Month: January 2025

In the frozen field the stubble is no cover
from the wind’s teeth.
The snow is too frigid to squeak
though it winces a little.
The cold with its fingernails
reaches into you up to its knuckles.
I would welcome warmth, but first
we need this cold,
to kill the ticks and pine beetles,
to tamp the allergens, to balance things,
once it was to fill the ice houses,
still to skate and ski.
Good and cold.

It toughens you,
not only if you’re from Finland.
If repentance is a refining fire
maybe it’s ice, too:
the six-bladed knives of truth
cutting soul from spirit, joints from marrow,
the shimmering halo of frost
that outlines everything you do so you can’t miss it,
the way you find out what keeps you warm
and what fails. Struggling with a zipper or a key,
the humility of being weak and fragile.
And the weather report that one day you will be
irretrievably cold, and still as ice.
And maybe also the deep forgetfulness of snow
that forgives and beautifies everything
(a grace not cheap, with all that shoveling).
The cold creeps in, murmuring
that all heat is a gift from beyond.
Just think. Out here even the warmth
of your plain, dumb body could save a life.


________________
Weather Report

Cold,
with raging fires.
Expect drought and floods,
day and night,
which also,
like all of us,
will pass.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
Listen to the audio recording:

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 2:02 — 2.8MB)

Subscribe: Spotify | RSS

Under a darkening sky
she kneels on pleading earth

and digs with fragile fingers
into soil that does not complain

but offers itself,
a little sacred womb of dirt.

The clouds turn ominous,
giddy with their disturbance,

thundering their hymns
of coming doom.

Shadows seep and spread
like oil from a leaky drum.

Late light lies low, but
it knows how to work though.

First flakes fall, rumors,
a storm’s campaign promises.

She keeps on, on one knee,
planting her heart in hope,

set not on what may be
but the seed that is now,

held in the soil, hidden
from ice’s passing curse,

knowing, as only earth knows,
a season yet to come.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
Listen to the audio recording:

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 1:07 — 1.5MB)

Subscribe: Spotify | RSS

            ..to proclaim the year of God’s favor…
                                      —Luke 4.19

Jesus, reading from Isaiah, cuts the quote short.
He omits “the day of God’s vengeance.”

Speaking as the Chosen one of God,
he has taken it off the menu.

The only punishment inflicted
will be his own cross.

There is no payback, only kindness.
Even to the enemies of God there is only grace.

This, now, is the ”year”—the present—of God’s favor,
God’s radical, gentle delight.

Can we follow? Like a drunk abstaining,
will we forgo all cruelty, all vengeance?

Like David armorless facing Goliath,
will we trust the five smooth stones of love?

Soldiers have taken easier oaths.
Yet to be bearers of God’s favor alone,

to live lives only of mercy
the Spirit is upon us.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
Listen to the audio recording:

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 1:22 — 1.9MB)

Subscribe: Spotify | RSS

             The Spirit of the Holy One is upon me,
                          because God has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.
             God has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
                          and recovery of sight to the blind,
             to let the oppressed go free,
                          to proclaim the year of God’s favor.
                                      —Luke 4.18-19

It sounds like an inauguration speech:
economic policy, legal reforms, medical advances,
a liberation movement.
But it’s not public policy; it’s God’s grace.
Jesus has no political office or power or plans.
He lives, in fact, under brutal oppression
that will stay brutal for generations.
He’s not launching a campaign, but a ministry.
An insurrection of gentleness, a revolt of kindness.
It’s something you’re anointed for, not elected.

Even under the thumb of Caesar,
we live in the Empire of Grace.
It is we, not the emperor, who will do justice and love mercy.
Surely we will lobby, we will vote and advocate,
but we will not wait.
We ourselves will embody the coming of God’s favor.
Like Jesus, we may soon be hauled to the edge of a cliff;
like him, we will survive.

Those baptismal waters have anointed us
to be good news to the poor, to be release,
to be new sight, to be freedom,
to be God’s grace.
But not on our own: it is God who anoints us,
who does this work through us: the Spirit bears us on.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
Listen to the audio recording:

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 2:08 — 2.9MB)

Subscribe: Spotify | RSS

For whatever transpires on this day…

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
           for to them is given the realm of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn,
           for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the gentle,
           for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for right relationships,
           for they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciful,
           for they will receive mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart,
           for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,
           for they will be called children of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of justice,
           for theirs is the realm of heaven.
             

                         —Matthew 5.3-10

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
Listen to the audio recording:

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 1:19 — 1.8MB)

Subscribe: Spotify | RSS

             Now standing there were six stone water jars
             for the Jewish rites of purification….
                         —John 2.6


What if purification isn’t the removal of anything,
but transforming something into pure joy?

What if purification isn’t washing away part of you,
but revealing your deepest beauty?

What if you are already made pure,
but are not yet celebrating?

What if what came before was not impure,
but what may come next is as yet unimagined?

What if you are holy water,
even now being turned into wine?

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
Listen to the audio recording:

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 0:57 — 1.3MB)

Subscribe: Spotify | RSS

             When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him,
             “They have no wine.”
             And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me?
             My hour has not yet come.”
             His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”
                         —John 2.3-5


Leadership is nudging someone into their next step
the moment before they know they’re ready.

Even Jesus had to be prompted by someone
who knew his gifts, and who saw the moment.

Sometimes we ourselves are pure water,
unaware we are about to be turned to wine.

God, help me be open to the moment
and the nudging of Mother Spirit, who sees.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
Listen to the audio recording:

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 1:00 — 1.4MB)

Subscribe: Spotify | RSS

Between a president who recently died
and one about to begin
we remember a man who was never president.

(We notice the harmonies, and the dissonances.)
See how our choices matter—
not our position, nor our power, but our character.

We remember Martin, who was famous,
and in his name thousands more who were not,
but just as brave and merciful and mighty.

We remember all those who were peacemakers,
the nonviolent seekers of justice who have gone before,
and those who are now among us, without office.

We give thanks for those who stood against injustice,
who faced violence, hatred and anger with gentle courage,
and we pray for that spirit as well,

that we will not walk with the haughty and the cruel,
that we will be truthful and kind,
that we confront the power to exclude with the power to love.

With blessed leaders showing us the way,
we pray that we will choose love over fear,
generosity over selfishness, service over supremacy.

We give thanks for the saints who have gone before,
link arms with the saints who risk even now,
and with their song in our throats, we carry on.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
Listen to the audio recording:

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 1:35 — 2.2MB)

Subscribe: Spotify | RSS

             Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
                          I have called you by name, you are mine.
             When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
                          and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
             when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
                          and the flame shall not consume you. …
             because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.
                         —Isaiah 43.1-4


And when you walk through fire and you are are burned?
God is still with you.

The flames may destroy your goods,
but they can’t consume you, the you God loves.

The troubles you endure do not diminish your belovedness.
Even the greatest tragedy is the cross where Jesus meets you.

Sometimes, with nothing left, we stand beside the ruins
and say, shaking, “Well, at least we’re grateful we’re alive.”

This is God’s prayer every moment,
even at our joyous victories.

In a time of sorrow the loss is real. The grief is acute.
And at the core, gratitude for what can’t be taken.

The spouse beside the bed of the Alzheimer’s patient
knows this: faith in what can’t be taken.

Amid ashes, we hold one another, and promise
to live for the sake of what can’t be taken.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
Listen to the audio recording:

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 2:02 — 2.8MB)

Subscribe: Spotify | RSS

Last week I wrote a prayer welcoming God’s refining fire.
Then horrifying flames began devastating Los Angeles.

“When you walk through fire you shall not be burned,”
God says, and then some are.

The baptismal flood brings beauty and devastation.
Some drown in holy water.

Life is a mixed bag, and we grab it
because it’s our only bag.

It’s plush with knives and we pick it up,
and find in it sweets and nuts, and blood.

You eat the whole luscious fruit;
the seeds of calamity are too small to pick out.

Ruin has its joys, and triumph its sorrows.
To love God is to lose and receive everything.

Sometimes it is among ashes
we become most human.

After the fire they will clean up using power
generated by burning something.

Love walks among the tents in the camps of death,
a child singing her undying song.

We join the beautiful slow dance of the Beloved,
man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.

What does this mean? That nothing is absolute but God,
who is always present, and mostly paradox.

We touch each other. We trust grace,
and we take what comes.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
Listen to the audio recording:

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 1:53 — 2.6MB)

Subscribe: Spotify | RSS