’t already notice, very brief and whimsical – but brutally honest and true. i can’t wait to find out ‘what he’s been up to’ – with olivia and the rest of life: GOD is the great gift giver as well as the redeemer: there is no telling what new and perfect gifts GOD is going to speak into existence.

i had been meditating all that morning about the name, imanu’el: from the hebrew, ‘el’ meaning ‘god’ and ‘immanu’ meaning ‘with us’.

the implications of this name are immense and comic*; like grace, it changes everything. this name should penetrate our speech as much as our hearts. for example, it remains an odd prayer to “invite GOD into this place” if he is, in reality, imanu’el: god with us. i am not being nit-picky, i am continually being convinced: he is imanu’el. el’ohim becomes imanu’el. oh, i get chills every time!

[selah]

now. while thinking about this whole very simple, but very fertile and pregnant word, i came to a red light. in the midst of these projects. and there, appropriately on the corner, stood a rainwashed church building. the sign on the front without originality, “Real People”.

next to the old structure, a far more important place existed: an alley, with potholes for pitfalls waiting to be filled with the hells** of this world.

the woman, somebody’s baby girl, was leaning against that brick wall as if she were climbing into her coffin. fish nets covering her legs with a skirt not far behind. mascara, or dirt, i don’t know which. her hands trembling. eyes that were closed, probably for ages now.

the light turned green and i felt the blood rush back into my hands, gripped on the steering wheel. as i pulled away, i noticed the tourniquet at her feet.

for a month solid i have thought, at some point or another, about that woman. and that church building. and the gracious scar of an image GOD gave me.

now, here we are celebrating advent. from the greek, παρουσια or parousia, ‘para’ meaning ‘beside’ and ‘ousia’ meaning ‘substance’. it was also anciently used of royalty coming to visit the home of the citizens. it is used in the contemporary sense to speak of both the first coming of the messiah and the second coming of the messiah, which we now eagerly await.

and. i love the wordplay and mystery with which YHWH continually surrounds us. he is GOD with us. yet we wait for him to return. yeshua is revealed and being revealed.

but. i am saddened at that image, that parable, that desperately wicked scene: a woman in need of hope and life only a few feet from the church: a woman in need of thirst only a few feet from a well: and the people with the buckets just walk on by. may it not become us. no, not out of judgementalism against that church, for i don’t know enough of that church’s story! but, may it not be us because it just should not be!

so. that’s the back story to this poem, entitled “parousia imanu’el prostitute”:

elohim, elohim,

but not with her

in the alley, shooting cocaine

tears rolling sweet as sugarcane

she can hear the church bells ring

living a stone’s throw from mercy street

seven days, she hears them sing

elohim, elohim!

the advent of death is what she lives for

with a crown of royal upon her head

but who will open the door and cry

with this prostitute, who, or when?

elohim, elohim,

but not with her

see! we hide behind pulpits and eyes

they become our gates

which are found not in the kingdom of zion

but in kingdoms of hate

are we not the body

the once addicted and broken?

are we not the body

now the manifestation of holy?

are we not the body

to be love seen?

are we not the body

the body of elohim?

(c) 2009 justin heap

–

*comic: used here in the classical sense. tragedy is the inevitable and comedy is the unforseeable (frederick buechner). it is divine comedy that the GOD of heaven should become flesh: it was unforseeable and beautifully comic.

**hells: speaking of those places absent of the immediate and tangible influence of heaven and truth. the kingdom of heaven is always meant to be bringing the kingdom of heaven into the the hells of this world. we see this when rescue comes to a child in need or when justice befalls a sex-trafficking ring, etc.

–

despite my unbelief, i believe that who i am is a son of the only living god & king, YHWH [blessed be his name]. a son of the resurrection. a son of the wind which bends all things.

(c) 2009 justin p heap

and ages go

but every last king

will know the everlasting

-

(c)2009