July 16: George Burns, Jericho Brown, "The Burning Bush"

I wish that God sort of worked the way He did in Biblical times.  (Okay, not like in Sodom and Gomorrah, burn everything to the ground.  More like, an angel shows up at your door for supper every once in a while.)  Life would be so much easier if God made His will a little more apparent.

Now, I know that we have the Bible.  Everything we need to know is contained in its pages.  But wouldn't it be cool if God made an appearance every once in a while, like he did for Moses on top of Mount Horeb?  Heck, I'd even be happy if He showed up like George Burns every once in a while, smoking a stogie and making bad jokes, like in Oh, God!  I want God to come right out and tell me the purpose of my life. 

It doesn't have to be anything as showy as a burning bush.  It could be a simple Tweet, with a hashtag like "#IAM."  I know things weren't simple or easy in ancient Israel.  There are way too many crucifixions for me to believe that.  But God used to make a few more personal appearances than He does nowadays. 

I'm not complaining, because I don't want to be struck by lightning or leprosy.  I simply want a map, telling me what my next move is.  Should I look for a full-time job at another university?  Or should I concentrate on writing a new book?  If Donald Trump gets elected as President of the United States, should I move to Canada?

Those are Saint Marty's burning questions.  Now, where's the burning bush?

The Burning Bush

by:  Jericho Brown

Lizard’s shade turned torch, what thorns I bore
Nomadic shepherds clipped. Still,
I’ve stood, a soldier listening for the word,
Attack, a prophet praying any ember be spoken
Through me in this desert full of fugitives.
Now, I have a voice. Entered, I am lit. 
Remember me for this sprouting fire,
For the lash of flaming tongues that lick
But do not swallow my leaves, my flimsy
Branches. No ash behind, I burn to bloom. 
I am not consumed. I am not consumed.

Hello, God.  It's me, Saint Marty.