Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
A Cup of Coffee Not to Go
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Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
Grandmama’s Methodist Bible
“For all find what they truly seek”
-Aslan in C. S. Lewis’ The Last Battle
The well-worn Bible my Methodist grandmother loved
Sunday school pictures of Jesus, brave and kind
Chaplains who suffered with us in Viet-Nam
Prison pastors who bring Light into the dark
The ministers and faithful in contested streets
The priest who blessed my mother as she died
Those sturdy Baptist friends who bless my days
The Glorious Mysteries in the Rosary of being
I love The Story in word and prayer and song -
But those who force a Reichskirche upon us
are wrong
Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
Darwinianism Stalks the Suburbs
God
giveth the earth the good green grass to grow
An
unceasing samsara of life and death
Catalogues
of life in their millions of forms
Work
out their mandalas of being in that sea
Winds
weave waving forests of tender blades
Chlorophyll
makes magic from water and light
The
apex predator is the lowly bacterium
Humbling
at last great glorious carnivores
And
there the eternal cycles of seed and sower
Are shredded
on Saturdays by a suburban lawn mower
Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
A Child Asked me a Reasonable Question about God
A child -
She asked of me
One day, you see
A question wise
For one her size
It wasn’t odd:
“I believe in God
But then does He
Believe in me?
Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
Because
They are Young
For Those Who Have Lost
Children
The good die young, our blessed children,
our hope
Fresh to this world
they wanted so much to explore
They wanted to explore
everything – earth, air
Words, water, sky,
ideas, music, art, love
All the joys of being;
all Creation is their stupa
And they fly the
eternal pradakshina
In fulfillment, enlightenment,
and joy
Infinitely far, and
yet still close to us
We are less because
they have gone ahead
Along the happy pilgrimage
of faith
But they are more,
and they celebrate us too:
They love us and wait
for us along the Way
The good die young, and because they are
so good
We must strive to be worthy of them
Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
Where is Herod’s Father?
…lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children,
and would not be comforted, because they are not.
-Saint Matthew 2:16-18
The Herod of today squats alone in his room
Alone, devoid of parenting or purpose
Feverishly feeling sorry for himself
His only friend is his Precious, his glowing screen
(And where is his father?)
He scribbles screaming screeds and manifestos
And draws cool pictures of army guns ‘n’ stuff
Mommy lets him do whatever he wants
Maybe another weapon will calm him down
(But where is his father?)
He counts the children in the village school
He draws a floor plan of the village church
He clutches his he-man tough guy army gear
He sends his sulkings through the GossipNet
(Oh, where is his father?)
A naked AR fantasy hangs on his wall
He takes him down, he wants to fondle him
He feels, he doesn’t think, he feels, he feels –
Maybe Moloch wasn’t such a bad guy after all
(Now where is Herod’s father?)
Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
An Hour in Which Nothing Much Happened
The country talked quiet;
one human voice could drown it out…
Lonesome Dove, p. 26
No
real mission; I just wanted a walk
Along
the road, with work gloves and loppers in hand
Through
the wavery heat on a late-summer day
To clear
some windfall blocking much of the lane
Butterflies
danced among bright yellow flowers
Mourning
doves murmured in the underbrush
Wrens
and buntings and sparrows up in the pines
A little
snake wriggled for cover and shade
Their
beauty and silence – those were their talk
No
real mission; I just wanted a walk
