cozy tonight

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It's my birthday and a blizzard at the same time. So the Eagle and I are squestered at home - I hope he is not called out to the hospitals. It is supposed to be getting quite nasty in the wee hours.

I'd love to 'watch' the blizzard - the blowing falling snow, but it's going to be the middle of night, not the time for visible weather. This will be a secret storm, hidden by darkness. We will wake to the changed world - drifted snow and heavy branches.

We will not fully understand or experience it, cozy as we are, in the house with limited windows and excellent insulation. Our comfort - perhaps it makes us shallow.


December afternoon a day after the first snowfall.

In all cities,
there is a moment, in December,
when the sun is low
and the light is slanting, soft.

When melt and cars and concrete
create a universal smell.
This is not beauty.
But it is real.

That we, humans, ride this tide of our own making
our permanently frozen ground,
our marred landscape
our padded feet not feeling
our swaddled bodies not aware
that the soft sun is crying:
breathe.

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prayer for the long day

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A prayer for the long day

Birdsong never stops -
singing praise
Nature overcome with life expands
past its boundaries
Out, Out damn raspberries!
Gratitude is green
Green is everywhere
Too much life around at this moment
of maximum sun
Never too much You.
A mystic appreciation of You in all
green, growing, grassy, grasping life.
And I, called to be one through
green, with You - hesitate.

NK
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They didn't believe me

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Mediating on the texts made me think of this song:




I have it in a wonderful recording by Voices of Ascension. It's by Jerome Kern/Herbert Reynolds. I know it's a love song, but don't we love to sing about our Savior. Think about the ten remaining disciples, or Mary M singing to Thomas!


And when I told them how beautiful you are,
They didn't believe me. They didn't believe me!
Your lips, your eyes, your cheeks, your hair, (your side, your hands, your feet, your flesh)
Are in a class beyond compare,
You're the lovilest girl that one could see! (You're the greatest Savior one could see!)
And when I tell them,
And I cert'nly am goin' to tell them,
That I'm the man whose wife one day you'll be. (That I'm the one whose Master you shall be)
They'll never believe me. They'll never believe me.
That from this great big world you've chosen me!


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Easter Sunday - Words not said

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A beginning of a sermon that I will not use:
For Easter Sunday

I know a young man
– really, at heart only a boy still –
who should be here.

He won’t be, but he should be.
He doesn’t think this place, this occasion,
has anything to say to him.

He thinks his life is such a
– loss, perhaps
– that nothing can touch him.

He has made his choices
– to live a life just under the radar
- of landlord and employer, police and taxes.

He lives by a spiral code
– move away from the center,
slowly but surely,
always taking one step sideways for each one forward.

This path is a losing way, a loosing way,
a way to get lost, be lost, stay lost,
stray far away from the center, centering story.

He needs to be here today
– to hear this story
– this story of the One so lost, so abandoned,
so alone, so far from the center,
the one who sent to hell,
who hung around in hell,
who knew hell,
and who has returned, and promised

no more hell.

No more hell
– not of our own making,
not of God’s making,
not of others' making –

There is an eternity, and it is not hell.
There is an eternity and it is joy.
There is an eternity and it starts now.

The young man needs to know
there is a place for him here.
A home, a seat, a bed.
An end to wandering.

Come and rest, come and be.
The path is not a spiral
– but direct – come home.
Jesus has gone to hell for you – to bring you back. Welcome.
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Mid-Lent Check in

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Our Crosses

Our crosses are many
We may not know
The salty taste of tears until they come without bidding
And sign a growing shadow
Cross-shaped, on our hearts

Our crosses are solitary
I will not speak
Not of my guilt, or of my shame, or of my pain
But know this is my cross – all mine
No one shares

Our crosses are ancient
My mother’s and my father’s burden
Taken up with all the panic of country, pride and riches
And clung to because it is my legacy
Even as I long for freedom

Our crosses are random
Attack comes here, now
We ask why here, why now, why us
And the truth is always the cross we bear
For the answer is empty of comfort

Our crosses are His cross
Only one, all for us, ever new and reborn
His the first, His the birth, His the pain
His the grief, His the burden
His the life in the cross
His the end of all our crosses. (NAK, Lent 2009)

Sophia on RevGal writes: The pastor of my grad school parish once gave a fascinating reflection, at about this mid-point in the season, called "How to Survive the Mid-Lent Crisis"! As I recall, his main point was that by halfway through the season we have often found it very challenging to live up to our original plans....But, he suggested--on the analogy of the healing and reframing of our life plans that can happen during a mid-*life* crisis--that that can be even more fruitful. So here's an invitation to check in on the state of your spirit midway through "this joyful season where we prepare to celebrate the paschal mystery with mind and heart renewed" (Roman Missal). Hopefully there's a good deal of grace, and not too much crisis, in your mid-Lenten experience!

1. Did you give up, or take on, anything special for Lent this year? I have not taken up anything different, or given anything up in renunciation this year. But I have given up some negative attitudes and habits - I have resolved not to worry about my weight, while eating healthly. I have resolved to drink less alcohol, while not berating myself for an occasional glass of wine. I have detached from some concerns at work, knowing that others have things in hand. I have tried to honor my days off and my nights off. I am feeling more at peace this season.

2. Have you been able to stay with your original plans, or has life gotten in the way? Things have slowed down in terms of the 'have to do think NOW' items, and that is a relief. Because my expectations were low, I am finding all sorts of things pleasant surprises - sunny days, my hours with the cat, a slow morning.

3. Has God had any surprising blessings for you during this Lent? A big surprise and an ironic one. I discovered a name for what afflicts my son - although he hasn't been diagnosed - and may never be, due to the nature of the problem - all at once his difficult behavior makes sense. We are re-affirmed in our limit-setting and current treatment of him. It's been an eye-opener and a relief to discover an on-line support group for parents with similar stories.

4. What is on your inner and/or outer agenda for the remainder of Lent and Holy Week? Stay calm and focused. Draw nearer into the biblical story. Love the people. Offer creative and thoughtful worship. Spend time at home.

5. Where do you most long to see resurrection, in your life and/or in the world, this Easter? I long for my son to speak to us, for his insight. I long for our churches to feel the Spirit. I long for our staff to recognize and embrace their ministry and their boundaries as mutual calls. (To know yes - this is my vocation, and no - this isn't something I have to do!) For the world, my thoughts are like so many others - ending to the stupid wars all over the world, freedom and justice for the oppressed, food for the hungry.

p.s. the picture was taken by a parishioner and friend and we're using it as the key image for our Lenten series on Our Crosses, His Victory. The poem is mine.

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