Liturgy is where we publicly explore the multi-faceted and creative faith expressions of worship within the PAAC community. Here, we will have everything from theological musings and visual/mixed-media artist reflections, to poetry and fiction stories to ponder, dream, and reimagine how we can communally respond to the world around us.
i searched for you
held my breath
dreamt of you
your crown broken
flesh torn open eaten
by your friends
always there was blood
all over my hands
I thought I knew you sufficiently well enough
Then I thought I’d outgrown you
As the corset of the church got too constricting
So I denied you altogether
But that was also presumptuous of me
For how can I ever land on one side of a debate as old as history
“Let’s go worship at church.”
It’s funny how this phrase has two completely different meanings depending on which community I’m in. Uttered in my bible study group it refers to sitting in rows singing praise songs in a converted office building on a Sunday morning. Uttered in my gay dodgeball team (we’re called the Deep Throwers) it refers to dancing to pop and dance music Saturday night on the crowded dance floor at Saloon, a local gay bar downtown.
I would imagine at the Last Supper, it was more like a teddy bear.
Here, take this comfort item. There’s a scary scene coming up in the movie.
But I wasn’t at the Last Supper or the crucifixion, so the Eucharist is more like Maglalatik for me. For those who’ve never seen the Filipino coconut dance, it’s a fun one. Dancers strap coconut shells to their bodies and hold more coconut shells in their hands. They tap them together, click, click. They tap their own bodies, each other’s bodies. They bounce in different group formations and leap frog over each other. The music is light. Maglalatik is performed at big group gatherings, so picture yourself watching it while surrounded by your extended family and community.
I have a two-year-old son who is new to the ways of the world. He is a voracious eater and a passionate lover of “boo-booberries,” “stwawberries,” and “’nanas”. When he sits down to eat and we may be busy in the kitchen, he’ll demand, “Mommy, eat! Daddy, eat!” And when we sit down, he’ll hand us some of his treasured fruit. Much to the chagrin of my partner, I joked one day, “Son, don’t you know that if you give us some, it means less for yourself?” He had no idea what I meant, but unconcerned with the economy of selfishness, continued to place a blueberry in front of me.
One of the truest things I have come to know through my craft is that we parents, in the most mundane things, in the way we dress our children, and the way we make them food full of nutrition (or not, as is the case sometimes in our home), we are putting our love for our loved ones into tangible, physical objects.
we reflect on sacred within the profane, profane within the sacred this week.
There may be moments and seasons in life where we walk alone, because let’s face it, there are some portions of the journey where we ourselves are the only ones who have been tasked to navigate.
I am planting a thousand seeds in my garden/Rows and rows of plants incubating and burrowing their roots deep intoBrooklyn soil as the winter chill wanes into an April spring
Dust with so much potential,
beautiful and impenetrable as diamond,