Conversations... with Dad: Reflecting on Love

Monday, December 12, 2016

Reflecting on Love

I’ve been sharing the this advent season with a community of Christian faith at the Ocean Heights Presbyterian Church. It’s been a wonderful, enlightening few weeks following the story of Hosea through scripture passages like the one below ...and guided through its telling in sermons by Blake Spencer---a truly gifted Christian leader. No, I’m not a Presbyterian...that’s a story for another day. But this passage, and this story is quite different from the one usually chosen by Christians for this time of the year. This is one of the reasons it has intrigued me...because it is so appropriate. Anyway I’m pairing it with Leonard Cohen...Steer Away...a song fitting for this third Sunday as we approach this season of giving...Hanukkah and Christmas... Stories of love..the gift of love...are important reminders for me of the true meaning of this season and this year when it seems so illusive. Remembering that love cannot truly be experienced without forgiveness is my constant learning.

Then God ordered me ”Start over. Love your wife again, your wife who has cheated. Love her the way I God, love the Israelite people, even as they flirt and party with every God that takes their fancy. “I did it. I paid good money to get her back. It cost me a steep price. Then i told her. “from now on your living with me. No more cheating. You’re living with me and I’m living with you.” The people of Israel are going to live a long time stripped of security and protection, without religion and comfort, godless and prayerless. But in time they’ll come back, these Israelites, come back looking for their God and their David-King. They’ll come back chastened to reverence before God and good gifts ready for the end of the story of his love. Hosea 3: 1-5

This song was first published as a poem in the New Yorker Magazine in June of 2016. It appears in his final album "You Want It Darker".

"Steer Your Way"

Steer your way past the ruins of the Altar and the Mall
Steer your way through the fables of Creation and The Fall
Steer your way past the Palaces that rise above the rot
Year by year, month by month, day by day
Thought by thought

Steer your heart past the Truth that you believed in yesterday
Such as Fundamental Goodness and the Wisdom of the Way
Steer your heart, precious heart, past the women whom you bought
Year by year, month by month, day by day
Thought by thought

Steer your way through the pain that is far more real than you
That's smashed the Cosmic Model, that blinded every view
And please don't make me go there, though there be a God or not
Year by year, month by month, day by day
Thought by thought

They whisper still, the injured stones
The blunted mountains weep
As he died to make men holy
Let us die to make things cheap
And say the Mea Culpa, which you probably forgot
Year by year, month by month, day by day
Thought by thought

Steer your way, O my heart, though I have no right to ask
To the one who was never, never equal to the task
Who knows he's been convicted, who knows he will be shot
Year by year, month by month, day by day
Thought by thought

They whisper still, the injured stones
The blunted mountains weep
As he died to make men holy
Let us die to make things cheap
And say the Mea Culpa, which you gradually forgot
Year by year, month by month, day by day
Thought by thought

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About this Blog

My father died in 2003, 6 months after my mother. After his death, one of the things I missed most was our conversations. So I started this blog. We would sit at the kitchen table or on the front porch and have these long, philosophical conversations about the state of everything. Then we would solve all of the world's problems over a cigarette and a cup of coffee. One of the warmest memories I have was of him sitting on the front porch talking to me while I painted around him. It was the beginning of summer and he was commenting on how he wished he could pick up a brush and help. He often would read something from the paper and then voice his righteous indignation. It would end with a "It's a damn shame!" or "They must think we're stupid." I miss that. I miss the bond we shared around joint perspectives. And I miss the knowledge that could only come from one seasoned with so many life experiences, especially now that I have come to the point in my life that I know the real important questions to ask. I am 60 years old, and came of age during the '60s. I'm a proud boomer. I remember when poets poeted

Writers wrote... Actors acted out, Painters created art from everything and anything that remained still long enough to be painted

and there was truly civil disobedience at the very thought of someone taking away any of our freedoms.

And the world began to shift... A little. Well, I took a rest. And it must have been a long rest. I feel like Rip Van Winkle. Anyway, by the time I REALLY woke up things were shifting back. Way back. And right now, I gotta say I'm feeling like it's gonna take more thin I got to turn this around. And my dad's not here to share my anger, to talk about our outrage, and to answer my questions. So here is where I can have the conversations I would have with him if he were still here and we could share a cigarette and a cup of coffee on his front porch.