meditation a poetry slam; and schedule

This week at UNO:
Monday: Peer ministry meeting, Monday 2:30
Tuesday: Beth Katz at 1PM, Dinner at Panera's at 6:30 PM, ISS at MBSC Tower Room, 8:00PM; sometime today the Difficult Dialogues Team meets to decide on our proposal for Spring Semester: the Faith Club gatherings for women.
Thursday: Bell Ringing for Salvation Army; 4PM UMMJ Board Meeting
Saturday: Habitat for Humanity; meet at Caffeine Dreams at 8:30 am.


Meditation on a poetry slam


Poetry Slams share lots of energy, and they are very personal. I did not know this.

On Saturday night I went to my first poetry slam and became a judge at Midland College in Fremont, NE. The last time I was a judge it had to do with bodies doing flips off a diving board into a pool. One key there is to see how much splash the diver made. The less splash, the better the dive. Poetry slams are the reverse—the bigger the splash, the higher the score.

The poets were young, energetic. Well, some were more frenetic than energetic. As the poets got close to the microphone to begin, they entered a trance. Some closed their eyes for a moment to get them close to their emotional outpouring. Others grabbed the mike stand like it was the last friend they had. Taught fingers grabbed the skinny black tube and it looked like they were choking it. There was no chance of letting it go.

The topics were highly charged and personal. There seemed to be no discernable quiet distance between the poet and the situation being analyzed. The poet quickly jammed the accelerator and went from zero to sixty with a high pitched frenzy. I liked it, frankly. Energy was one thing we could count on. I gave higher scores to topics and presentations that made me more uncomfortable and were more difficult to access: “the more uncomfortable I am, the more in touch the poet is” was my motto.

After a while, though, the shock value wore off. It seemed like all the poets had been on drugs, in jail, were HIV positive, or were involved in a torrid and one sided, self seeking love affair. It was all very potent, and it was all very transitory.

The poets became the dispensers of pain and wisdom, and it occurs to me these descriptions of pieces of life were hung up in front of us to evaluate and appreciate. The poems were offerings of instant glimpses of depth. This comraderie of expression gave us mutual appreciation of the human condition. While the words did not offer absolution, they did offer some understanding.

This sharing of life’s depthy joys and depressions was a magnet of hope. Joining with others and being provided an avenue of access to a slice of life was wonderful. And we did not feel we were better for not having suffered with the poets. We felt priviledged for being allowed in.

It was a reminder that Jesus takes anybody, no matter their life experience:

Luke 6:37

He also told them a parable. “Can a blind person guide a bind person? Will not both fall into a pit? A disciple is not above the teacher, but everyone who is fully qualified will be like the teacher. Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye? Or how can you say to your neighbor. ‘Friend let me take out the speck in your eye, when you yourself do not see the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye.


Rev. Dr. Fred Richart
UCMHE at UNO
402-659-5795
www.unocampusministry.blogspot.com