Month: March 2019

         Jerusalem, Jerusalem! How often have I desired
         to gather your children together
         as a hen gathers her brood under her wings,
         and you were not willing!
                           —Luke 13.34

Gather me, Mother Christ.
I am your wayward child,
impetuous and free,
defiantly lonesome,
wholly at risk without you.
Never mind my rebelliousness,
my fear of your fierce adoration,
how I disbelieve
how deeply I need your love
and how deeply you give it.
Gather me in, Mother Christ,
with all your little ones,
all of them.
Embrace me, hold me
long and gentle,
for I am tired and afraid
and will run no more.
I am willing.
Gather me in.

—March 15, 2019

         They said, “Herod wants to kill you.”
         He said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me,
          ‘Listen, I am casting out demons
         and performing cures today and tomorrow,
         and on the third day I finish my work.’”
                           —Luke 13.31-32

Crucified and Risen One,
give me your courage to hope in the face of evil.
Give me your patience to serve under stress.
Give me your faith to work for justice
in the face of threat and opposition.
Give me your pluck to persevere when it is hard.
Give me your love, for our love itself
changes the world.
May I meet fear with healing and hate with love,
side by side with you,
who die and rise daily with me.
Amen.

   —March 14, 2019

         In the wilderness for forty days,
         … he ate nothing at all.
                           —Luke 4.1-2

Fasting, I am aware of my privilege:
food at every turn.
         May I never take it for granted.

I am aware of my desire,
my conviction that it matters.
         Set me free from believing I need what I want.

I am mindful of the hungry,
who will not break fast tomorrow.
         May I never eat without them.

I am habituated to fueling for the race,
consuming calories for a hectic pace.
         Slow me down tomorrow, too.

The longer I am hungry the deeper my desire,
the wider— not for food, for you.
         Deepen my hunger for you.
         Satisfy me, and keep me wanting more.

   —March 13, 2019

         He was in the wilderness forty days,
         tempted by Satan;
         and he was with the wild beasts
                  —Mark 1.13

Come with me, God.
I am your little fearful child,
and I need you with me.
I mean to go deep into my blessed darkness,
where fears like fierce beasts prowl,
where gaping caves of wounds reach out
and pull me downward,
where desires lurk and haunt and taunt.
Come with me in your gentleness
to walk among demons
and see in them
in the light of your grace
the little children they are,
afraid and alone,
little child demons searching
for their mother
who is me,
becoming whole.

   —March 12, 2019

         How beautiful upon the mountains
         are the feet of one bringing good news.
                  —Isaiah 52.7

You mail carrier comes,
walks up to your house every morning
and slips this into the little box,
or through the slot—
not mindlessly listening to bad music
or counting the minutes till the route is over,
but with prayerful delight for each recipient,
imagining blessing left behind, satisfied.
What a fine way to live, eh?

   —March 11, 2019

         Jesus was led by the Spirit
         in the wilderness,
         where for forty days he was tempted.
                           —Luke 4.1-2

We water our desires like a garden,
they become a forest, we are lost in them.
We desire and we take.

So we leave the lush place where everything is given,
for the sparse land where everything is questioned.
We go alone with him
to that most alone place,
the empty place,
among the bones of our desire.
Everything exposed,
bare rock, long views, no cover.

And we live.
At that margin we finally come
to the center,
nothing but soul and flesh,
the creature that endures,
the solitude in which we are not alone,
the spring that wells up within,
that everything else obscures.

Coming back, our eyes are open.
Returning to the city’s deserts
we know to dip from the the spring
flowing out.

   —March 8, 2019

         For forty days he was tempted by the devil.
                           —Luke 4.2

God, I confess
I want the power
to make things as I wish them,
to turn stones to bread, this to that,
to have the world as I desire, not as it is.
         I renounce my hunger for power.
         Your love alone is my power.

I confess
I want to manage what others think of me,
I want authority, status, belonging,
the kingdoms of the world.
         I renounce my hunger for status.
         You lone are my belonging.

I confess
I want the security of freedom from pain,
from risk, from sacrifice,
as if I could leap from a height and be unhurt.
         I renounce my fear of suffering.
         You alone are my security.

Spirit of love,
be my power, my security, my belonging;
overwhelm the fears of my ego
and re-direct my desires,
that I may trust you, belong to you,
and bear your love alone.

         I breathe your love.
         I breathe your love.
Amen.

   —March 7, 2019

The Beloved knelt down
and scooped dust up from the earth
and bent down and kissed that dirt,
laid tender lips on yours
and breathed into you
and there you are,

dirt breathing,
breathing God.

Attend to the breath,
it sings,
attend to the dust,
without its grit
the breath can’t sing.
Watch how you try
to be one without the other.
Attend to getting along.

The wind blows all dust,
eventually scatters it.

Sing, dust,
while you can.

  —March 6, 2019

I used to wonder what “Shrove” meant.
I thought of boats shrove up on shore.
Or a boat shrove in on the rocks.
Maybe a shrove of wheat.
Or the shrove you put over a dead body.

Then I learned to shrive is to hear a confession,
and to grant absolution,
and to impose penance.
Which, all together, are as mixed up as before.
If I really grant absolution—forgiveness—
there is no penance, no obligation.

But maybe to shrive means
to see clearly, you and me together,
what is out of harmony in my life,
and see together how to get in tune.
To see what gets in the way of perfect love
and to start to move it out of the way
so by God loving in me I can be perfected in love.

Confession is being mindful:
I am becoming pure love,
still on the way.

God, I am sorry: I am pretty messed up.
“Oh, child, you’re more messed up than you think.
But you’re mine, and I love you, and you’re lovely.
Now let’s work on this.”

   —March 5, 2019

         You desire truth in the inward being;
         therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart
                  —Psalm 51.6

         Whenever you pray,
         go into your room and shut the door
         and pray to your Life-giver who is in secret.
                  —Matthew 6.6

Go in,
into that inner chamber
beneath the where of you
and the how of you
and even the who of you
to the great I Am of you,
where hums your secret self,

the holy darkness
at the center where
God radiates out into you.

Go into that dark room
where your forgiveness
lies like a sleeping child;

like a child who has loved you
since the day she was born,
the Beloved waits to greet you.

   —March 4, 2019