Author: Steve

I never look sillier than
         trying to compensate for shortcomings.

I thought I just wanted to see.
         Did I know I really wanted to be seen?
         
He had me treed.
         Still does.

Had he waited for me to invite him
         I would still be up that tree.

There was no getting around.
         The only way down was through him.

He loved me
         before it was cool to love me.

Some say he didn’t see my unworthiness,
         but he’s not blind to such trauma.

It was not pity that brought me down,
         it was kinship.

He accepted me even before I repented.
         I changed even before he blessed me,

as if something happened
         before either of us moved.

How did my guest become my host,
         my table become his?

Who knew I had such a generous heart?
         What he sees that we don’t!

It wasn’t just forgiveness but reconnection
         that he called salvation.

I am my own
         walking miracle.

 

When I walk in woods
I go not to get somewhere,
not to ponder, not to think.
I go there to be there.
I look and see what I see.
I hear what I hear.
I enter. I notice.
And I am allowed.
I am no stranger here
or even in strange places.
They know me.
I am of this same earth,
fashioned of the same soil.
They do not judge.
They offer their being
as if speaking.
I let them bless me.
For the rest of the day
they breathe in me.
Their colors, their songs
ooze from me all day.
I am always still there.

 

Do you ever find yourself in a hazy suburb
and feel you’re standing at the edge of the ocean
roaring in your ears, or maybe above a great chasm
of stars swirling beneath you in breathing darkness?

Mount the porch steps and turn around
and take in the vast view from the mountain top
you’ve just climbed, its dangerous peaks and ridges
entirely inside you only bigger?

Sometimes the view from where you are
is nothing like where you are, the world nowhere near
as small, even the singular world you are,
so much greater on the inside than out.

 

         How long, God, will you tolerate wrongdoing?
         Destruction and violence are before me;
                  there is strife, and conflict abounds.
         The law is paralyzed, and justice never prevails.
                  The wicked hem in the righteous,
                  so that justice is perverted.

         There is still a vision for the appointed time.
                  If it seems to tarry, wait for it;
                  it will surely come, it will not delay.
         Look at the proud! Their spirit is not right in them,
                  but the righteous live by their faith.
         Moreover, wealth is treacherous;
                  the arrogant do not endure.
                           —Habakkuk 1.2-4, 2.2-5

Beloved One,
         I root myself in your grace.

Others are blinded by anxiety
         but I see your vision of peace.

Others may gasp for air and grasp
         but I breathe in your love
         and rest in your mercy.

Others may live by desperate strife
         but I receive your blessing.

I trust your faithfulness.
         I open myself to your grace.

Beloved, I live by your love.
         I live by your love.

 

Two people came into the temple to pray.

A white man came up front and prayed,
“God, I thank you that I’m not black.
Thank you that I’m not a woman, or gay,
or was abused as a child.
I mind my own business,
and I believe in you.”

An undocumented immigrant woman
forced to work the street
stood at the back and prayed,
“God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

I tell you, she went home closer to God
than the other.

For all who are full of themselves
will be empty of anything else.
But those who make room for God
will shine with glory.

 

         But the tax collector, standing far off,
         prayed, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”
         I tell you, this one went home justified rather than the other.
                  —Luke 18.13-14

                                    •

                      There is no deserving; there is only belovedness.
                      There is no being right; there is only being open.
                      Faith is not certainty; it is reaching out.

                                    •

Merciful One,
I come not by my merit, but by your love.

I open myself to your mercy,
not in deserving but in wonder
and gratitude.

I am not righteous; I am loved.
I am not bad or rotten;
I am in need of your mercy.

For all my sin you offer mercy.
For all my achievements you offer mercy.

Merciful One,
I need you. I trust you.
With empty hands, wide open,
I turn to you for mercy.

God, be merciful to me, a sinner.

 

Trees burn with autumn colors.
Sky smokes and smolders.
Berries ripen, soften, wrinkle and fall.
Ferns have gone gold and brown,
frost brings them down. Leaves die
and dive or dance, or spiral down
or drown in the darkening brook.

We put the garden to bed, and cut
stems back, its vines gone black.
Tomato plants look weary now.
Life is a ragged leaf,
its edges rough, bug-eaten,
a leaf that’s going to fall.

Burt wait.

All this sad talk of autumn death and loss
just isn’t right.
Too much defeat and diminishment.
It isn’t all decay.
This is a time of harvest,
of showing your true colors,
of offering what is ripe and beautiful
and life-giving.
Those tomatoes are just coming on.
If I hang the vines with faith
I’ll still be eating ripe ones in December.
What may look like a day of death
is a day of fullness.

The trees are brilliant,
startling in their brashness.
They’re old enough to get away with it.
Brilliant.

 

Open your eyes
and light flows
through them

out into the world
the Beloved
running with joy

pitchers of stars
poured into them
while you were sleeping

 

         This is the covenant that I will make
         with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord:
         I will put my law within them,
         and I will write it on their hearts;
         and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.
         No longer shall they teach one another,
         or say to each other, “Know the Lord,”
         for they shall all know me,
         from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord;
         for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more.
                  —Jeremiah 27.33-34

I have not laid rules upon you.
I have written my love in you,
carved it in the bones of your heart.
Love is your secret name.

You don’t need to search for me;
I’m in you.
You don’t need to please me;
I love you with absolute forgiveness.

You don’t need to come to know me.
You are me.
I am your Inward,
your Eternal, your True, your You.

That’s my Covenant.
You can’t break this one.
You can’t escape your belovedness.
Sink into it. Become it.

 

Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart: There was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, “Grant me justice against my opponent.” For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, “Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.” … Jesus said, “When the Human One comes, will they find faith on earth?”
                  —Luke 18.1-5, 8

God is not the judge, but the widow.
Jesus says, “Do not judge,” but still we judge.
We fail to fear God and respect other people.

God comes to us among the powerless,
the orphan, the widow, the Crucified One,
pleading for justice.

So busy with what we want,
we don’t hear what God wants.
But God keeps coming, keeps pleading for justice.
She does not shout, does not lift up her voice,
but calmly, confidently, again and again she comes.
She will wear us out with her continual coming,
until we do justice.

Persistent God,
help us listen to your cries in the poor,
to your whisperings in our hearts,
to the light in your silence.

We still our minds, cease our judging, and listen.
In our hearts, a river flowing, we listen.
In the unsaid billion prayers, we listen.

We keep praying and do not lose heart.