New Year's Prayer
Let us give the past to God's mercy.
The present to God's love, and the
future to God's providence.
Amen!
Monday, December 30, 2019
Saturday, December 21, 2019
Christmas Homily #2 Revisited . . .
Christmas Homily from past years . . .
Five year old Johnny was in the kitchen as his mother made supper. She asked him to go into the pantry and get her a can of tomato soup. But he didn't want to go in alone. “It’s dark in there and I’m scared.” She asked again, and he persisted. Finally she said, “It’s OK — Jesus will be in there with you.” Johnny walked hesitantly to the door and slowly opened it. He peeked inside, saw it was dark, and started to leave when all at once an idea came, and he said: "Hey, Jesus, if you’re in there, would you hand me that can of tomato soup?” (Source Unknown)
These past weeks of Advent began as never before, with a time as individuals, as a faith community, as a religious congregation, as a church, a nation, and inhabitants of this planet earth ~we all were faced with standing in liminality – that in-betweenness – a threshold of disoriented vagueness hoping against hope that God was in the darkness of it all!
Like Johnny, in these times, we, too, need to be courageous and creative and call out to our God to hand us what we need in times of doubt, confusion, apprehension, and fear while walking in this space and time of uncertainty.
Recall how these past months may have been the best of times and the worst of times. As members of this planet, we have experienced devastating and destructive wild fires, earthquakes, volcanoes, three major hurricanes, wide-spread flooding, we teeter on the edge of a nuclear war, we observe mass shootings, bombings, terrorist threats and attacks, there are stories of human trafficking (some touching our own families), our children suicide because of cruel bullying, we notice serious evidence of climate change, and we are faced daily as a nation with an opioid drug epidemic, and yet we rise.
We have become first responders, heroes and she-roes performing countless acts of selflessness and kindness, generous with our hands and hearts, our time and talents, our finances, our voices, our spirits, and we rise together courageous in faith and we stand together with an unwavering hope!
However . . . “We are not to lose heart. We were made for these times” as one author writes. “People everywhere are concerned and deeply bewildered about the state of affairs in our world. Ours is not a task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach.”
Christmas and beyond is a season that invites us to cross over the threshold from darkness to light, from anxiety to a holy serenity; this crossing turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, confusion into clarity, the unexpected into perfect timing, and bids us to wholeheartedly turn to seek God who is already in the turning!
It is here tonight that we are to look beyond ourselves to the simple manger scene. "For there, within the simple cave, the displaced couple, the manger, and the shepherds came together to form the clear image that our God comes to the world through the poor, the marginalized, the powerless, and the oppressed."
Our God is always awaiting our “advent” – our coming closer to the heart of God to be enfolded in compassion, forgiveness, and unconditional love. So when we feel confused, anxious, and frightened, or we find ourselves grasping for hope — let us not give in or give up too soon.
Let us not lose heart for we were made for these times, for the world needs people of hope. It is in accepting each other’s pain and vulnerability can our common human strength and courage grow. Then in this accepting, our shared life in God will flow through us, between us, and around us. Let us hope in one another and in all who work for peace and justice throughout our fragile world.
It is at this Christmas season and beyond, that God is using our lives to bring new hope, joy, peace, and life into the waiting world. Let us then, with our resilient spirits be ready to ask God to just hand us the tomato soup or whatever we may need to be at ease as we walk bravely in this wilderness of uncertainty and vulnerability, no matter how dark life gets.
For we know that God always shows up in surprising ways with remarkable graces and gifts that change our lives and the world.
I close with a brief prayer which invites us all to remember that it is in our shared humanity that we can make an enormous difference in bringing hope and healing to the world that is within our reach.
"God of history and of our hearts,
so much has happened to us during these whirlwind days:
Help us to believe in beginnings
and in our beginning again,
no matter how often we’ve failed before.
Help us to make beginnings:
to begin going out of our weary minds
into fresh dreams,
daring to make our own bold tracks
in the land of now;
to begin forgiving
that we may experience mercy;
to begin questioning the unquestionable
that we may know truth
to begin sacrificing
that we may make peace; to begin loving
that we may realize joy.
Help us to be a beginning to others,
to be a singer to the songless,
a storyteller to the aimless,
a befriender of the friendless;
to become a beginning of hope for the despairing,
of assurance for the doubting,
of reconciliation for the divided;
to become a beginning of freedom for the oppressed,
of comfort for the sorrowing,
of friendship for the forgotten;
to become a beginning of beauty for the forlorn,
of sweetness for the soured,
of gentleness for the angry,
of wholeness for the broken,
of peace for the frightened and violent of the earth.
Help us to believe in beginnings,
to make a beginning,
to be a beginning,
so that we may not just grow old,
but grow new
each day of this wonderful, amazing life
you call us to live . . ."
From Guerrillas of Grace
by Ted Loder
Five year old Johnny was in the kitchen as his mother made supper. She asked him to go into the pantry and get her a can of tomato soup. But he didn't want to go in alone. “It’s dark in there and I’m scared.” She asked again, and he persisted. Finally she said, “It’s OK — Jesus will be in there with you.” Johnny walked hesitantly to the door and slowly opened it. He peeked inside, saw it was dark, and started to leave when all at once an idea came, and he said: "Hey, Jesus, if you’re in there, would you hand me that can of tomato soup?” (Source Unknown)
These past weeks of Advent began as never before, with a time as individuals, as a faith community, as a religious congregation, as a church, a nation, and inhabitants of this planet earth ~we all were faced with standing in liminality – that in-betweenness – a threshold of disoriented vagueness hoping against hope that God was in the darkness of it all!
Like Johnny, in these times, we, too, need to be courageous and creative and call out to our God to hand us what we need in times of doubt, confusion, apprehension, and fear while walking in this space and time of uncertainty.
Recall how these past months may have been the best of times and the worst of times. As members of this planet, we have experienced devastating and destructive wild fires, earthquakes, volcanoes, three major hurricanes, wide-spread flooding, we teeter on the edge of a nuclear war, we observe mass shootings, bombings, terrorist threats and attacks, there are stories of human trafficking (some touching our own families), our children suicide because of cruel bullying, we notice serious evidence of climate change, and we are faced daily as a nation with an opioid drug epidemic, and yet we rise.
We have become first responders, heroes and she-roes performing countless acts of selflessness and kindness, generous with our hands and hearts, our time and talents, our finances, our voices, our spirits, and we rise together courageous in faith and we stand together with an unwavering hope!
However . . . “We are not to lose heart. We were made for these times” as one author writes. “People everywhere are concerned and deeply bewildered about the state of affairs in our world. Ours is not a task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach.”
Christmas and beyond is a season that invites us to cross over the threshold from darkness to light, from anxiety to a holy serenity; this crossing turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, confusion into clarity, the unexpected into perfect timing, and bids us to wholeheartedly turn to seek God who is already in the turning!
It is here tonight that we are to look beyond ourselves to the simple manger scene. "For there, within the simple cave, the displaced couple, the manger, and the shepherds came together to form the clear image that our God comes to the world through the poor, the marginalized, the powerless, and the oppressed."
Our God is always awaiting our “advent” – our coming closer to the heart of God to be enfolded in compassion, forgiveness, and unconditional love. So when we feel confused, anxious, and frightened, or we find ourselves grasping for hope — let us not give in or give up too soon.
Let us not lose heart for we were made for these times, for the world needs people of hope. It is in accepting each other’s pain and vulnerability can our common human strength and courage grow. Then in this accepting, our shared life in God will flow through us, between us, and around us. Let us hope in one another and in all who work for peace and justice throughout our fragile world.
It is at this Christmas season and beyond, that God is using our lives to bring new hope, joy, peace, and life into the waiting world. Let us then, with our resilient spirits be ready to ask God to just hand us the tomato soup or whatever we may need to be at ease as we walk bravely in this wilderness of uncertainty and vulnerability, no matter how dark life gets.
For we know that God always shows up in surprising ways with remarkable graces and gifts that change our lives and the world.
I close with a brief prayer which invites us all to remember that it is in our shared humanity that we can make an enormous difference in bringing hope and healing to the world that is within our reach.
"God of history and of our hearts,
so much has happened to us during these whirlwind days:
Help us to believe in beginnings
and in our beginning again,
no matter how often we’ve failed before.
Help us to make beginnings:
to begin going out of our weary minds
into fresh dreams,
daring to make our own bold tracks
in the land of now;
to begin forgiving
that we may experience mercy;
to begin questioning the unquestionable
that we may know truth
to begin sacrificing
that we may make peace; to begin loving
that we may realize joy.
Help us to be a beginning to others,
to be a singer to the songless,
a storyteller to the aimless,
a befriender of the friendless;
to become a beginning of hope for the despairing,
of assurance for the doubting,
of reconciliation for the divided;
to become a beginning of freedom for the oppressed,
of comfort for the sorrowing,
of friendship for the forgotten;
to become a beginning of beauty for the forlorn,
of sweetness for the soured,
of gentleness for the angry,
of wholeness for the broken,
of peace for the frightened and violent of the earth.
Help us to believe in beginnings,
to make a beginning,
to be a beginning,
so that we may not just grow old,
but grow new
each day of this wonderful, amazing life
you call us to live . . ."
From Guerrillas of Grace
by Ted Loder
A Christmas Homily Revisited . . .
Christmas Eve Homily GOSPEL LK 2:1-14
(From a homily created a few years past)
Last year around this time, I had to have the battery in my watch replaced. So I went to my favorite jewelers, and while I was waiting, the saleswoman asked if she could share with me the story of her seven-year-old son. It seems that their church had just selected the cast of characters for its annual Christmas play, and her son had been chosen to be Joseph, an obvious honor for this young boy.
Then, imitating her son’s enthusiastic reaction upon hearing this wonderful news, she placed her hands upon her heart, and smiling, shared his precious exclamation: “Oh, thank you. I have waited all my life for this!”
God, too, had waited a lifetime, in fact, for an eternity to become flesh within Mary’s womb and within the world of humanity! Tonight we are invited to share in the story of Luke’s account of the nativity, a narrative that is highly charged with social, religious, and political overtones.
He wrote this specifically for his Gentile/Christian audience and emphasizes that this divine child has humble origins, with no royal trappings surrounding his birth. He is born during the course of a journey; the first guests to his birthday party are the marginalized shepherds. He is a child for all people, of all nations.
In our Gospel, we further contemplate the scene that is depicted so vividly: “Mary and Joseph are transients, equivalent to the homeless of our city streets. She is a young woman in a patriarchal society, living in an occupied nation, and brought her child into the world in the manner of enormously disadvantaged people, that is, without the security of a home.”
Mary and Joseph have traveled some 7-10 days to Bethlehem, so as to be counted like sheep and registered according to the dictates of the government. Bethlehem was an arduous 94-mile journey from Nazareth, and Mary, in the last weeks of her pregnancy, rode on the back of a donkey.
Scholars assert that one could not travel this journey except in the twilight or early hours of the morning, as both the heat of the day and the darkness of the night drove people to cover. There were no hotels, restaurants, or waysides, and sojourners carried water, perhaps some figs, olives, and a loaf of bread, and slept on the side of the road.
It was a difficult, dangerous, and grueling journey for anyone, but in particular, for a young woman in the last stages of her pregnancy. Indeed, it is quite reasonable to assume that no health care provider would ever recommend either the journey or the primitive mode of transportation for a woman preparing to bring her child into the world.
Bethlehem is crowded with others who have made a similar journey, and the expectant parents seek shelter, but to no avail. Finally, they are directed to a cave, where they shelter with village animals. Upon the birth of her child, Mary wrapped him in swaddling clothes, the traditional Palestinian way of securing a newborn, and laid him in a manger.
Meanwhile, the first to hear the message of the miraculous yet humble birth were shepherds tending their flocks in the fields, laborers of low economic and social rank. They hurried to Bethlehem and found Mary and Joseph and the child just as the angels had said.
There, within the simple cave, the displaced couple, the manger, and “the shepherds came together to form the clear image that our God comes to the world through the poor, the marginalized, the powerless, and the oppressed.”
However, if we listen between the lines of Luke’s account, we will hear a foreshadowing of who this divine child will be as told through the images, intimations, and figurative language in this sacred story.
This child, too, will one day ride a donkey into a crowded city, seeking an inn with an upper room to celebrate the Passover. There will be no straw-filled manger, but his whole life will be a sacred table of welcoming and mercy, and he will name himself as bread, wine, the Way, the Life, and a shepherd who is good.
Raised as a carpenter, he will be familiar with the feel of the wood beneath his beaten body, remembering the smell of Joseph’s small shop. He will be laid in the arms of his loving and faith-filled mother once again, as he is removed from his cross.
He will be wrapped in a linen cloth, much like his swaddling clothes from his moments of birth; but now, they will embrace him in his death. He will be laid in a cave-like tomb, not warm with the breath of animals nor shielded by the loving protection of Joseph as he was in the stable at Bethlehem.
Then, with an inconceivable and unfathomable mysterious movement, God will bring forth a cosmic energy that will move away stones and break through boundaries and fears, and God will raise Jesus as the Christ born again in every heart of humanity.
Yes, even angels will gather once again upon his rising from death to new life and will sing of his glory as Messiah, Savior, Emmanuel, Wonder-Counselor, and Prince of Peace. Jesus will have waited for this all his life!
This night’s story is known and re-enacted in almost every country throughout the world, children dressing up as shepherds, wise ones, Mary and Joseph, angels and innkeepers, sheep and camels. Yet, what does it mean for all of us?
Each of us this evening is invited to reflect on our own nativity story, recalling the images, details, visitors, and celebrations. We each have been given the task of carrying forward the dreams, the vision, and the mission of our God.
Our faith does not depend upon an empty tomb or a lowly stable. Our hope does not cause us to look to the heavens for angel choirs or cosmic convergences of planets or celestial constellations.
But let it be known, “that the mystery of the nativity is that love is made incarnate every time it deepens in us.” As we grow in love individually, as a community, and as a people of God, we make love more present in the world.
“As Christmas is born again in each of us, it comes forth again into the world.” No matter where we live, work, play, grieve, or celebrate, the message and mystery of the Incarnation cannot be brought out once a year like the nativity set decorations under our tree.
It is our everyday challenge to accept our call to carry on God’s dream and vision for all humanity. . . And in the words of Pope Francis . . . We are “to go forth and preach the Gospel to all: to all places, on all occasions, without hesitation, reluctance or fear. The joy of the Gospel is for all people: no one can be excluded.... That is what the angel proclaimed to the shepherds in Bethlehem: ‘Be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people.”
Finally, since this is the season and night of story, let us be people of the story . . . stories of faith, hope, resilience, and love, as we continue to share in the Word, the breaking of the Bread, the cup of Wine, the sign of peace; and, shortly hereafter, as we take leave following the light of the stars . . . for God has waited an eternity for us this night.
And so we pray:
“Light looked down and saw darkness. “I will go there,” said light.
Peace looked down and saw war. “I will go there,” said peace.
Love looked down and saw hatred. “I will go there,” said love.
So the God of Light, The Prince of Peace,
The King of Love, Came down and crept in beside us.” (Rev. John Bell)
Wednesday, December 18, 2019
A Soltice Silence . . .
A Winter Solstice Prayer
The dark shadow of space leans over us.
We are mindful that the darkness of greed, exploitation, and hatred
also lengthens its shadow over our small planet Earth.
As our ancestors feared death and evil and all the dark powers of winter,
we fear that the darkness of war, discrimination, and selfishness
may doom us and our planet to an eternal winter.
May we find hope in the lights we have kindled on this sacred night,
hope in one another and in all who form the web-work of peace and justice
that spans the world.
In the heart of every person on this Earth
burns the spark of luminous goodness;
in no heart is there total darkness.
May we who have celebrated this winter solstice,
by our lives and service, by our prayers and love,
call forth from one another the light and the love
that is hidden in every heart.
Amen.
- Author Unknown
Welcome, Winter!
 |
| Photo by S.F. |
The Agreement
As the Earth revolves around the Sun,
we travel in an endless circle of Endings and Beginnings:
end of Autumn–beginning of Winter;
end of the longest nights–beginning of longer days;
end of one cycle–beginning of the next.
Winter Solstice is a pivotal moment, a touch-point in time:
a betwixt and between.
‘Tis the final death knoll of the past growing season while holding the kernel of birth of the new. It heralds the return of the Light that tiptoes imperceptibly toward Spring.
It disregards the petty or profound differences of the Earth’s human inhabitants. Instead, it reminds us of our Connections:
That we are bound together by the same seasons,
The same Light,
The same feelings of grief and pain,
The same celebration of joy and peace,
The same yearning for Love in all its forms.
It is a place in Time of Agreement.
(Ulu Ola ~ Source unknown)
Wednesday, December 11, 2019
What is old, is new! What goes around, comes around!
An Advent story to ponder . . .
Once upon a time there was a thief. He wasn’t really good at it. Not a professional at all. He was just a poor man, with hungry children and a wife who labored hard. He worked sometimes, but more often than not there was no job to be had and so no food either for hungry mouths. It pained him to see his wife and children suffer so and angered him that there was no pity in the kingdom, no kindness or generosity in his neighbors. He took a chance, a big chance, and stole some food. The king’s law was death by hanging if a thief was caught. He got away with it often. He took bread, apples, and flour when he could and sometimes a ribbon or two for the one he loved so.
But he wasn’t good at it. He was just poor and hungry and desperate, and finally he got caught, with the bread in hand. He was jailed and sentenced to be hanged until dead, in public for all to see, as a warning to others. He was desperate, for life, for his family, and for their future. In jail the night before the execution he told one of the guards in confidence that it was a shame that he would die tomorrow, for a secret, a great secret, and a skill would die with him. Too bad he couldn’t tell the secret so someone who could use it wisely or get it to the king, who certainly would be interested in it.
The jailer said that he’d be happy to take the secret of the dying man. And so the man told him: “I can take a pomegranate seed, plant it in the ground, water it, and make it grow so that it will bear fruit overnight. My father taught it to me, as his father taught him, for generations. But tomorrow it dies with me.”
The jailer could hardly believe his ears and immediately brought word to the king. The next day, before the execution, the king arrived and had the poor man brought forward. “Let me see you do this marvelous thing,” the king commanded. And so the man asked for a spade, dug a hole, asked for a pomegranate seed, and then turned to the king and spoke: “This seed can only be planted by someone who has never stolen anything in his life or someone who has never taken anything that did not belong to him by right. Of course, I am a thief, caught stealing bread for my children and wife, so I can’t plant it. You’ll have to have someone else do it.”
The king turned to his counselor and commanded him to plant it. The man froze and stuttered: “Your majesty, I can’t.” “What do you mean you can’t?” the king uttered.
The counselor explained. “Once, when I was young, before I was in your employ, I took something from a house where I was staying. I returned it, of course, but I can’t plant it.”
The king was annoyed and turned to his treasurer and commanded him to plant it. The man went chalk white and shook. “I can’t, your majesty,” he confessed.
“What, you, too? What have you done? Have you stolen from me?”
“No, no, my king,” he protested, “but I work with figures, calculating all the time, and it’s easy to make mistakes, and I am forever trying to balance accounts, taking from here to put there. With huge sums of money, land deeds, contracts, and so on it’s easy to overlook something. Besides I often have to make deals with people so that better deals can be made later. Its business, sire.”
The king turned to another, and instinctively the next man shrunk away from him. It was the poor man who spoke next. “Your majesty, perhaps you could plant it yourself.” This time it was the king who hesitated. So many things went through his mind. He remembered stealing from his father in anger, impatient to be king himself and wanting that power and freedom, that access to wealth. The poor man spoke boldly, “Your majesty, even you cannot plant the seed, you who are mighty, with power over life and death; you who have wealth and much more than you need to live on; you who make laws that destroy even the poor who are desperately hungry and caught in the web of others’ greed and insensitivity. You can’t plant the seed. You are a thief. Why are you so hard on me, a poor man who stole bread to feed his family? You are going to hang me, leaving others in need with no recourse.”
The king stopped. He heard, thank heaven, and repented of his harshness and injustice, his callousness and disdain for others. He pardoned the man who reminded him to first change the laws and then to work at making life worth living for so many in his kingdom. The king was impressed with the poor man’s wisdom, cleverness, and understanding and took him into his employ. Things began to change, or so the story goes. Would that it were true for all those who hear this tale told today.
But he wasn’t good at it. He was just poor and hungry and desperate, and finally he got caught, with the bread in hand. He was jailed and sentenced to be hanged until dead, in public for all to see, as a warning to others. He was desperate, for life, for his family, and for their future. In jail the night before the execution he told one of the guards in confidence that it was a shame that he would die tomorrow, for a secret, a great secret, and a skill would die with him. Too bad he couldn’t tell the secret so someone who could use it wisely or get it to the king, who certainly would be interested in it.
The jailer said that he’d be happy to take the secret of the dying man. And so the man told him: “I can take a pomegranate seed, plant it in the ground, water it, and make it grow so that it will bear fruit overnight. My father taught it to me, as his father taught him, for generations. But tomorrow it dies with me.”
The jailer could hardly believe his ears and immediately brought word to the king. The next day, before the execution, the king arrived and had the poor man brought forward. “Let me see you do this marvelous thing,” the king commanded. And so the man asked for a spade, dug a hole, asked for a pomegranate seed, and then turned to the king and spoke: “This seed can only be planted by someone who has never stolen anything in his life or someone who has never taken anything that did not belong to him by right. Of course, I am a thief, caught stealing bread for my children and wife, so I can’t plant it. You’ll have to have someone else do it.”
The king turned to his counselor and commanded him to plant it. The man froze and stuttered: “Your majesty, I can’t.” “What do you mean you can’t?” the king uttered.
The counselor explained. “Once, when I was young, before I was in your employ, I took something from a house where I was staying. I returned it, of course, but I can’t plant it.”
The king was annoyed and turned to his treasurer and commanded him to plant it. The man went chalk white and shook. “I can’t, your majesty,” he confessed.
“What, you, too? What have you done? Have you stolen from me?”
“No, no, my king,” he protested, “but I work with figures, calculating all the time, and it’s easy to make mistakes, and I am forever trying to balance accounts, taking from here to put there. With huge sums of money, land deeds, contracts, and so on it’s easy to overlook something. Besides I often have to make deals with people so that better deals can be made later. Its business, sire.”
The king turned to another, and instinctively the next man shrunk away from him. It was the poor man who spoke next. “Your majesty, perhaps you could plant it yourself.” This time it was the king who hesitated. So many things went through his mind. He remembered stealing from his father in anger, impatient to be king himself and wanting that power and freedom, that access to wealth. The poor man spoke boldly, “Your majesty, even you cannot plant the seed, you who are mighty, with power over life and death; you who have wealth and much more than you need to live on; you who make laws that destroy even the poor who are desperately hungry and caught in the web of others’ greed and insensitivity. You can’t plant the seed. You are a thief. Why are you so hard on me, a poor man who stole bread to feed his family? You are going to hang me, leaving others in need with no recourse.”
The king stopped. He heard, thank heaven, and repented of his harshness and injustice, his callousness and disdain for others. He pardoned the man who reminded him to first change the laws and then to work at making life worth living for so many in his kingdom. The king was impressed with the poor man’s wisdom, cleverness, and understanding and took him into his employ. Things began to change, or so the story goes. Would that it were true for all those who hear this tale told today.
Original source unknown.
(previously posted)
Found in Advent Christmas and Epiphany . . . Stories and Reflections on the Sunday Readings by Megan McKenna. Orbis Books, 1998. "The Pomegranate Seed” is a story found in many folktale traditions.
https://meganmckenna.com/
Advent Joseph
Among so many Madonna & Child paintings, it seems that artists have tended to leave Joseph out, let alone thought of painting him actually holding the baby... but Georges de la Tour painted this beautiful picture of Joseph with Jesus holding a light for him to work by.
Catherine Alder
Advent Hands
I see the hands of Joseph.
Back and forth along bare wood they move.
There is worry in those working hands,
sorting out confusing thoughts with every stroke.
“How can this be, my beautiful Mary now with child?”
Rough with deep splinters, these hands,
small, painful splinters like tiny crosses
embedded deeply in this choice to stay with her.
He could have closed his hands to her,
said, “No” and let her go to stoning.
But, dear Joseph opened both his heart and hands
to this mother and her child.
Preparing in these days before
with working hands
and wood pressed tight between them.
It is these rough hands that will open
and be the first to hold the Child.
I see the hands of John,
worn from desert raging storms
and plucking locusts from sand ripped rocks
beneath the remnant of a Bethlehem star.
A howling wind like some lost wolf
cries out beneath the moon,
or was that John?
This loneliness,
enough to make a grown man mad.
He’s waiting for this, God’s whisper.
“Go now. He is coming.
You have prepared your hands enough.
Go. He needs your servant hands,
your cupping hands to lift the water,
and place his feet upon the path to service and to death.
Go now, John, and open your hands to him.
It is time.”
worn from desert raging storms
and plucking locusts from sand ripped rocks
beneath the remnant of a Bethlehem star.
A howling wind like some lost wolf
cries out beneath the moon,
or was that John?
This loneliness,
enough to make a grown man mad.
He’s waiting for this, God’s whisper.
“Go now. He is coming.
You have prepared your hands enough.
Go. He needs your servant hands,
your cupping hands to lift the water,
and place his feet upon the path to service and to death.
Go now, John, and open your hands to him.
It is time.”
I see a fist held tight and fingers blanched to white.
Prying is no easy task.
These fingers find a way of pulling back to old positions,
protecting all that was and is.
Blanched to white. No openness. All fright.
But then the Spirit comes.
A holy Christmas dance begins
and blows between the twisted paths.
This fist opens
slowly,
gently,
beautifully,
the twisted fingers letting go.
Their rock-solid place in line has eased.
And one by one the fingers lift
True color is returned
And through the deepest of mysteries,
The holiest of holies,
O longing of longings
Beyond all human imagining
this fist,
as if awakened from Lazarus’ cold stone dream
reaches out to hold the tiny newborn hand of God.
Prying is no easy task.
These fingers find a way of pulling back to old positions,
protecting all that was and is.
Blanched to white. No openness. All fright.
But then the Spirit comes.
A holy Christmas dance begins
and blows between the twisted paths.
This fist opens
slowly,
gently,
beautifully,
the twisted fingers letting go.
Their rock-solid place in line has eased.
And one by one the fingers lift
True color is returned
And through the deepest of mysteries,
The holiest of holies,
O longing of longings
Beyond all human imagining
this fist,
as if awakened from Lazarus’ cold stone dream
reaches out to hold the tiny newborn hand of God.
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