InHo Kim – My Faithful Journey

Life Stills of a Korean-American Man/Husband/Father/Pastor

A Divine Box Of Our Own Creation

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About two weeks ago, I was directed to a poem written by a singer /song writer/ humanitarian/ guitar and performer extraordinaire David Lamotte. I have always admired his passions and the clarity with which he speaks in his prose and in his songs. So when I read his poem, “White Flour”, I felt as if I had been transported to that moment as part of the crowd cheering on the clowns. I don’t remember hearing about this event in the news two years ago, but it should have made headlines on all of the major networks. Here is the link to a short article describing the event.

As I pondered the gospel passage last week, the feeding of the 5,000 in the 6th chapter of John, the verse that hit me was 14 and 15 when the crowd after experiencing such a miracle want to name Jesus only as prophet and King. Instead of experiencing Jesus in all of his fullness, they want to see, experience and name Jesus as they saw fit. If we take this to the extreme, we have groups such as the KKK and the like. Just perusing their website, they describe themselves as a Christian organization.They see God as they want to see God. They read scripture as they want to understand God’s Word.

And I wonder how many of us, though we may not be as extreme, do the exact same thing. How many Christians feel as if they know God oh so fully? How many Christians feel as if God is for them and not for others? How many Christians are caught up on patriotism, anthropocentrism, racism, sexism and homophobism, just to name a few?

This past week, I experienced the poem “White Flour” not only as as way to fight extremism positively and without hatred, but how easily laughable we become when we put God in a box of our own creation.

Here is the poem, White Flour by David Lamotte:

The day was bright and sunny as most May days tend to be
In the hills of Appalachia down in Knoxville, Tennessee
A dozen men put on their suits and quickly took their places
In white robes and those tall and pointed hoods that hid their faces
Their feet all fell in rhythm as they started their parade
They raised their fists into the air, they bellowed and they brayed
They loved to stir the people up, they loved when they were taunted
They didn’t mind the anger, that’s precisely what they wanted

As they came around the corner, sure enough, the people roared
They couldn’t quite believe their ears, it seemed to be… support!
Had Knoxville finally seen the light, were people coming ‘round?
The men thought for a moment that they’d found their kind of town
But then they turned their eyes to where the cheering had its source
As one their faces soured as they saw the mighty force
The crowd had painted faces, and some had tacky clothes
Their hair and hats outrageous, each had a red foam nose

The clowns had come in numbers to enjoy the grand parade
They danced and laughed that other clowns had come to town that day
And then the marchers shouted, and the clowns all strained to hear
Each one tuned in intently with a gloved hand to an ear
“White power!” screamed the marchers, and they raised their fisted hands
The clowns leaned in and listened like they couldn’t understand
Then one held up his finger and helped all the others see
The point of all this yelling, and they joined right in with glee

“White flour!” they all shouted and they felt inside their clothes
They pulled out bags and tore them and huge clouds of powder rose
They poured it on each other and they threw it in the air
It got all over baggy clothes and multi-colored hair
All but just a few of them were joining in the jokes
You could almost see the marchers turning red beneath white cloaks
They wanted to look scary, they wanted to look tough
One rushed right at the clowns in rage, and was hauled away in cuffs

But the others chanted louder marching on around the bend
The clowns all marched on too, of course, supporting their new friends
“White power!” came the marchers’ cry — they were not amused
The clowns grew still and thoughtful; perhaps they’d been confused
They huddled and consulted, this bright and silly crowd
They listened quite intently, then one said “I’ve got it now!”
“White flowers!” screamed the happy clown and all the rest joined in
The air was filled with flowers, and they laughed and danced again

“Everyone loves flowers, and white’s a pretty sort
I can’t think of a better cause for marchers to support!”
Green flower stems went flying like small arrows from bad archers
White petals covered everything, including the mad marchers
And then a very tall clown called the others to attention
He choked down all his chuckles, then said “Friends I have to mention
That with all the mirth and fun today it’s sort of hard to hear
But now I know the cause that these strange marchers hold so dear

“Tight showers!” the clown bellowed and he hit his head in wonder
He held up a camp shower and the others all got under
Or at least they tried to get beneath, they strained but couldn’t quite
There wasn’t room for all of them— they pushed, but it was tight
“White Power!” came their marchers’ cry, quite carefully pronounced
The clowns consulted once again, then a woman clown announced
“I’ve got it! I’m embarrassed that it took so long to see
But what these marchers march for is a cause quite dear to me…”

“Wife power!” she exclaimed and all the other clowns joined in
They shook their heads and laughed at how erroneous they’d been
The women clowns were hoisted up on shoulders of the others
Some pulled on wedding dresses, shouting “Here’s to wives and mothers!”
The men in robes were angry and they knew they’d been defeated
They yelled a few more times and then they finally retreated
And when they’d gone a black policeman turned to all the clowns
And offered them an escort to the center of the town

The day was bright and sunny as most May days tend to be
In the hills of Appalachia down in Knoxville, Tennessee
People joined the new parade, the crowd stretched out for miles
The clowns passed out more flowers and made everybody smile
And what would be the lesson of that shiny southern day?
Can we understand the message that the clowns sought to convey?
Seems that when you’re fighting hatred, hatred’s not the thing to use
So here’s to those who march on in their big red floppy shoes

(from http://lowerdryad.wordpress.com/white-flour-poem/)

2 thoughts on “A Divine Box Of Our Own Creation

  1. Thanks for sharing this, InHo. I really appreciated it.

  2. Lol. Never heard of this event.
    Pastor Kim, you’ve made me ponder today. I like pondering so early in the morning. So true that many of us put God in a small box that we can easily carry around. How can we then be in awe of Him. Thanks.

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