Friends, peace. Here's one of the 'interludes' from the book Matt Holmes and I published through Cascade Books a couple of years back, Everyday Armageddons. It's weird. And it's something of a reflection on one of Matt's incredible stories. I hope you dig it. Peace.

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Go and Show Yourself to the Priests

It didn't take much to read the writing on the wall. A finicky switch. A hot light. A fan's drunken buzz. A mirror. And a transparency.

Transparencies were sheets, thin and made of plastic. At times, they came in a roll. On them, a teacher, an instructor, an artist, an engineer, a mathematician, a lyric-loving praise band groupie, was able to write—or print, or draw, or smudge—examples, illustrations, analytics, iterations, or ecstasies, as they were dreamt, spoken, solved, stewed-upon, or sung.

And there they would shine. Transfigured.

Perpendicular from that place where they were laid.

For Belshazzar and everyone to see.

Before transparencies, there were other ways to share with light. The slide show. A magic lantern. The camera obscura. Shadow play, magic mirrors, trotting horse lamps, and Pythagoras, with Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa, looking-glass in hand, inscribing magic blood-scripts onto the moon.¹

The desire for one to have one's beautiful insides illuminate a room full of eager eyes is not a modern one, alone.

This is what we do. We shine our beauty for the world to see. And when we can't shine it, we share it, wearing it on buttons and on our sleeves.

And what do we do with that, within, which doesn't sparkle? Those things for which we've built cages in the forgotten oubliettes below? Those desolate and deserted parts where the perennial heads of the Baptists and the empty chairs of Elijahs are stored?

These we shine differently.

Not with lamp and fan but with fire— beautiful and rollicking—but: uncontained, convicted in its violent consumptions; zealous and scalding and unpredictable.

The beautiful, we shine. The hidden smolders, its flames arriving involuntarily, provoked with the sound of the wind, passed gas in the boardrooms of the rich, its heat fixing insides onto faces of others, as it fixed them onto the lepers and the Lazuruses of Rome, so long ago. Their appearance, zombie-esque, evoking frightened disgust, summoning premonitions and paranoias, death's foretaste, acidic belch, nausea; their skin a screen of silver, the taking-place of the horror show: monsters, meannesses, guilty desires, fantastic fears. Freed at last from the captivity.

Illuminating.

Distorting.

The lepers and the Lazaruses.

Looked at, as the prophets would have it.

In the glow but seldom if ever seen.

So it was with the Worm King who roamed the streets possessed by Soterian fervor, making it certain that the tombs would remain empty for at least another day; saving what others threw away, caring for those left beaten and bloodied as the priests and their sacristans go about their days.

Home was complicated as all homes are. And yet, his public life was Eastertide.

No matter.

The house paint was flaking.

And eccentricities are leprosies, too.

So the neighbors couldn't help it.

They looked at a man who didn't save for rainy days, but who, rather, spent them saving. And all they could see was a monster. A hell erected there on the hill.

And a mirror.

If only they had known what they were seeing.

Lights and mirrors. Fire and insides. We do this to those who are dead, too.

Sometimes we call it a eulogy.

~Thomas R Gaulke, “Go and Show Yourself to the Priests,” in Thomas R Gaulke and Matthew Holmes, Everyday Armageddons (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2023)

What is Religion? Alves' Hope in the Key of Saudade

Peace, all. Here's a little blurb from the first book! Seemed like a good time to share some thoughts from/about our beloved Rubem. ~Tom

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In his 1981/1984 (Portuguese/English) work What is Religion?, Alves offers a presentation of religion that is both anti-dogmatic, as well as undogmatic, to the core. Here, for Alves, faith and hope are nearly one in the same. Hope, again, has to do with desire. Yet there is a departure from Alves' first works.

In 1972, Alves held that hope "is the presentiment that imagination is more real and reality less real than it looks. It is the hunch that the overwhelming brutality of facts that oppress and repress is not the last word. It is the suspicion that Reality is much more complex than realism wants us to believe; that the frontiers of the possible are not determined by the limits of the actual, and that in a miraculous and unexpected way life is preparing the creative event which will open the way to freedom and resurrection." In this sense of hope, there is in Alves a conviction and even a defiance tied to emotion—and still something (if only traces) of belief.

Further, faith here is to be moved (emotionally and physically) by such convicted, believing, and defiant hope: "Hope is to hear the melody of the future, and faith is to dance to it."90 There is something contained in faith of premonition, conviction, and rebellion.

But in What is Religion?, faith for Alves appears to become less of a convicted belief, and more of a desiring risk:

And the reader, perplexed, in search of a final certainty asks, "But does God exist? Does life have a meaning? Does the universe have a face? Is death my sister?" to which the religious soul could only reply: "I do not know. But I ardently desire that it be true. And I make the leap unreservedly. For it is more beautiful to risk on the side of hope than to have certainty on the side of a cold and senseless universe."

"It is more beautiful to risk on the side of hope than to be certain on the side of a cold and senseless world." It is subtle, but by the 1980s, as he slowly trades in the theological for the theopoetical, presentiment for the moment (the not quite certain hunch) becomes outweighed by the wager (that which we bet on—and live by—not because we fear risking hell with Pascal, but simply because we wish the contents of faith to be true, because to us it is beautiful). Belief in gods is traded for the desire that a god might exist and that the world might be kind. "Prayer is the sacred name that we utter before the Void."

In Protestantism and Repression, after hundreds of pages of describing what Alves sees as the problem with fundamentalism in Brazil, Alves finally concludes, "Is there a way out? I don't know. [It seems to me that] those who already possess the truth [those who claim to be certain] are destined to become inquisitors. Those who have only doubts are predestined to tolerance and perhaps to burning at the stake. That is why I see only one way out. We must consciously and deliberately reject truth and certainty before they take possession of us. We must make our own the sentiments of Lessing: [choose striving toward truth and never truth itself]."

Alves becomes anti-dogmatic and poetic not because of a disdain for theological constructs. They had helped him survive some very difficult years. Rather, he becomes anti-dogmatic because in his experience, rigid theological constructs were quite literally harmful to the bodies of believers, and became weapons in the hands of corrupt (and even well-meaning) authorities. Ultimately, they led not to freedom, but instead became the opium den of the enslaved. They encouraged that even the most persecuted become "saved" and thereby better adjusted to the feeling of their chains, believing that their prize was in the blessed beyond.

~Thomas R. Gaulke, An Unpromising Hope: Finding Hope Outside of Promise for an Agnostic Church and for Those of Us Who Find It Hard to Believe (Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 2021)

"The Unifying Potential of a Manichaeistic Worldview" | An Unpromising Hope

 

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This classic text (prefaced by the likes of Jean Paul Sartre and Homi Bhabha) took on a life of its own after its publication, inspiring and augmenting liberative and revolutionary movements worldwide, including and especially the Black Panthers in the US, who regarded it as something of a bible. Both its call for the last to become first, as well as its embrace of any means (which had tactically been a taboo idea, especially in the US during early movements for desegregation and Black Civil Rights) offered a framework and a fire for the revolutionary spirit as it was already being stoked worldwide in the 1960s and 1970s.

Perhaps most notable in Fanon's Wretched of the Earth, is Fanon's own relative (if cautious) comfort embracing a dualistic worldview. This worldview, indeed, is the one that had named Fanon himself as colonized, a worldview which clearly sought both to dehumanize him, and to reinforce the subjugation of his people by the colonizer. This, of course, Fanon stated himself. Nonetheless, it is not the dualism (which Fanon aptly refers to as Manichaeism) that Fanon loves. He does not. Fanon notes these damages, time and again. Both society and the human spirit are diminished by this polarizing heresy. Colonial Manichaeism reduces the colonized to enemies, "bad guys," "poisoners of values," "threats," and ultimately animals.

Anyone who is not "us" is the evil other. It is dehumanizing to the end. This is to be sure, even for Fanon.

However, knowing this truth, the fact remains for Fanon that this Manichaeistic world is the world as it is. It is the world which Fanon received by birth, and the one he must struggle within. Choosing not to believe in it will not make it magically go away. This dualism categorizes and kills, yes. However, and this is what Fanon appreciates, in embracing this Manichaeistic outlook, the colonized people do actually gain one thing. What they gain is the opportunity to be the colonized. That is, as the colonized becomes the name of a once multiplicitous people, so there emerges an identity of the colonized. With a common identity, the colonized have a better chance at unifying, at uniting against the colonizer, at overthrowing him: The colonized, unite!

In receiving and adopting this imposed label, the colonized are given a name with which they might rise up and assert their humanity against those who would rob them of it and in turn create a world where their lives are truly valued. To adapt a phrase made famous by Audre Lorde, Fanon takes the colonizer's tools and does turn them back on the colonizer in order to dismantle the colonizer's house. The fight for liberation is a fight for the humanization of the colonized, and a more humane world for the colonized. In a world that turns one into an animal, even a caged animal, and even a caged work horse, this is not simply counter-cultural, but, rather, revolutionary work.

We must remember in any case that a colonized people is not just a dominated people. Under the German occupation, the French remained human beings. In Algeria there is not simply domination, but the decision, literally, to occupy nothing else but a territory. The Algerians, the women dressed in haiks, the palm groves, and the camels form a landscape, the natural backdrop for the French presence.

A hostile, ungovernable, and fundamentally rebellious Nature is in fact synonymous in the colonies with the bush, the mosquitoes, the natives, and disease. Colonization has succeeded once this untamed Nature has been brought under control. Cutting railroads through the bush, draining swamps, and ignoring the political and economic existence of the native population are in fact one and the same thing.

Colonization turns humans into landscape. Into animals. Into subhuman background characters in a movie that is about someone else, a movie which they will never direct, play a lead role in, and for which they will never receive compensation. Yet, says Fanon, "the colonized . . . roar with laughter every time they hear themselves called an animal by the other. For they know they are not animals. And at the very moment when they discover their humanity, they begin to sharpen their weapons to secure its victory." Again: for Fanon, "weapons" is very seldom a figure of speech.

Thomas R. Gaulke, An Unpromising Hope: Finding Hope Outside of Promise for an Agnostic Church and for Those of Us who Find it Hard to Believe (Eugene: Wipf & Wipf and Stock, 2021).

Luke 13:10-17 Translation/Paraphrase

Peace, all. Here's a translation of this week's RCL Gospel reading. ~Tom

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Luke 13:10-17

On the sabbath, Jesus was visiting a nearby synagogue. While he was teaching, a woman appeared. Against her will, she had been twisted up, unable to rise or to take a stand, for a spirit had possessed her for eighteen years. 

Seeing her, Jesus invited her to come into the crowd that had gathered. And as she arrived, he offered a declaration.

With compassion, he placed his hands on the woman. 

He took a breath. 

“Woman.” Beloved, he said. 

“From your affliction, you are set free.” 

At once, she rose up. She took a stand. And there, in the middle of Jesus’ bible study, she sang and shouted, giving thanks to God. 

But not everyone was happy. 

One leader of the place was visibly angry.

His indignation invited him into the crowd, for he was unhappy that Jesus had administered healing on the Sabbath. 

He spoke. 

“There are six days on which work should be performed.”

He looked at the woman. 

“Come on those days. Be cured. But not on the Sabbath.” 

The Lord responded.  

“You who perform with masks (ὑποκριταί)! 

On the Sabbath do you not untie your ox or donkey from the manger and lead it to water?

Do you not think that this woman, this beloved one, this daughter of Abraham whom Satan had tied and twisted for eighteen long years, should be unleashed from her bondage on this, the Sabbath day?” 

When Jesus said this, the faces of his opponents showed. A bit red. But the entire crowd was rejoicing with the woman at this and at all the wonderful things being done by him.

Luke 11:1-14 | A Translation-Turned-Paraphrase by Tom Gaulke

Peace, all. Here's a translation-turned-paraphrase of this week's lectionary reading. On your phone? 

Turn it horizontally and this'll be a bit easier to read. 

Use freely. Drop a citation.  

Peace, all. 

Tom

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On Lifting Up the Words of the Heart

It came to be that Jesus was praying in a particular place.

Words from the heart ascending, Jesus finished,

returning the space to its silence–though, not for long.

For, in a similar manner, a learner who followed Jesus

lifted up words of his own.

“The teacher known as ‘God is Gracious’

[which is often translated as John] taught his learners

who followed him how to pray,”

said this learner.

“Jesus, could you do that for us?”

Is it possible this learner didn’t realize that,

in the form of a question,

his words were also a prayer?

Perhaps.

And yet, it was a prayer that Jesus was happy to oblige.

From the one who asked of him, Jesus widened his frame,

speaking still to the questioner,

but now also to everyone.

And this is what Jesus said.

“When you lift up your words as I have lifted mine,

begin at the beginning,

and affirm:

‘First Ancestor, Great Great Grandparent,

Father & Mother [πάτερ] & Love Who Birthed All;

Even your name is sacred.

Special. And set apart.

Distinct. Uttered in Holy of Holies alone.

Only known fully in the realm of the Most High One.

‘May that realm–your reign–the Presence of Love arrive

here.

And now.

As bread:

a gift–earned not by blood or sweat of brows,

but by tastebuds longing and bellies’ desires to be made full.

As release:

from wrongs done by us,

wrongs done to us–the dissolution of chains,

of bonds; by loves’ paralysis fractured, shattered,

stomped into the ground; amends made freely;

oxygen’s return as mighty rushing Wind

when heart’s fire lies gasping strangled

beneath blankets soaked through,

drenched in guilt, in shame.

As renaissance. Rebirth!

The New.

Dawning Day. Crowning & cries. Beloved arriving.

Holy and One. Debt and debtors are no more.

No more.

Yes! May it be so!

That this realm, this reign, arrives among us.

Here. Now.

And may we be kept from the realms that would lead away from it

as we lie in wait.’”

~ ~ ~

On Shutting Neither Up Nor Down

These words ascended. When they were gone,

silence again took place.

Again, Jesus turned to them all.

And this is what Jesus said.

“Can you imagine a friend, one you know and trust,

one to whom you might turn in your time of need?

Can you imagine arriving there?

At midnight, hungry and knocking?

‘Could you give me three loaves?’ You ask.

‘It’s not just for me. Some guests have arrived where I stay.

And I’ve got nothing to set on the table–

to meet the longing of their tastebuds

or the desires of their bellies to be full.’

The door shuts more tightly. And locks.

‘Don’t fill my space with your pain,” says the friend.

‘Shop’s closed. Kids are in bed. Nothing for you here, bud.’”

“I’m telling you,” Jesus said,

“Friendship won’t get this guy out of bed.

But you know what will?

Keep on him.

Bang on that door until your knuckles bleed.

That ‘friend?’

He’ll rise up.

And you know what?

Keep on him.

And he’ll give you as much as you need.

This is what I’m saying:

Ask. And it will be given.

Seek. You’ll find.

Knock. And the door will be opened for you.

For those who unite their hearts and voices,

demanding in such a way,

often find their lack, their need, their hunger, their absence

met with fullness, grace, and greater good.

Those who seek in this way are often surprised.

Or they are happened-upon

by something quite beautiful

which has been seeking after them.

Those who nearly knock the door from its hinges?”

Jesus continued.

“They often discover an opening, a passage,

a pathway Not Yet seen or known:

into banquet halls, tables filled with food,

a feast for all who hunger.”

Finally, Jesus took a Breath.

And this is what Jesus said.

“Now. Think about yourself.

And about your kids!

If, hungry, they asked you for a fish,

would you instead give them a snake?

What if they asked for an egg?

Would you bring them a scorpion?”

They were nearing an end.

“If you,

who have been pushed down and twisted into the earth

by the pain and weight of the world,

know how to give good gifts

to those you call your own,

imagine:

How much more will our First Ancestor,

the Great Great Grandparent,

the Father & Mother & Love Who Birthed All

gift the the Spirit–

the Breath, the Wind, the Fiery Flame Dancing

that is Holy–

to those who come to be,

praying at a particular place?”

Next, Jesus was liberating someone from a demon that was oppressing him.

Love, Reaching | Thomas' & Jesus' Touch | April 2025

Peace, all. I preached Sunday. And this not the sermon! Not at all. That said, I had some surplus notes that I wanted to put somewhere. So here we go. Last week, it was meaningful to reflect back on 15-20 years of sermons on Thomas & Jesus. Wild. Thinking this may develop into a project. We'll see. Anyhow, keep fighting the good fight, friends. 

These reflections are based on a translation of the Easter II text that's posted here. 

Peace, Love, Liberation. 

~Tom

A Translation of John 20:19-31 | Easter 2 | April 2025

 John 20:19-31 | A Translation

Use freely. Copyleft.

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When it was evening

on that day–

the first day of the week– 

and the terror (φόβον) they felt 

toward their own–

toward their own people, 

toward their own neighbors and schoolmates, 

toward their own family in ancestry and in faith–

when that terror 

had fastened tightly

the doors

where the disciples were staying,

Jesus arrived.  

He stood. 

In the middle.

He stood in the middle of everyone. 

And Jesus said: 

“Peace be with you (εἰρήνη ὑμῖν).”

~~~

After saying this, 

Jesus showed them [too].

~~~

His hands.

His side.

Therefore, 

the disciples?

They rejoiced!

For they had seen.

The Lord (κύριον)!

The Lord! 

~~~

“Peace be with you (εἰρήνη ὑμῖν).”

(Jesus said it, again). 

“As the Father has sent me, 

I send you, in the same way.”

Having said this, 

Jesus breathed (ἐνεφύσησεν). 

Jesus breathed

on them!

Jesus breathed on them

while saying: 

“Receive

the Holy Spirit,

Blessed Wind,

Sacred Breath

(πνεῦμα ἅγιον).”

~~~

And then Jesus said: 

“If you let go of the sins of any,

if you let them loose,

untangle, untie them,

release them like a helium balloon:

well, then:

they are gone

let go

released

un-tangled-and-tied

set free

(ἀφίημι). 

If you hold onto the sins of any:

they, too will 

hang around,

hang on

hang onto

stick

be bound

(κρατέω)

?

~~~

Thomas, 

one of the twelve (δώδεκα)

(who was called twofold/twain/twin (Δίδυμος))

was not with them

when Jesus arrived.

“We have seen the Lord (κύριον).” 

The other disciples were telling him. 

As disciples do. 

“Unless I see

in his hands

the marks left by those nails”

Thomas replied, 

“and put my finger 

into the places

those nails penetrated,

as well as my hand

into his side,

I will not come to trust (πιστεύσω).”

After eight days

Jesus’ disciples were inside.

Again!

So was Thomas, this time. 

The doors? 

They were fastened tightly.

Still!

Nevertheless, there, 

Jesus arrived.

He stood. 

In the middle.

He stood in the middle of everyone. 

“Peace be with you (εἰρήνη ὑμῖν)!”

Jesus said. 

And to Thomas?

“Put your finger here.

See?

My hands! 

Reach out your hand!

Put it here.

Into my side.

Do not be voided 

of trust (ἄπιστος). 

But filled with it (πιστός).”

[Be filled.

Again.]

“My Lord.

My God!” 

Thomas responded. 

~~~

“Because you have seen me,

have you trusted me (πεπίστευκας)?” 

Jesus asked him. 

“Blessed/happy/full

are those who have not beheld with their eyes

but who have been filled with

(or beholden by)

trust (πιστεύσαντες),

nonetheless.”

~~~

Jesus did a ton of other signs 

while around his disciples.

They’re not written in this book.

But these ones are,

so that you may continue being gripped by (and filled with) trust

by Jesus

a messiah!

And Jesus, 

the Child 

of

the God,

and that through

trusting (πιστεύω)

you may hang onto (or be held by) 

Life (ζωὴν)

in/with/through

his name (ὀνόματι).