Category: Reflections

I am not the light.
I have come to bear witness to the light.
The true light that enlightens everyone
is coming into the world.

The light was in the beginning,
in me.
It grows;
it comes into the world.

May all that I do
bear witness to the light
that is you,
the light that is in me.

I am your witness,
your word,
your light.

Your light.

[John 1.8]

December 10, 2014

Spirit of the Mighty, Gentle One,
come upon me, anoint me.
I see the oppressed.
         I name them; I hold them close.

         Make my life into good news for them.
 

I see the brokenhearted.
         I name them; I hold them close.

         Give me gentle grace to bind up their hearts.

I see the imprisoned.
         I name them; I hold them close.

         Give me true words and deeds to release them.

I see the ruined cities.
         I name them; I hold them close.

         Make me a part of their building up.

Spirit of God, be upon me.
I see my own ruins, my chains.
         Hold me close
         and set me free, that I may be
         your good news for others.

December 9, 2014

No one in this story
knows where they re going,
only that they are.

Mary and Joseph walk to Bethlehem
without a place to arrive.
This was the easy part. They will go on,
vagrant, to Egypt,
a dream for directions,
dragging the wind behind them,
         erasing their footsteps.

Shepherds hear angels
and seek wonders—
how many little courtyards, do you suppose?—
looking for a baby
with nothing to go on
but a song,
         a map without lines.

Magi trek for years.
When did they decide not to turn back?
There is no destination,
there is no way,
only a star
         among stars.

You, trudging on toward meaning,
wandering among shadows,
your heart a globe,
map of voices,
the path becoming a path
         only behind you:

imagine the Coming One,
walking out of the light
toward earth,
its dark tangle of mysteries,
knowing nothing to come,
only the Promise,
only the nearing,
         only you.

December 6, 2016

          A voice says, “Cry out!”
                  And I said, “What shall I cry?”
                           —Isaiah 40.6

Anything.

Deepest hope,
favorite song,
moan of secret grief.

Glottal stop of Ferguson,
strangled cry of Syria,

rage of Palestine, the border fence.

Rising tremolo,
beyond sad or glad,
of slaves already singing.

In your throat, your gut,
little pieces, syllables,
one or two, of alleluia.

Let the cry out of its cage,
your silence roar,
what was muffled, speak:

oceans beneath your voice,
tongues beneath your tongue,
ages longing to be heard,

while grasses fade,
and our horrors pass,
that voice that was always here,

always crying out,
voicing through closed throats,
opening the way.

December 5, 2014

         John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness,
         proclaiming a baptism of repentance
         for the forgiveness of sins.
                  —Mark 1.4

You don’t have to construct a perfect life.
God already has.
You are Mary, great with yourself,
gift of God, conceived by the Holy Spirit.
God is doing this in you,
becoming,
already perfectly forgiving.
Let this wonder unfold within you.
How will you live, knowing you are chosen
to bear the divine presence into the world?

Love that child,
care for yourself as if her life depends on it,
prepare for his coming.
Like a room you fearlessly remodel
and decorate with long, tiring effort,
you make of your life a new place
for holiness to be born
in you.

Let the Coming One
grow in you.

December 4, 2014

         Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.
                  Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
         and cry to her that she has served her term,
                  that her penalty is paid,
         that she has received from the Lord’s hand
                  double for all her sins.
         A voice cries out:
         “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
                  make straight in the desert a highway for our God.”
                           —Isaiah 40.1-3

The promise of God comes to exiles and refugees:
from regimes that haunt you, whatever walls you in

or out, from gangs patrolling your heart,
you shall be released.

Through the impassable you are given a way
to a place of belonging.

Your passage to freedom has been prepared.
The Companion is ready now.

A tender hand reaches out to you
to accompany you on the way toward wholeness,

through the desert, the wild places,
through strange and difficult places,

a wilderness way across borders, under fences.
The path of healing is also the path of pain.

The journey will be dangerous, on the run.
You will depend on strangers. Carry water.

Share mercy with the others on the secret road
through the desert. You will find sanctuary.

Sister, listen to the gentle Word: O comfort…
Take the hand, and begin.

December 3, 2014

      
         

                 
Prepare your way in me, Lord,
         prepare your way in me, my Lord.

Make my rough places smooth,
         the crooked make straight, my Lord.

Lay your hand at my root,
         that I may bear fruit, my Lord.

Come and empty my heart
         of all things but you, my Lord.

Guide my feet in your way,
         fill me with your peace, my Lord.         
                 
Prepare your way in me, Lord,
         prepare your way in me, my Lord.

         
[This is available set to music.]

         
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 unfoldinglight3(at)hotmail.com

Down the last long nights
toward the winter solstice
a way opens through the dark,
lit by longing that gleams,
a path that is hope for a path.

This wound is not a flaw, but gift:
my hunger not for morning,
not again, but at last,
a changed Creation,
a being only hinted at.

In the dense solitude
that heals its arms around me
I am not alone.
The Mystery draws me closer,
pulls me forward.

O Darkness,
how could you want me so?
O Silence, how can you
enfold me, consume me
with such tender delight?

O Longing, by what grace
are you my light in this world,
by what grace am I yours,
this silence in me another’s voice?

O Hope,
dawn rising in me,
how is it you shine brighter
the deeper my yearning,
my tears like stars in the night?
How is it my merest prayers
near despair
are your birth?

Dec. 1, 2014

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.

         
                  
You may seek a place in this day of acquisitive frenzy
but it will not be home.
There is room for you in a Blacker Friday,
a day of more profound darkness and brighter stars,
of shorter lists and deeper desires,
where there is something not checked off the list,
something you are still waiting for,
something you can’t buy but can only be given,
which, if it is for you, is for everybody,
not a one-day offer but an eternal promise,
waiting for you, not disappearing off shelves
but gestating, ripening toward you from the future,
from the heart of God, from within us all.

The only doorbuster is one that set you free long ago.
There are no long lines here, no rush,
but solitude and silence and a purposeful slowing,
and the deepening of your longings.
There are throngs—find your place among them—
who sit and wait, who know each other by their songs,
exiles bound by a memory that weaves all geography,
prisoners waiting, dreamers who dare to yearn
for what others have abandoned
for the love of good deals and shiny things.
Sit in stillness and wait with them,
cry out and march with them, work quietly with them.
Perfect your hope for the Advent of the Loving One,
the light that spills from divine hands,
the new world that blossoms where we live.
Enter the breathing darkness, live in the hoping world,
let your eyes be opened.

Deep Blessings
Pastor Steve
______________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

To subscribe to Unfolding Light by daily e-mail
write to me at unfoldinglight8(at)hotmail.com.

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.

For most of you readers around the world this will be easy: practice gratitude.

For those of you in the US, it will be harder: tomorrow is Thanksgiving, a time of weary travel, bad weather, overeating, too many relatives, aggressively bad advertising, fierce shopping and football games in which half of everybody loses. Practice gratitude anyway.

Gratitude is not a feeling; it’s a practice. It’s a relationship. You can be thankful for something, but you’re grateful to somebody. Gratitude is an appreciative receptiveness, a willingness to be present to blessings given to you that you can’t create yourself. Since blessings are always present you can be grateful even in bad situations. When you bump your head, be grateful you have one, and that you can feel. When you don’t feel grateful is when you need the most practice. No matter what happens, say thank you, and practice gratitude until you discover what you’re grateful for.

In gratitude for family and the gift of being able to visit, I’m taking tomorrow off. What do you say?

…

You’re welcome.

_____________________
Weather Report

Grace,
floods of gifts.
showers of blessing,
piling up in drifts
until you’re six feet under.
Get out your shovel.

Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

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

To subscribe to Unfolding Light by daily e-mail
write to me at unfoldinglight8(at)hotmail.com.