Publcations

The Washington Theological Consortium is pleased to present these samples of artistic talent from students and faculty in the Consortium. We hope that they will be a prelude to larger issues of "Verbum Consortium" that will express many forms of artistic talent.

Back to Current Issue of the Bulletin

Verbum

Consortium

Issue Contributors

Howard University School of Divinity

Michael Willett Newheart

The Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg

Michael Cooper-White

Brett Jenkins

Union-PSCE

Terry Menefee Gau

Virginia Theological Seminary

Jen Kimball

This insert represents what the consortium hopes will blossom in time into a full-blown arts publication, complete with photography, poetry, prose, and visual arts. If you are interested in contributing or seeing this publication grow to maturity by contributing your editorial, desktop publishing, or administrative skills to it, please contact Brett Jenkins at:

bjenkins1031@excite.com

61 Seminary Ridge

Gettysburg, PA 17325

717-334-4876

MARK 4:38

(Disciples to Jesus in the boat:)

O slumbering Christ,

Is this to be our baptism

Plunged into a watery, stormy grave?

Will you not rip open the heavens for us

And call us beloved?

ROMANS 5:12-21

Sin SIN--through one person ONE PERSON Adam / in the garden, with fruit

juice dripping from his mouth. (One person not two? Man not woman?) One

person--sin, death, condemnation. One person--all persons / one--many.

Sin / gift, grace-GIFT--through one person Jesus Messiah / on the tree,

with blood dripping from his wounds. Jesus Messiah--jesus messy messiah,

messing himself on the cross. grace / justi-fi-ca-tion / liffffe--one

person. One / many. one / all. One, one, one.

HOW YOU GONNA SHOOT THE CAN(N)ON?

How you gonna shoot the canon?

One image: a gun.

Shoot the can(n)on: boom!

Shoot evil, the devil, demons

Shoot homosexuals, women, unbelievers,

anybody not like us, anybody we don't like!

Is that the way you gonna

shoot the canon?

Another image: a camera

Shoot the Canon: click-click!

Shoot a picture of life as it was, is, and will be

Shoot it (click-click)

and see what develops

Shoot the canon

How you gonna shoot it?

The Brook

by Brett Jenkins

They cannot hear;

Who have not heard,

Though they come near

A trickling Word.

O little stream, come let me dabble

And dwell with my pen upon your mores.

You languish ‘neath the crass name babble

Bound by the words of inconsolate bores.

From ‘round the bend

Down rock and crease

You flow and wend

Without surcease.

They notice you to step aside—

To keep their feet mud-free and dry,

Or think of how your humble tide

Adds to the earth’s ecology.

Exultation

Sings the heart!

Cry salvation!

Call you art;

So, muse of fluid, clear and cold

They lift you from this place and time.

They dwell on sun-reflected gold

And revel in their sight sublime.

From ‘round the bend

To lands unproved

You rush and wend,

Yet still unmoved.

You are a story filled with hope.

The joy of life you give and keep.

Your breadth and depth belie your scope.

With grace you fall, with joy you leap.

Who have not heard;

They cannot hear

A trickling Word,

Though they come near

The Way of the Curse

A Parable

By Terry Menefee Gau

Once there were three animals of the forest: a bear, a deer and a snake. At the end of all things they were brought before God to make account of their lives. The bear went first.

“Bear,” said God, “What were the gifts that were given you?”

“Well, my great strength and height,” said the bear.

“What did you do with these gifts?” asked God.

“I looked in the Great Book of All Things and I discerned that I was to use my gifts for fishing and hunting. So I hunted and fished to your glory, O God.”

God smiled and said, “Well done, my good and faithful servant. Enter into my glory.” He then turned to the deer and asked, “Deer, what gifts did you receive?”

The deer answered, “Well, my swiftness and grace.”

“What did you do with these gifts?”

“I looked in the Great Book of All Things and I discerned that I was to use my gifts to run swiftly through the forest and entertain the other animals with my gracefulness. So I jumped and leapt to your glory, O God,” said the deer.

God smiled and said, “Well done, my good and faithful servant. Enter into my glory.” Finally he turned to the snake and said, “Snake, I remember you. I gave you a special gift, one that I only give rarely to snakes. I gave you the gift of walking and the gift of speech. What have you done with these gifts?”

The snake slithered before God and said, “Yes, God, I knew from the time I was very young that you gave me these gifts and that I was different from the other snakes. But I looked in the Great Book of All Things and it said that snakes were cursed. It said that you ordered snakes to crawl on their bellies and that you ordered them to use their tongues to lick the dust. So, according to your word, I have slithered and spit all my life to your glory, O God.”

God looked angrily at the snake and said, “You wicked servant! I gave you a precious and unusual gift and you wasted it? Did you not realize that your stature and your words could have brought peace to the forest?”

The snake stuttered, “But I didn’t want to disobey! Your word said....”

God interrupted, “No excuses! You listened to my word rather than to my voice. You have chosen the way of the curse rather than the way of life, and so you shall be cursed indeed. Be gone from me - I cannot look at your face.”

Triduum Medley

By Michael Cooper-White

Maundy Pedicure

Oh, soothing, cleansing, refreshing surprise

When Jesus took basin, donned deacon’s garb,

And made of the upper dining room

A salon for humble, holy pedicures!

“Not my feet, Lord, not my feet,”

Protested proud, self-protective Peter.

But soon even the hardened Rock unsandaled

Feet, hands and heart for sacramental bathing.

“Love one another,” commanded holy foot-washer;

“As I have loved you, bunions and all!”

Now your feet are ready for the death and life dance—

Do it often, in remembrance of me.

Hey You, Cross-Man!

Hey there, you, man on the cross,

Come on down and play with us again;

We loved having you in our playground.

Hey there, scorned thorn-crowned king,

Why’d you have to mess things up so bad,

Why get so intense and serious in the end?

Hey there, thirsty, naked messiah,

Couldn’t you just give in a little bit,

Follow their program, go with the flow?

Hey there, lonely cross-bound savior,

You’re on your own now; we’re movin’ on,

Places to go, people to see . . .

Pascal Whisper or Easter Roar?

How did things go down, we wonder,

Early at the tomb on Easter morn?

Did God quietly roll back the stone, peek in,

Like a loving father softly tiptoe crib-side?

Then whisper softly, “Beloved son, get up!”

Or was it like a tormented mother lioness

Who happened upon her slain cub’s carcass?

In anguished, angry guttural gushing

Echoing the divine roar of the resurrection?

“The death of this one cannot be!”

How will things go down when our times comes?

Perhaps both whisper and roar will greet us

In that great getting-up resurrection morning.

So now we go both gently and fiercely,

Cooing and shouting, “Christ is Risen!”

A Cry for Justice

A Parable

By Terry Menefee Gau

Once there was a man whose wife had been murdered. No one caught the murderer and in his anger the man cried loudly for justice.

Justice appeared before him, a terrible Amazonian angel. Her eyes burned with white fire and she carried a double-edged sword of crystal steel. She raised her sword into the clouds and it came crashing into the man’s house, erasing it from the landscape.

“For those who have no shelter!” she thundered in a voice that filled the sky.

She raised her sword again. She bellowed, “For those who have no sustenance!" and she pierced the man’s safe, scattering his gold to the wind.

She raised her sword a once more, this time slashing the man’s eyes. "For those who refuse to see!" And she blinded him.

The man stumbled and cried at the feet of the awesome angel. "Why did you ruin me when I asked for justice?"

The angel was silent.

The man became hysterical. "I asked for justice for the murder of my wife," he said.

"I have delivered justice," said the great warrior. "Those who are not pure must taste the blood of my sword. The man who killed your wife has tasted it too. His child lies dead."

The man shook. "Not his child. But his child was innocent!"

"You should have asked for mercy." She turned and was gone.

Once there was a man who became ruined. His wife was murdered, he lost his house, his riches, and his sight. In his anguish he cried for mercy.

Mercy came to him as a warm and loving grandmother. She dressed his wounds, fed him, and held him until he fell asleep. When he woke, she took him to a dark and damp place under a bridge. It smelled of sewage and refuse. There she left him in the presence of a man crying over his dead child.

All at once the blind man knew that the grieving father was the man who killed his wife. He ran to the father and threw himself at his feet, crying bitterly and begging forgiveness for what he had done. The murderer lifted him up, not understanding what the man was saying, but forgiving him anyway.

They buried the child together. By the grave, they held each other a long time, letting their tears intermingle. And it was on that day that the blind man began to see.