Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Truth Be Told

By Jen Hunt
Inspired by meditating on Mark 8:22

He has spit and put mud
On my eyes
And now I am
On the spot

He asks, Do you see anything?
It seems like a simple yes or no question
I should just say yes
And leave it at that
For how can I admit
I see trees walking
In front of the ones who brought me
And begged for my healing?

Then again
How could he ask me here
In front of them
For if he’s God, surely he knows the answer
What kind of cruelty is this?
But all I see are trees walking
Truth be told

If I say I see trees where the people should be
It's plain as day
There's either something wrong
With me
Or with Jesus
Who would you believe?

Jesus has done miracles
That is without doubt
Many miracles
Or so I’ve heard
(Thankfully my ears, they work fine)
Usually all at once
Usually completely
No mud or spit required

The problem can’t be him...

So if I’m honest
About the little matter of the mobile trees
I’ll be back where I was
At the beginning
Only worse
Publicly certified to be
“Irretrievably Miracle-Proof”
A badge of distinction
I’d rather not wear
In these parts
Truth be told

On second thought
Maybe this is how people are supposed to look
Maybe everyone sees this way
And my eyes just haven't adjusted yet
Who can trust their perceptions anyway?
I think I’ll just say
I’m seeing great--
Great, I say!
Thanks, Jesus
This is swell
I could fool my friends
And maybe even me
For a time
Plus it would fit so much neater into the Good Book
With all the other go-and-tell-no-one’s
If this had just worked
Like it was supposed to

But truth is
I’m seeing trees

I’ll just say, Yes,
I see something, alright
And be done with this
Embarrassing mess of a miracle

Then again
He won’t be fooled
And I won’t see
Any better

Do I see anything, he says
Again, if he is God, why does he bother asking?

Jesus, don’t take this the wrong way
But would you be so kind as to--
Oh, I can’t even say it!
What if I am the only one so flawed
Even Jesus’ touch can’t fix me--
Now that’s defective--

I wouldn’t be surprised though
This really should have worked the first time
Shame on
How dare I even hint
He do this over?

Then again
What do I have
To lose?

The scene plays itself out
In my head
Like an movie projector
Turned inward:
Jesus would you be so kind as to ...
Try again
To not give up on me
Because I’d so like to see clearly
And my friends here were counting on it

Then he,
Marking my thoughts,
Puts his hands on my eyes
A second time
No apologies
No rebukes
Because that is what I needed to be whole
What I had sought to begin with
And what he always wanted to give

He’s powerful enough
To do anything right
First time
If I ever doubted it before
I cannot possibly now
So why the redo?
Why the installment plan miracle
For me

Perhaps fixing eyes
Wasn’t the only spectacle
On display
But also
Truth in the inner parts
Honest insight of myself
To myself
My God
And others
If I hadn’t dared to answer plainly
Right there
With Jesus
In front of all those who were
A bit impatient--I dare say, annoyed--at my bluntness
(Truth be told)
I might never have seen clearly
But only trees walking always
Sight not a gift, thereafter
But a curse haunting me
All the more

Sometimes with friends
Especially those awaiting some miracle
To be done in me
I want to tell them
What they want to hear
What fits their spin of the redemption story
Or worse
I want to tell Jesus
What I think he wants to hear
Rather than
What’s really going on inside
And how it all seems to me
Like it or not

But when I do
I remember
Him asking me
If I see anything
Him taking the time to ask
Him, believing, not rebuffing
And him showing messed-up, miracle-proof me
He has a few more tricks
Up his sleeve
Truth be told

Sometimes I still see trees walking
But because I’m risking and trying
And turning to him
There’s healing to be found
For my blind spots
Even yet

Friday, April 11, 2014

Thank You Limerick

by Jen Hunt, from the archives
Written to thank a wonderful father-in-law, who loved limericks, for taking his entire clan to Europe(England, France and the Isle of Jersey) for his 65th birthday

There once was a Brit lad named Alan
Who possessed a remarkable talent
For lim’ricks, rock-skipping
And low-water fishing
With grandsons in tow he looked valiant

Two relations who traveled together
Had names differing just in one letter
On the plane the crew claimed
They were one and the same
So they shared a seat and a large sweater.

There once was a generous gent
Who gave his kids 5,000 pence
And a UK jet ride
For his sixty-fifth’s pride
His renown for the act was immense.

Customized Beatitude

I thoroughly enjoyed the Biblical Imagination seminar I went to recently. We ended the time each taking half an hour to write our own Beatitude based on Matthew 5:1-12. This was what I wrote(modified since then):

Blessed are those who are nobodies at home, for they shall know the favor of God.
Blessed are those who have lost good dreams, for they shall find God wasn't lost with them.
Blessed are those with stale souls and empty pockets, for they shall learn, “That’ll do”.
Blessed are the whittled-down bruised-brains, for they shall have the mind of Christ.
Blessed are those who want something Apple doesn’t sell, for they shall receive something that needs no upgrades.
Blessed are the abused who let God do the score-settling, for they will be healed inside.
Blessed are the worthlesses who ask for help anyway, for they will taste true delight.
Blessed are the apology-champs, for who they resemble is plain to all.
Blessed are you when you are misunderstood, marginalized or manhandled for me. Rejoice and be glad for something better is on the way.

Friday, April 4, 2014


by Jen Hunt, from the archives

Jesus, if it weren’t for my nagging wife
my ninety-six minute commute
my hair loss
my loss of nerve
the new car payments
the cold coffee
the sins of my past
the late-night TV
the K-mart specials
the tight elastic of my underwear
this cold which never seems to go away
and the comfort of inertia

I’d have tried you by now