I am not a good man. Nor am I wise. Or strong. But still, Don’t let me fizzle out... I have hated my neighbor. I have hated myself. I have hated the life that you gifted me. But still, Please don’t hate me... It’s a fool's prayer, I know, Adonai. But I’ve loved you since the day that you called my name. And I’ve feared that you would forget me Since the day after that. Adonai, The only home for a wanderer’s soul- Take me to water again. Adonai, The author of our guiding stars- Help me find dry land. I know that I shit in the sandbox And I know that I ate from the tree that was not mine- The one you warned me about... I have no defense Other than the promise That I’d exchange a ticket to heaven To hear you say: “That one is mine.”
From the Author
Grieving the Holy Spirit- from my upbringing and tradition, it is the only unforgivable sin. Made more terrifying that no matter who you ask, the things that determine this infraction of the Law are vague at best. I’ve seen my own faith swirl into disarray at my own questions regarding it.
I’ll be the first to admit of my life, that I’ve broken every law I’ve set for myself. Everything I have ever said I’d never ever do, I’ve found myself weak and gone done it.
Worst of all, from the beginning I had walked and talked with God. I felt as though someone like me ought to have lived a better life. One that was full of kindness, resolve, and rightness. But time and time again I fell short of my own expectations. I often felt like if the Holy Spirit were to look upon me, that said Spirit would indeed, grieve.
I’m not going to sit here and tell you that despite all of these things, I’m forgiven and my righteousness has been retained by my faith- I do not and have never believed that. One wouldn’t have to connive in any way to claim that I have left the fold of my own volition- left God.
But (and there’s always a “but”) despite all this, I have not yet felt like God has left me. I’m not sure if I know Him anymore- or if I ever knew Him- if “He” is really a “She” or is He or She is really a “They.” I just don’t know.
And that’s the point.
Reader- My dear acquaintance…
If God is who I think He is, then I don’t think He lives in a box
If God loves the way I think she loves, then I don’t think She wants us to live in a box either
If God judges the way that I think They judge, then I think that all of the seeds that They’d scattered with one day return, all together- no matter how long the resulting tree takes to replant.
This poem is my plea to God- that we might be worthy of replanting despite our unworthiness- despite our false humility- despite our most deplorable sins. That even this vine full of sickness would be treated, rehabilitated, and made to bear good fruit as intended.
Because to me, the unforgivable sin of grieving the Holy Spirit is when the seeds scattered are dashed upon rocks and ground into dust without hope…