Author: Steve

             The wind blows where it chooses,
             and you hear the sound of it,
             but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.
             So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”
                            —John 3.8


Spirit, move me.
Wind of God, blow where you will.

Breeze of gentleness, lead me.
Zephyr of courage, sustain me.

Like strong trade winds, guide me
where you hope for me to go.

Like a dandelion seed, I rest on you,
without resisting, and you bear me.

I open myself to you, full sail,
lines taut, rigging singing in you.

Breath of God, you are moving.
Give me grace to discern,

to surrender,
and to sail.


_________________
Weather Report

Windy,
as the Spirit moves among us all,
unseen but strong,
with possibility of microbursts;
though some are moved,
and some are not.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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When I start to think I’m so damn smart
I go out into the woods and sit

till I become as dumb as trees,
no wiser than the enduring grass,

no smarter than the sparrows and their nests,
the fox hiding where I cannot see,

as ignorant as the great migrating bird
who knows her way,

and the white-tailed deer that knows nothing,
nothing of cruelty or greed.

I become as simple as the clouds,
losing themselves continually.

Then I am ready to re-enter the human dance,
watching, learning, for the first time.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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Perhaps, yes, God is a loving parent,
a brave and patient shepherd,
or a sovereign on a throne.
But also this: God is fire.
Having no shape, no stable form,
but only movement.
Being in no particular place,
but many at once.
Not existing above things, separate,
but only in the transformation of things,
the destroying-and-creating process
of elements interacting.
Lightning: not static, unchanging, immortal,
but only in the moment of its occurring,
in the movement of a charge through the world.
God is an energy, a transforming force,
a refining mystery, an event, a movement.
Too close, you are consumed;
too distant and you freeze.
Our images are of the light given off,
but not the actual changes occurring.
Looking, you see only what was a moment ago.
The Holy Spirit is the fire of the sun
converted by plants into the sugar
that fuels your body, the spark that ignites you.
God is ignition.
Be a struck match.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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May the mystery of the Holy Spirit dwell in you,
that you may hear the voice of grace
even in strange places and foreign tongues.

May the wind of the Holy Spirit move you
to cross boundaries and defy divisions
to love those who are different from you.

May the breath of the Holy Spirit breathe in you
to forgo all comfort and familiarity
to meet others where they are.

May the fountain of the Holy Spirit flow in you
with courage and humility to learn anew,
to be awkward and foolish for the sake of love.

May the fire of the Holy Spirit burn brightly in you,
that in all you do others may see in you
the warm light of the steady love of God.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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             “The Advocate will come,
             whom I will send to you from Abba God,
             the spirit of truth.“
                            —John 15.26

“Advocate.“ In Greek, paraclete.
One who comes alongside to assist.
God is not your judge or prosecutor,
but your defense attorney,
advocating for you.
On your side.
Against all those voices of accusation,
both yours and the world’s—
those untruths, that you’re not good enough,
that you have somehow failed or fallen short.
God will never be against you, only for you.
The Advocate will stay by your side
and remind you of the truth:
“You are my beloved.”

              When the Spirit of truth comes,
              they will guide you into all the truth.
                             —John 16.13

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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O Great Divine Spirit,
energy of love, furnace of joy,
star at the heart of every galaxy,
warmth at the heart of every being,
sun from whom all living things receive life:
you are the brightness of which our love
is a small candle’s imitation.
You are the struck match of all life.
Ignite us with your love,
burn in us with your beauty.
Enflame us with joy and delight,
with courage and wisdom.
Let no other energy drive us but you alone,
that our lives may shine with the light
of your kindness and mercy and grace.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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             All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit
             and began to speak in other languages,
             as the Spirit gave them ability.
                            —Acts 2.4

Pentecost was not, as some say, “the undoing of Babel”—
now we all speak the same language!
No, it was the opposite: the blessing of Babel.
We learn one another’s languages.
We embrace diversity, and learn to listen to each other,
to see from another’s perspective,
to give voice to a life other than our own,
to make central a language that’s not our own,
to communicate grace that’s not on our own terms.
We acknowledge the differences in our lives,
honor one another’s various home places and cultures,
cross over the boundaries of comfort and familiarity.

On that Pentecost day I don’t imagine they were eloquent.
They spoke in halting Phrygian, mangled Mesopotamian.
It probably took some back-and-forth, some double-checking.
It required not just proclaiming but listening, relating,
and patience on the part of the hearers,
and courage and humility on the part of the speakers—
willingness to be beginners, to risk, to appear foolish,
to forgo the safety of being in the dominant group.

Pray for such humility and courage, to risk for the sake of love,
to be foolish for the sake of relating,
to let other people’s reality be real.
In such loving, the Holy Spirit will speak, loud and clear.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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                  They are like trees planted by streams of water…
                                      —Psalm 1.3

There is a river of forgiveness
that flows through you,
that sweeps up all hurt and fault
and bears it away,
that tumbles every memory over cleansing rocks
and waterfalls of grace,
until pain flows into wisdom.
There is a stream of renewal
that moves beneath your mantle,
that never gives up or runs dry,
moment by moment renewed by a Source
both far beneath you and there above.

Let the stream of grace that bathes your feet
carry off all resentment, all judgment, all regret.
Let this next moment be fresh and new.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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I’m not familiar with all the little living things
growing at the edge of our yard by the woods.
There are wildflowers, and also invasive plants.
So I have to pay attention as new green leaves sprout up:
is this a flower I want or a weed I don’t?
I have to learn to distinguish the shoots of one from another.
Sometimes I learn to recognize even the littlest tips
of favored plants or dreaded ones.
Sometimes I have to wait and watch, and see what flowers.

I watch my inner garden
for even the smallest green fingers, to recognize
the shoots of hurt, or fear, or mercy,
or courage, or rage, or grief,
especially grief, and its unexpected flowering.
I watch soil that harbors more than I know or understand.
I watch and see what God is doing.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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             While he was going
             and they were gazing up toward heaven,
             suddenly two men in white robes stood by them.
                                                      —Acts 1.10

It was not what we had hoped for,
that this moment of uplifting victory—
Jesus ascending to the throne of heaven—
would drip with grief. But we’d lost him.
In the wake of the swirling glory
we stood on the windswept hill
looking up vacantly into the air
as at a graveside, in silent discomfort,
hollowed out by sorrow at his departure,
heaven’s theft, the cloud’s cruel erasure.

It took angels to nudge us awake,
to begin to think not of what used to be
but what was possible.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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