Author: Steve

Yom Kippur is not Get Out of Jail Day.
Atonement doesn’t mean getting off the hook.
It means you live in the present moment, not the past.
It means you live into a new future.
It means since you’re forgiven,
you start repenting.

Repentance is not a requirement for forgiveness.
It’s the result.
The sin that is forgiven,
now you have to let go of it.
You have to live differently now.
It’s a new year.

How will your forgiveness change you?
What will you do differently?
Name one thing.
Walk this new path with joy,
into the new life.

 

Yom Kippur, Day of Atonement.
Even if you’re not Jewish
you can use such a day.
A day of solemnity,
for the depth of our sin,
and a day of joy,
for the greater depth of our forgiveness.
Ignore neither.

Name your sin.
Sit with it.

Spend some time with this.

Hold it out in front of you,
your offering to God.
The Righteous One receives it,
and forgives you, completely.
Completely.

Spend some time with this.

In honesty, lovingly beholding
who you truly are,
you experience your at-one-ment with God.
At one with God, because God is One with you,
you are one with all people.
Live this way.

Spend some time with this.

 

         The word of Love is perfect, reviving the soul
                  the wisdom of God is solid,
                  enlightening those who are open. …

         But who can see themselves clearly enough?
                  Save me from my own hidden faults.
         Don’t let me be insulting;
                  don’t let nastiness come over me. …

         Let the words of my mouth
                  and the meditation of my heart
         be acceptable to you, O Lord,
                  my rock and my redeemer.
                           —Psalm 19.7, 12-13, 14

God of love, may I think and speak
         in harmony with your graciousness.
May I speak only what is truthful and loving,
         what is born of your grace in me.
May I speak with compassion and humility
         in blessing, not cursing,
         in reverence, not pride.

Give me wisdom to see myself honestly,
         to know my own faults,
to see your light in me and all that hides it,
         and the same in others as well.
Keep me from blaming born of a fearful ego,
         but let me speak your encouragement and truth.

May the words I speak and the thoughts I harbor
         reflect your tender compassion,
your forgiveness of me and all people,
         O God, my truth and my love.

 

Today I’m climbing New Hampshire’s Mt. Washington:
nine miles, six thousand feet of autumn glory.
As I prepare in the morning dark
I think of all who climb their own mountains today,
mountains of illness­, grief, recovery, parenting,
mountains of abuse, imprisonment, injustice,
a dissertation, a new job, no job, a hurricane,
the mountain of this ordinary day.
We climb together. We pray together:

God of love and wonder,
I thank you for the miracle of bones and nerves,
the muscle and its noble work,
the gift of the upward struggle.
You are my heartbeat and my breath,
my hope and my light.
You are the energy of my struggle,
the goal of my climb,
the song that encourages me,
the companion who accompanies me very step.
You are my compass, my light,
my hope, my open air.
I carry you. You climb in me.
You are the path, you are the climb.
God of Presence, you are the mountain.
You sing in me:
Climb on.
 

 

         Ten lepers approached him.
         Keeping their distance, they called out, saying,
         “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”
         When he saw them, he said to them,
         “Go and show yourselves to the priests.”
         And as they went, they were made clean.
                  —Luke 17.12-14

God has worked miracles in you.
It does not serve you to deny it,
or pretend they are not miracles,
or hide them.

Jesus says ”Show yourselves to the priests”
in part so they may be affirmed as acceptable.
He also sends them to bear witness.

It is an act of humble service
to show others the miracles God has worked in you—
not your own deserving, but God’s goodness.

No bird nor blossom
or tree in autumn splendor is bashful
about the beauty that’s been given them.

Go and show yourselves
and let God’s glory
shine in you.

 

We argue, we fight, we maneuver,
we triumph, we despair,
and Jesus holds us
in his loving arms.

We fight and fling and grasp,
we are right or wrong,
we listen or do not listen,
we stake our turf, we hurt each other,
and Mother Christ holds us
in her only arms.

We argue as if
those crucial arms are not there.
We do not notice them, bloodied,
or rest in them.

The whole time we are throwing things
at each other God is holding us,
not agreeing or disagreeing,
just holding us,
all of us,
weeping for joy and sorrow.

 

I push the needle
through your hands and feet,
sew you into a lovely quilt,
a shroud for myself,
the thread of original desire
twisted into binding knots.
I make you an artifact
to warm me, shield me
from the failure of my love.
“The design is from God,” I lie,
ignoring the blood crying out.

And in your judgment
with perfect forgiveness
you wrap me in yourself.

I can’t cloak myself
in this wretched thing,
can’t put it down.

 

         “Were not ten made clean?
         But the other nine, where are they?
         Was none of them found to return and give praise to God
         except this foreigner?”
                  —Luke 17.17-18

Take nothing for granted,
even sunlight or breathing.
Don’t let your privilege blind you
to the sheer underserved miracle
of your blessings.
Don’t think you’re entitled
to colors or conversation.
Let gratitude overwhelm you,
sneak up behind you
and lift you off your feet.

Pick anything to practice on—
the sunlight on the poorly painted ledge
of the apartment across from yours,
standing as if ready to leap off
into your arms—
pick something, and give thanks.

When someone asks you how you are today
say, “Grateful,”
then use the surprised pause
to think of what for.
The person looking at you quizzically
may give you a hint.

 

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         By the rivers of Babylon— there we sat down
                  and there we wept when we remembered Zion. …
         O, you devastators! Happy shall they be
                  who take your little ones
                  and dash them against the rock!
                           —Psalm 137.1, 8-9

I don’t ask you to pray this prayer.
I don’t ask you to feel this rage, this sorrow.
Maybe it’s just not your psalm.
But it is someone’s.
I ask you to hold them while they weep,
that’s all.
Just be present for them, maybe hold their lyres
they can’t hold because their hands are shaking.

Maybe it’s their sons shot in the streets,
or their neighborhoods plundered by poverty.
Maybe it’s their lands ravaged by industry’s hunger,
or they’re weeping over the people they loved
that drove them out with war.
But don’t be foolish: they don’t want to kill babies.
They want to stop evil from begetting more evil.

Don’t tell them to calm down, to stand for the anthem,
to be patient, to reassure you with their restraint.
They need to cry out and we need to listen.
Let them pray a psalm that is not yours,
not yet.
Let them pray a prayer of hope
bundled like a refugee’s belongings in rags of despair.
Be silent, hold the space for them
and let them pray what sometimes
we don’t have the guts to pray.
Listen to them,
they will give us the guts.

 
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

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

To receive Unfolding Light as a daily e-mail,
write to me at unfoldinglight(at) gmail.com

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         
Don’t look for God.
That’s too big,
an unsolvable problem,
an unknowable truth.

Look for life.
Look for what is deeply living,
freely, wildly alive,
wherever you find it,
in the created order,
in the human family,
in your own soul.

Look for what makes you alive,
what sets you free,
what puts breath in your heart
and color on the cheeks of your soul.

Look for where your life
is part of all life.

Look for life,
honor it everywhere you meet it
with devotion and humility.

Look for life
and the Holy One
will find you.

         

         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

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

To receive Unfolding Light as a daily e-mail,
write to me at unfoldinglight(at) gmail.com