From the Desk of Luke T. Bitzkie

One's language holds so much culture. I think that's part of the reason that I love studying languages. I get to see the little intricacies that are contained in the syntactical patterns, or in the words that just don't translate to my native English. It's the way that tenses just don't exist in Biblical Hebrew, or, in Spanish, how pronouns just fall to the wayside. It's the way that everything has a marked place in Koine Greek, and how the dual scripts of Ladino each beautifully portray its prose. But also, it's the way that I miss the language that I never knew. It's how my great-grandma's language was robbed from her by the wars of years past. It's how the German of my foreparents has never graced my lips, and the only way it might is through my attempt at a modern-German recreation. I wonder: what words did they make me forget when my great-grandma had it hidden, stuffed down so deep that it became lost within her bones? What words will I nev...

לאחרונה קשה לי למצוא מילים לפרסם. ובכל זאת, אני חולם כבר זמן־מה על לכתוב משהו גדול. א   התחלתי בנסיון לכתוב הקדמה לספר, אחר כך חיבור פולמוסי, אחר כך דרשה, ולבסוף אוסף שירים. אבל, כל אחד מהם נפל קצר מחזוני עבורם. חזיונות אלו הפכו להבל כשניסיתי למשוך אותם מאחורי עיניי. א אז, החלטתי לכתוב שירים בודדים, משוחררים מכל אוסף או נושא. כאן, חזיונותיי התממשו. א כאן, הם עדיין מתממשים. א הם מתממשים באמנות שניתן להחזיק במעט מילים. הם מתממשים באמנות המתייחסת גם למילים שבאו מזמן רב לפני.  הם מתממשים בשפות שבעבר היו זרות וברעיונות שעדיין נעבדים ומתממשים. א האם זוהי מתנה, להיות מוגבל ביכולתו ליצור? אינני יודע. א

This week, I finished my tenure as a supply minister in an Oklahoman church. This was a wonderful experience, and the church was filled with the love of Jesus. Oh, how wonderful it was. And, in leaving them, I wanted to leave them with a word that reassured and pushed them in their current direction—a movement towards creating a place where all can belong in their church. I felt that I did as such; they thought so also. I believe it brought a tear to more than one eye. It brought tears to my eyes as well, but I cried not for them... I cried for my siblings who don't believe that all belong in the community of God. I cried for my siblings who say God's community is limited to the straight, cisgender person. I cried for those who believe that queer and trans people must forego their identities to belong in this beloved community that we call the Church. And when I gave communion, my heart broke. While I saw in front of me a congregation of queer and straight people eating and dri...

"It was so confusing. I feel like I wasn't enough to keep him here, you know?" "What would you say to them?" "But, the sparrow still falls." "It will be in the past for the rest of time." "I don't understand... how do people do it? I don't know how." "The concrete is still drying." - I grew up always scared and fascinated by floods. I remember running out of my house and down to the creek to watch as the waters rose from a trickle to a menacing stream. I still have a piece of pavement from the road, in fact. This was when I could watch as water finally reentered my homeland after our long droughts. I couldn't have imagined that one like this would hit my home, though. Children are dead. Parents are dead. Animals are dead. There are still more. Old friends help with rescue efforts. Family helps with clean up. I lay stranded in mind and spirit by the weight of it all. What good is a God that lets a sparrow fall, ...

On this July 4th, I am disillusioned, like so many others in this country. I am disillusioned by the abductions that are happening all around us and right before our eyes. I am disillusioned by the unwillingness of those in power to fight back against such evil, and moreover, I am disillusioned by those who advocate for this evil. I've tried to think of something to write amidst this, perhaps related to this holiday or the faith that I hold so dear. But, nothing I can write today would compare to the Schoenberg's cantata, "A Survivor from Warsaw." So, in this post, I give you the lyrics of his powerful piece. I encourage you to read them along as you listen to it, and I pray that you and I may fully hear him. - I cannot remember everything. I must have been unconscious most of the time. I remember only the grandiose moment when they all started to sing, as if prearranged, the old prayer they had neglected for so many years - the forgotten creed! But I have no recollec...

I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be " home ." Is home the places that we've once lived, or is it the people who've lived there with us? Is it both? Perhaps home something else entirely, something we're always creating as life goes on.  I've no answer to this question, but I've listened to many songs that speak of home. These songs all speak of their artists' own homes. Their musings aren't exact, and they aren't necessarily all full truths. But, they are all singing of some conception of their homes, even if they exist only in their own minds. Here are some of these artists' musings of their own homes, found, as is usual, in the words of country songs: "Deep within' my heart lies a melody, a song of old San Antone; where in dreams I live with a memory, beneath the stars all alone. It was there I found beside the Alamo, enchantment strange as the blue up above; a moonlit path that only she would know, still hears ...

And, thou didst bring away Captivity thence Captive, us to win. Behold, the Prophesied Redeemer has risen! The Jesus who was killed by the Roman Empire is alive again! His eyes were glossed over, but now he sees! His mouth was closed, but now he speaks! The Son of Humanity is here again, and he has come to free us from the Roman Empire! The exclamations of the disciples of Jesus on that day were ecstatic. When they saw him and recognized him, they were elated that their teacher was alive again. They had seen him hanging on the cross only two days before, and many of them also saw him placed in the tomb. The disciples saw their teacher die, but now they were seeing the impossible. They saw him alive again—and he had returned to free them at last! But, Jesus didn't free them from the Roman Empire. So, what does the resurrection of Jesus mean if he didn't free them from the Roman Empire? Why do we celebrate Easter if the resurrected Jesus returned only to leave again forty days la...

Ride on, ride on in majesty, in lowly pomp ride on to die. Last week, Jesus the Christ rode into Jerusalem—triumphant and humble, riding on a donkey. This was the Prophesied Redeemer, riding into Jerusalem to reclaim it from the hands of the oppressive Romans. But, Jesus did not rid the Romans by militant force or supernatural eviction. Instead, Jesus died. Today, Jesus is dead. He is dead, bled out on a cross with his life gone from behind his eyes. He has stiffened up, excremented, and begun to smell of rot. The mythologized loincloth does nothing to hide the  extent of his injuries, and the spear plunged into his side only confirms. Our Jesus has been murdered at the hands of the state, completely and utterly dead. Today, you may hear a preacher proclaim that "Christ is not dead forever!" But, beloved, do not be fooled. This proclamation is but a falsity. Our Jesus died on the cross. What foolishness it is to have hope when our Jesus has died. Today is a day of sorrow, not...

" I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug. " I had been undergoing a health struggle for a prolonged period. I had navigated multiple doctors and doctors' offices, and after long and excruciating three months, I had finally found my way to a specialist. I was relieved but still weary as I sat waiting to be seen. I had traveled to another city in the hope that she could help me, potentially even cure me. But, what if she couldn't help? What if I was to be stuck like this? Precisely on-time, the doctor entered the room. She introduced herself, examined me, and we talked for a while. We discussed diagnoses, treatments, and the like. She listened to me, as a patient, and I listened to her, as a medical provider. And, as the appointment was concluding, I found myself feeling a slight tremor of hope within my soul. Perhaps, I could be cured. ...