Monsters come knocking.
Open to them.
It’s dark out there; they’re
glad to step into the light.
Let them in. Feed them candy;
Once you compliment them,
their nearly convincing costumes,
learn their names, see their faces,
they’re not as scary.
Besides, they live here.
They’re your monsters.
Befriend your monsters.
They’re all innocent children,
looking for home.
A lone child in the woods cries out.
Seeking you, I am haunted
by the illusion of distance.
My mind chatters on, “Over there!
No, over there!” and drowns out
what my breath murmurs,”Right here. Right here.”
The buried seed still in its casket
from the soil.
Prayer is no effort but the failure of my shell,
so the mighty root hairs
may emerge and do what they know.
Even in my loneliness and despair
the fish of me prays
in the ocean of you.
Which commandment is the first of all?
The first is, “You shall love the Holy One your God with all your heart,
and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.”
The second is this, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
There is no other commandment greater than these.
—Mark 12. 29-31
God, you know how I put other things first:
to be right, to be safe, to belong.
I confess. I repent.
I already belong to you, eternally, absolutely.
I am safe in you. I need not earn your love,
or prove my worthiness, or have others approve.
I only need to let the love you give me
become all of me: to love you with all of myself,
every little thing I do an act of love,
and to pass that love to others,
always and no matter what,
to never compromise my love with anything else.
Oh, stand for justice, speak the truth,
say the hard things, prohibit abuse,
but only with love, not anything else,
In the stillness
I enter my own heart
I find it is your house,
and I am your beloved child
come home at last.
Grace and Peace to you.
The blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit
offered himself without blemish to God,
will purify our conscience from dead works
to worship the living God!
Here we go again.
“Jesus died for your sins,” right?
His blood for your benefit, right?
This is not a deal,
some arcane transaction
between a pious sheep and a bloodthirsty God.
This piece comes up in Sunday’s Lectionary,
along with a bit from the book of Ruth:
Naomi, a newly widowed foreigner, is going home.
Her daughter-in-law Ruth promises to go with her:
“Where you go, I will go; Where you lodge, I will lodge;
your people shall be my people, and your God my God.
Where you die, I will die.” (Ruth 1.16-17)
That explains Jesus’ death.
He’s not trading places; he’s staying with us,
even in our death.
God isn’t demanding a sacrifice (Jesus paying the bill.)
God is making the sacrifice, to be with us no matter what—
on the cross enduring both our suffering and our causing suffering—
forgiving and accompanying us.
There’s nothing left in our conscience to keep us from God.
God has promised to be With Us Forever No Matter What.
Move on, then, and let your whole life be thanks
There is a Sage inside you,
an Elder, a Wise One
whose flesh is of the earth,
whose heart is rooted deep in the Divine,
who breathes with the whales and the trees,
who speaks with the saints and hears the Spirit.
There is a Sage in you
whose wisdom is ancient,
whose peace is a mountain,
whose loveliness is the desire of angels,
who is continually grateful, generous and forgiving,
serene amid chaos,
and joyful in all things.
The Sage is most likely to know
your path before you know it,
to claim your beauty
and trust your Belovedness
before you dare.
The Sage is always silent.
To listen to the Sage takes the same silence.
When you listen,
you find yourself,
dancing to the song of the Sage.
There is a little Joker inside you,
playful and mischievous,
who skips and tumbles
and asks impudent questions,
and giggles at inappropriate moments,
whose energy is delight
that cannot be diminished,
who takes seriously
when you are taking
Taking Things Seriously
too seriously, and pokes you in the rib.
The little trickster sees the back side of things,
laughs and points,
sees the child in pompous people
and is not afraid of them,
only of you,
because you are the one
whose love that little imp wants—
and sometimes you care more about
What Grown-Ups Think Of You
than loving your little child.
Your dear Troublemaker laughs
at you and your bullies alike,
and even the devil, for you are all
small and funny and full of possibility,
and grief is a bad actor who forgets his lines
and whose underwear shows,
and disasters have holes in them.
Be a safe playground for that little Joker
who takes everything so lightly
that you yourself become light.
Grace and Peace to you.
There is a Mourner within you,
whose sorrow is greater than sadness
at what is no longer in your pocket
or your arms:
tectonic plates of grief
moving deep and silent,
crying without tears,
keening without sounds,
weeping for this world and all that is broken.
The Mourner is accustomed to being silenced,
for being feared—that her wails, once loose,
will run wild. But they don’t run;
they walk, steady, tireless, yearning.
When silenced her wails become stones
of meanness or despair.
Hear them knocking against each other
in the voices of tyrants and beggars alike.
Sit with the Mourner within you,
do not silence her,
give her time, and some water,
and a listening ear.
She is your strength and your wisdom.
She is your harmony with the song of the earth,
which is also a song of great wonder,
the song of all living things breathing, hoping,
singing through mouths that are wounds.
But first she must mourn.
The full moon is a happy soul
singing a sad song.
Only that way is she so lovely.
Do not abandon the Mourner within you:
she carries, under her cloak,
power, and hope, deep beauty,
and joy most firm.
There is a doubter in you,
the kid in the back row,
the jilted one, the skeptic,
not out of malice but a broken heart,
unready to trust the good news
all the way to its end.
Don’t let Faith come barging in
to try to convince them.
Don’t let Piety trick you into
taking responsibility for them.
Let the Doubter be the Doubter,
and you be you.
Resist either criticizing or defending.
Then, bring three chairs close,
for you, the Doubter, and Jesus.
And just sit together.
Let those two look each other in the eye.
Let the Doubter say what needs to be said,
ask what needs to be asked. Listen.
Don’t be surprised if Jesus doesn’t answer,
but simply nods and holds the Doubter close,
for a long time,
holds them in his arms gently,
with holes in his hands,
maybe even holds both of you.
You’ll likely want to come and visit again.
Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way. —Mark 10.46-52
Tarry over this story. Let it seep into your imagination. Pray your way through it.
Like Bartimaeus you sit on the edge of your Way, your life.
Jesus shares the road with you: walks on your Way, your life.
He’s been there all along. Imagine that….
Something in you yearns for his presence and his grace. Let it cry out….
Voices tell you to be quiet, that your yearning is unwelcome.
But Jesus stops. He stands still.
Imagine Jesus, in no hurry….
Jesus calls to you. He wants to hear you.
Note how Jesus’ invitation overrules those discouraging voices, and take heart….
Bartimaeus threw off his cloak to come to Jesus.
What do you need to throw off?…
You stand before Jesus. He looks at you calmly.
He says, “What do you want me to do for you?”
How does your heart respond?….
Jesus says “You faith has made you well.”
Your faith is not your beliefs: it’s your reaching out.
Jesus meets it. Give thanks…
Jesus tells Bartimaeus to go his way, but instead he follows Jesus on the Way.
What Way does God’s grace invite you to follow?….