Well
It is barbaric.
A hum drowning out the chattering lakeshore.
Unwanted penetration and a mechanized din.
A tower shining like a false moon through the trees we planted.
God, whose Son was stripped and savaged,
Feels the lash in a piney corner of nowhere.
Clean
Surely God cannot be found out here.
The eternal only appears
In suitably holy quarters,
In bone-white spaces
Free of imperfection.
The crystal must sparkle
And the silver dazzle.
Every inch must befit the heavenly.
And yet we proclaim the opposite,
Finding God in a rude form
Among the denigrated.
Flesh encases God,
Aches for God,
Touches God.
In Jesus,
The flesh of God
Meets flesh
In all its states.
God did not come to dwell,
Nor should God be sought,
In places and people
Scrubbed clean.
Reese LeBlanc holds a Master of Theological Studies from Lipscomb University and is currently pursuing a Master of Theology at Vanderbilt Divinity School. Reese’s foci include eschatology, Native Christianity, and the contemplative tradition. A student of quietude and stillness, Reese hopes to further the renewal of Christian silence.
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