I Believe

I believe in God,
the mother, weeping,
wandering heaven and earth,
seeing but unseen.
I believe in all people,
her children,
begotten of her womb,
born of her blood,
one with her.
Through her our world is shaped,
our lives are made.
For our sake she wanders,
seeking the lost,
leading us home.
For our sake she suffers,
dies, and rises.
On the third day she stands,
still weeping for her children.
She ascends to heaven,
she returns to earth,
for she cannot abandon her own,
living or dead.
She breathes life:
her breath is life.
She seeks neither worship
nor glory,
only longing to be known
by her own.
She speaks through the trees,
through the birds and the sky.
She swims the ocean:
she is the ocean;
she is baptism;
She is life,
the life of the world,
yesterday, today
and for ever.
Amen.

Purpose Circus

Can there really be any sort of purpose
To this crazy game of trying to get around
Or are we just clowns performing in a circus,
Being laughed at by an audience we've not found?

I don't reckon there's a reason
I see no point in being around
No way do I believe in reason -
I'm just accepting what I've found:

People going 'round in endless circles
Lost and feeling all alone
Life's just one big endless circle
And you've got to get around it on your own...

Finding God

The God who was
is not the God who is:
that God is dead,
slaughtered
by the insanity
of humanity.

Where are you now, my God?
My God, my God...
The cry of a mother
who lost her child
My God, my God...
The cry of a child
who lost his mother
My God, my God...
The cry of a God crucified
who lost himself.

Where are you now, my God?
Is that your face I see
in a beer glass...
in the roots of a tree...
in me?

What kind of God are you?
A delusion? A dream?
A home I can run to
when the fire falls
and the bombs explode
and the bullets scream
and the blood flows
and my tears stream,
never ending,
down my face?

I fear, my God,
that I shall never find you
unless you first find me.

Holy Mother of the Mother of God

Thanks to my friend Seeker at SoulSpace for inspiring me to this...

---

"Mum, I've got a problem..."
"Oh no, what's Joe done this time?"
"It's not Joe, that's the problem."
"What's not Joe? Whatever are you twittering on about this time? Just give me a hand with these sheets, will you?"
"But Mum —"
"I'm listening, dear. Hold on tight to your end whilst I give it a shake."
"Mum —"
"Whatever's the matter, dear? Why are you crying?"
"Mum, I'm pregnant."
"I always thought Joe was a bit keen, dear, but —"
"Mum, it's not Joe's baby."
"Do you remember that film with Hugh Grant in it, dear?"
"Mum, Hugh Grant hasn't been born yet. They haven't invented films yet."
"Mother of God, child, will you just listen to your mother??"
"Mum, that's blasphemy!"
"This is a more immediate problem, my girl, so just you let your old mother think about it..."
"OK, but what about the film?"
"Oh yes, the one about the weddings and the funeral: do you remember the opening line?"
"Err..."
"Well that's us, girl. Does Joe know yet?"
"I'm scared, Mum. I don't want to lose him."
"You won't lose him, girl: he's totally besotted with you. So who's the father?"
"It's hard to explain..."
"No, dear, these things are very simple. It's biology: 1 + 1 = 3."
"I've got an idea, Mum."
"That's my girl: come on, out with it."
"If 1 + 1 = 3, that might explain something about God that's been puzzling me..."
"I thought you were worried about Joe?"
"Joe can wait: I think we're about to solve one of the most puzzling mysteries about the nature of God that's haunted humanity since the dawn of time."
"Time's the problem, girl. Thank God you came to me now and didn't wait until it started to show. Now finish folding that sheet and let me think some more."
"Mum, what you said a minute ago, 'Mother of God'..."
"A figure of speech, girl. What about it?"
"Well it's not a figure of speech anymore."
"You're talking riddles, girl. I asked you who the father is."
"Well there was, like, this angel —"
"Angel??"
" — and he said, well, OK, I forget his exact words, but it was, like, don't be afraid —"
"Standard opening line. These angels have got no imagination."
"You believe me?"
"Haven't lied to me before, girl, have you?"
"Err, there was that fib about —"
"Water under the bridge, girl. I think you'd better go stay with your Aunty Liz for a bit."
"But Mum, she's pregnant."
"She's a bit brighter than you, girl. At least she got married first. Now go pack your things and I'll sort your father out."
...

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