Hello all! I hope you have had a blessed Holy Week and a very Happy Easter!
Just thought I would share something with my readers. Every year there is something that my particular seminary holds called the Perkins Spring Follies, in which we have a big comedy variety show. Hilarity ensues. This year, I managed to participate. I wrote and performed, with the lovely DeSay Judd, a beat poem. I would urge you to read it aloud to get the full effect. Sorry I don’t have a video, but the text was fun to write. Dig it.
The holy paraclete
Saw the state of the beat,
As she walked down the street,
Found a backseat
In the holy mother church, empty and neat
Cold as reinforced concrete
And she cried,
“I saw the greatest minds of my generation
Bored and confused with endless, pointless conversation
Long, useless sermons on transubstantiation,
Heated debates on eternal damnation,
And half-hearted attempts at adult volunteer registration
For the church volleyball tournament, ya dig?
You have lost the theological beat.
They yearn for jubilation,
And care not for the vagaries of justification,
Instead they seek holy liberation
Of all creation
To make a worthwhile oblation
And to find a healing station
In the midst of devastation!
They cry out, enough! The church has lost it’s cool.
The people will not be taken as a fool!
They’ve had enough of tasteless gruel,
And seek out a more nourishing fuel,
But the people asked, how are we supposed to make things more cool
If the theromostat’s broken?”
So the holy paraclete got to her feet and beat
To the seminary
Around the month of February,
And ran into a woman quite contrary
And asked a query
Of the woman named Mary
She said Ah! You must be the new student!
She cried that the timing was most prudent
For there was a meeting of professors in the building adjacent
And there was no time to be complacent
The application was filled, the paraclete’s academic career nascent
And she made the descent
Down the stairs, already noticing the abatement
Of hope for a compelling, theological beat.
She came up first to Professor Miles,
Who, upon sight of the spirit, ran down the aisles,
Arms all a-flailing, And then suddenly smiles
And sits in a pew, as they begin to wile
Away the hours in search of the cause of loss so vile,
The loss of the theological beat.
“I know who to blame!” She cried out starkly,
“The culprit of this loss is none other than the patriarchy!
Either that, or the notorious money grubbing fingers of the oligarchy…
Certainly it couldn’t be anything else, we did away with the monarchy
If only there was a holy womanly matriarchy!
Then we could dispel with the spiritual anarchy
That fills our churches with so much malarkey—
I’m sorry, I just had a thought, Have you seen the marquis
On sign outside the refectory?
We’re getting a dinner of turkey!
Disappointed, the holy paraclete walked on
For she would have preferred fried prawns
Or even a bon bon
And so she was drawn
To a rather debonair Don Juan
Named Hugo Magallan…es
In search of the theological beat.
“Whaaaat? Of Course!” He cried. “The problem is the society!
The context demands that the church needs more variety
To combat this anxiety
Of far too much propriety
And soulless sobriety
Which has earned its notoriety—
We need instead a multicultural piety!
That will end our naivety.”
Satisfied with the man’s energetic response
The paraclete searched for more academic ponce
But instead with this nonce
Found professor Abraham’s nonchalance
Worthy of probing and so she ensconced
Not wanting to miss this chance
To find the theological beat.
“Surely the problem is that we need a more analytic theology
We’ve fallen prey to functionally atheist epistemology
And so we need to claim a more comprehensive apology
To take on the slings and arrows of psychology
To take seriously the claims of biology
To look deep within our own neurology
To adapt with the advances of technology
But not beholden only to cultural anthropology
And be careful of our terminology
As we belt out about 45 doxologies.”
Given 3 different answers, the paraclete was confused
As on the various problems she mused
She found her own energy bruised
And decided that she herself remained unused
In answering the problem of which she was enthused
And came to the conclusion that the Spirit was what the church need to be infused
And So we search on down the religious street
Searching in hopes that our feet
Will stumble upon a poetic conceit
Which our yearning souls will find sweet
A reclamation of the theological beat.