Be Bless

By Jen Hunt in honor of Lashawnda Mccarty, on her graduation from an associate's degree in Human Services from Rasmussen

When Lashawnda writes
The phrase “Be Bless”--
If I confess,
A teeny tiny part of me
May want to change the tense

But what if it’s not
An adjective amiss
A benediction or
Appeal to quaintness
But a charge, or rather
Two, paired in one truth?
Number one: Be
Number two: Bless

How to describe a woman who
Glows from within,
Who never expires
No matter the wind?

A burning bush
Isn’t noted for what it destroys
Or ash left behind
But for light without soot
From an endless fuel

How does she do it?
Be. Bless.
First she “be”-s
Then she blesses
Two verbs, yet
One precedes

A burning bush needn't go anywhere
It can stay
That’s one way to glow
Stay still
Or

Move--
That works, too
For that, there's
God on the Go
Fire, then
Cloud, then
Fire some more
Whatever the need
God’s there, core and skin

No, the burning bush isn’t remembered
For ash left behind
But for energy sure
That never expires

In truth, the burning bush cannot be
Remembered
It just is
Because Jehovah is
The I Am Who I Am

Lashawnda--
Whether she stays
Or goes--
Carries that same fire inside
Ever-strong, solid and
Fueled from within
She. Just. Is.
So,

Be Bless
My cherished friend
Enjoy the ride!

Jesus’ Truly,
Jen

Playground

By Jen Hunt, after thinking about sex abuse and gender issues confronting the church today

Maybe she gets to come up a bit
Maybe he’s got to come down
Maybe she got knocked up a bit
Maybe he gets knocked down
Somehow we’re back on the old playground
When will we ever learn
Jesus came to make straight the paths
Valleys and hills both burn
Oh
His and hers, Venus, Mars
Nothing comes of it
Whole earth’s striving way too hard
But the Son’s the center of it
See-Saw’s only fun to play
When both sides go both ways
Else I’m here, you’re there
Miles apart ‘n’
Here we sit ‘til the light of day
The Fulcrum, it cuts to the heart
When we’ve got a lot to say
Better get ears unplugged and heels undug
If there’s gonna be a better way
Oh
Maybe he gets to come up a bit
Maybe she’s got to come down
Maybe he got knocked up a bit
Maybe she gets knocked down
Somehow we’re back on the old playground
When will we ever learn
Jesus came to make straight the paths
Valleys and hills both burn
Oh
Pride and love can’t occupy
The same place so it’s been said
His Spirit comes to sons and daughters
Black, White, Brown and Red
Oh
His and hers, Venus, Mars
Nothing comes of it
Whole earth wants to be a star
But the Son’s the center of it
See-Saw’s only fun to play
When both sides go both ways
Jesus came to make straight the paths
Valleys and hills both burn
Somehow we’re back on the old playground
When will we ever learn

July 4, 2018 Haiku

A 26th Anniversary poem
by Jen Hunt

Fireworks and fireflies
Beacons, big and small applaud
Our hard won union

Judah, Here I’ll Stand

By Jen Hunt
After reading the chapter on Tamar in Vindicating the Vixens, along with Martin Luther, A Spiritual Biography.

Judah
How he took me for a ride
Judah of the Lion’s pride
Took me from my father’s yard
Wed me, cruel and hard
To his first, who died as evil men go
But there did not end my woe

Gave me to his brother next
Used, from every blessing kept
Seed spilled, hope spilled
He died too
Still my sorrows were not through

Blamed for deaths I didn’t cause
Kept from common decency’s laws
Shelved, sent homeward, long alone
Hollow-promised the youngest one
Left to wither
Left to rot
Left, without a child or plot

Years until I understood
This is a promise
He’ll never make good

Now I hear his wife has died
How poetically fate’s applied
Off to sheer sheep with the guys
If I know him well, those shifty eyes

See him there
Spying the telltale veil
Smelling the spices
Starting to fail
Widow’s gown off,
Here I’ll stand
Till propositioned
By the weak-willed man.
Doesn’t even see it’s me
How buzzed or callous can he be?
He screwed me thrice
I’ll screw him o’re
Though nothing could ever settle the score

Now I have him, table’s turned
Stole my life, now mine returns
As pledge I clasp
His staff, ring, cord,
Not taking chances anymore
Goes as stealth'ly as he came
Yet in my hands the Lion’s mane

Widow’s garb back
Just wait and see
What this John’ll do to me

When they find
I’m expecting
Just as expected
The two-faced father
Of my two sons
Orders my doom
Why his one word can kill us three
Seems patriarchy’s worst to me
One question proves his contribution to my womb:
Tell me, whose
This ring and staff?

Judah, humbled
Owns his part
Calls me righteous
Gains fresh start
Fesses up to his pretense,
And is restored to Joseph one scene hence

True, I’m spared and double-blessed
One child for each husband laid to rest--
But my reputation’s been
Side-swept

Perez broke out; Zerah next
Even I broke out,
--If not my sex--

Judah, he got out quite nicely
No one thinks of his sin twice, he’s
Touted as the tribe of God
While I remain a maligned broad
Time my name got redressed
Tamar, the Righteous, says it best

That you don’t see my true reflection
Is the mess we women are still pressed in

If Judah’s commendation be not enough
Nor Ruth and Boaz’s blessing
This then is my highest prize:
Here I stand
Within His Word
And within His tree.
What have been gi'en for Judah’s shaft?
Christ’s genealogy
The final laugh

Tamar, the Righteous

By Jen Hunt, after reading Vindicating the Vixens

Tamar
The Prostitute

How Judah-like
I’ve death-knelled

You, wed you
To your shame

Tamar, perhaps as all women,
Through guile
And childbirth
Saved

Some knowledge damns like
Staff and cord

That Judah calls you
Right, not he, hurts

My head and pet
Philosophies

Same, your seat
In God’s genealogy

The measure used
Measures against, so

Tamar, much-crossed
Tamar, much-blessed

I lay your sins
And mine--
To rest

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary

By Jen Hunt
After reading the chapter on Mary Magdalen from "Vindicating the Vixens"

Mary, Mary, quite contrary
To what I had been told
You were not a minor player
On the outskirts of God's fold

Nor were you the foot-anointer
Or the sister of one raised
A sleazy woman of the night
Or the mom of John and James
(Though these and countless others
Have at one time shared your name)

Mary, Mary burdened
By an inner devilish throng
Perhaps you knew depression
Or sickness deep and long

Once seven demons lighter
Your soul could not forget--
Fully freed and fortuned
Firmly in the Healer's debt

Mary, Mary Patron
From Magdalen, rich fishing center
Well-off enough to fund Christ
And the Twelve together

Mary, Mary Student
Front-row hearer of Christ’s words
How singularly even
Were his seminary floors!

You who followed after Jesus
I’ll sit a spell by you to learn
What it is to lighten, to give freely
And to yearn

Mary, Mary Witness
As Jesus breathed his last
Heard him cry Eloi!
Earth shaking, stood fast

Mary, Mary Worshipper
Brought spices rare and sweet
Dialogued with angels
Clasped God’s resurrected feet

Mary, Mary Sent One
First to see the risen Lord
Called to tell the others
Yet offhandedly ignored

How often blurred, your visage
Since Pope Gregory's time
One mis-stroke after another
Muddying the lines

You who once thought Christ a gardener
Surely will forgive
The poor portrait some have painted
Of the life you really lived

Apostle to the apostles
Too often pigeonholed
Mary, Mary Magdalen
My new mentor from of old

Family

Haiku written after visiting the art museum on our Kansas City, MO vacation, April, 2016

Four different winds
Drawing us heavenward
Sand and soothe with time