Author: Steve

Unless the seed dies

          Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
          it remains just a single grain;
          but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
                    — John 12. 24

What are you afraid of?
What are you holding onto?
What are you holding on for?

Let all things be,
let them be right there,
without having to hang onto them.

The last thing you let go of is your
self. This hard-shelled seed of who you are
you are trying so hard to build up

into something great and false.
Trying to build a fruit tree
out of sticks.

Let it go. Each moment, each breath,
surrender your favorite self.
Let it fall

into the earth of our being, the home
of our bones. All of our falling
is into God.

When at last the fist of your life
is opened, the grave of your heart
dug deep enough, and empty,

when you let the breathing darkness
and your unguarded nothingness
spill into each other

then something miraculous grows in you,
and out through every pore,
to the edge of the world:

a completely new and different life,
begotten, not made, that gives life,
that doesn’t look like a seed at all.

You don’t need to hang onto it.
It can’t be killed. Its roots
are in God.

 

 

            Could you not stay awake with me one hour?
            Stay awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial;
            the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.
                           —Matthew 26.40-41

I slip into forgetting sleep,
a deadness I seek,
a trance of avoidance,
distraction’s pleasant coma.
I am numb to your world, O Christ,
to your suffering, your love,
unconscious of you here.

Awaken me.
Breathe yourself into me
and rouse me
from my fearful distance.

Let even pain keep me awake,
attentive to your pain
in all who hurt,
your love keep me alert
to love in all your forms.

Grant me this simple gift,
all you ask:
that I may stay awake,
trusting I am not orphaned,
and pray with you,
so earnestly praying for me
and all the world.
just stay awake my little time
and pray with you.

Let all my waking hours
be wakeful hours.

 

           He said, “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.”
           And they began to say to him one after another,
           “Surely not I, Lord?” …
           Then Jesus said to them,
           “You will all become deserters because of me this night.”
           Peter said to him, “Even though I must die with you,
           I will not deny you.” And so said all the disciples.
                           —from Matthew 26.21-35

Jesus, my Friend,
my Beloved, my Person,
I love you, and I will falter.
I will deny you. I will betray you.
Three times ten thousand times
I will deny you.
The silver pieces lie in my pocket.
I have the nails.
And you, knowing, invite me to your table,
to the place of honor even,
this seat of greatest grace,
beside you,
to share your bread with me,
and lay down your body for me.
I can hardly look into the sun
of such forgiveness,
love’s empty tomb
that defeats me,
re-makes me.

I confess. I return.
Knowing, I follow,
drawn in your grace,
this burden that is light.
 

             While Jesus was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper,
             a woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment,
             and she poured it on his head as he sat at the table. …
             Jesus said, “She has prepared me for burial.
             Truly I tell you, wherever this good news
             is proclaimed in the whole world,
             what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.”          
                           —Matthew 26.6, 12-13

In one long, miserable story of fear and denial,
betrayal, delusion and cruelty,
here is one kind thing
that someone does for Jesus.
It is not much.
But he treasures it.
Don’t underestimate the power of simple kindness.

             +

You need not be the Messiah.
It is enough to bring your simple gifts
and offer them for the sake of the One who Heals Us.
Even God needs healing.

             +

Jesus prepares himself for death.
He is continually pouring himself out,
emptying himself and receiving God,
dying and rising.
The disciples are clinging to survival.
Only this woman understands
and does not cling,
but in her own outpouring
empties herself in love and blessing
for Jesus’ sake.
She, too, is ready.
 

When Lazarus heard his name
he took a sudden breath.
With visceral trembling blood resurged.
But then, as when awakening some days,
he lay a moment, mired,
reluctant to rise from the familiar
swaddling of his death
Rising, even more than dying,
there could be no return:
for if he chose to stand,
all he knew would then be lost

And still now every morning,
each momentary wish for healing
is a risk, a wakening call
to change, to choose,
to leave so much behind,
and be again made new.

[1996]
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
 

Dearly Beloved,

Grace and peace to you.

         God said to me, “Mortal, can these bones live?”
         I answered, “O Lord God, you know.”
         Then God said to me, “Prophesy to these bones,
         and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.
         Thus says the Lord God to these bones:
         I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.”
                           —Ezekiel 37.3-5

There are parts of you,
maybe great parts,
that have withered and died.

Maybe spiritual gifts that you have buried,
a face of yourself you have closeted,
wounds ignored, hopes starved.

Some have passed on, forever.
But some, God may breathe life into.
God may bring bone to bone and sinew to sinew.

You may be aware of it; a daily ache.
Or it may be unknown to you,
a hidden mystery.

What part of you is God bringing back to life?
Where is God’s breath blowing,
the dry bones moving?

Don’t direct the wind.
Don’t even worry where it is.
Just prophesy to the dry bones.

Speak hope.
Be open to the miracle.
Let God breathe, and wait.

Deep blessings,
Pastor Steve

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

        Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”
                           —John 11.43

Come out, you who have been entombed
in silence, in fear, in condemnation,
come out!
Come out to the one who loves you.
You who are afraid for your life,
who are afraid of your life,
you who are ashamed,
you who have been bound,
come out into your own life!
You who have been told you’re unworthy,
you who are afraid of failing,
come out into your whole life.
You who are wounded and grieving,
who are hopeless or depressed,
you who wonder if you’ll ever live deeply,
come out into life’s fullness.
You who are well defended in your fortresses,
in armor, in costumes, come out.
Gays and abuse victims, transgender and shy,
gifted and doubtful, queer and other,
you can come out.
Come out of your closets, out of hiding,
out of exile, out of the wilderness.
You have a place, and the tomb is not it.
The One Who Weeps for You
calls to you.
You are wanted. You are mourned.
Come out.
And you who have rolled the great stones
over other people’s lives,
roll them back. Stand aside.
Never mind the stench.
Call to them. Open your arms.
Unbind them.
Let them go.

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

Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live,
          and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.
                           —John 11.25-26

Death, we are certain,
is final, a wall.
But Jesus says death
is not final at all:
not a wall but a curtain,
a hallway, a door,
a passage to something
uncertain but More.
Death is a darkness
and death is a dawn,
a deep letting go,
and a bright moving on.
The door is unlocked;
if you push it will give.
First you die, Jesus says,
first you die, then you live.
Help me, God, by your grace,
every moment, each breath
in and out, to receive
the new birth we call death,
like Lazarus, swaddled,
and just coming to,
awake from the birth canal,
risen and new.

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