The coming

         The sun will be darkened,
                  and the moon will not give its light,
         and the stars will be falling from heaven,

                  and the powers in the heavens will be shaken
                           —Mark 13.24-25

It sounds terrible and threatening,
but it's nothing new, is it,
this ancient vision of climate change
and power struggles.
Jesus says look at the tree:
you can see summer is coming—
but in this case you don't know when,
like someone coming home
at an odd hour unannounced.

We've painted this picture
with a touch of dread and panic, haven't we?
The end is coming and heads are going to roll.
But it's spring, not winter.
It's the homeowner, not a thief.

The end is already upon us, always has been:
our own self-destructiveness.
The interruption is not the calamity:
that's already in place.
The interruption is the Beloved,
who comes into our dissolution,
intervenes in our collective suicide,
re-directs our plunge toward oblivion,
and most shocking of all,
tenderly accompanies us
even through the worst of our withdrawal.

It's not the end; it's the clay being reshaped
by hands with a vision
for who we can be
before we are fired in the kiln
into durable vessels.

Give up your misgiving.
You've been given every gift to await the coming.
Welcome the it.
Watch for every moment
the unseen hands
lay themselves upon you.

   —November 30, 2017