Category: Reflections

Dry bunch grass. Sand.
No path, just wideness, and dirt.
Or narrowness, and shadows.
Rocks, rough, rough rocks.
No way, no way to see
the way.

Valley where death
is solid enough
to have a shadow.

You know me, and
this valley, and where
to find me in it.

Gentle shepherd,
I need your voice. I need
your quiet call. I need
your gentle going:
no drama, no crying out,
just walking,
soft footfall in barren soil.

I will follow.
I don’t see a path, can’t yet
make out the green pasture.
Just follow your feet
on rocky ground.
Just follow your voice.
It is so soft

it’s only here in the barrens
that I hear it.

Beloved,
As I travel among the suffering I always reach into my little golden bag of prayers that you give me and I give them one. They can’t always tell, but I can see that it makes a difference. Thank you for those prayers. The wonderful thing is, they never run out. Isn’t that cool?

Give my love to everyone there.

Love,
God.

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

To subscribe to Unfolding Light by daily e-mail write to unfoldinglight5(at)hotmail.com

While they were walking along, talking,
Jesus himself came near and went with them,
but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.

Beloved, you have walked with us in our journeys.
Help us to trust your presence, even when we cannot see.

They stood still and looked sad.
He asked them, “What things are you discussing?”

You have entered into our sorrows.
We thank you for your healing.

He interpreted to them the scriptures.

So much in our lives does not make sense
except in light of your loving presence.
Give us wisdom rooted in your grace.

They urged him to stay.

Something in us desires you,
reaches out for you, invites you in.
Come, enter, and share the bread of this life.

He took bread, blessed, it broke it, and gave it to them.

Bless our lives with your gratitude,
your faithful, unseen presence
and your loving purpose,
gather us into your Body,
break our hearts for the world,
and give us to your children in hope and joy.
 

         You have been born anew,
         not of perishable but of imperishable seed,
         through the living and enduring word of God.
                  —1 Peter 1.23

Our one-month old grandson squirms and fidgets in my arms. He stares into space, not yet able to focus his eyes. He thrashes, not yet in control of his limbs. He burps and squawks and spits up, his digestive system not yet running smoothly. He can’t quite hold up his head yet, but he tries. This is all fairly exhausting, so he sleeps a lot. But not through the night. This sounds pretty chaotic and disorganized, but it’s perfect for a one-month old. Every moment his systems are getting organized, his abilities are improving, and his brain is growing, processing an incredible amount of ability and awareness. All this takes time. Meanwhile, he is as beautiful as can be.

It’s hard work being born anew. God has raised us from death— that’s the fun part that we can tell stories about in church. But then comes the hard work. We leave behind the old life, the habits and assumptions rooted in our old false fears, the coping tricks that we now see are not life-giving, the bound-up self-image, the grave clothes we still haven’t shed. “Unbind him,” Jesus said when Lazarus emerged from the tomb. It’s hard work. With God’s word living in us, we take on new habits, practice new skills, exercise new awareness, try and fail and try again to live in new ways. We learn to forgive ourselves for how awkward it often is. It’s perfect for a newborn.

So keep at it. Accept the hard work. Take intentional steps. As hard as it is, as often as you fail, you are held in God’s arms. You are cherished more than you can imagine. You are as beautiful as can be.

 

When the morning reached out its dawning hand to us
when we had thought there could be nothing but night,
when a fellow traveler walked with us in our sorrow,
a stranger even, who was willing to listen,
when someone helped us find wisdom in our losses,
when something in us, unnoticed until it spoke,
called out to another to come in, to share a life,
when we ate together, embraced one another’s
hunger and gratitude, bore one another’s craved blessing,
when we stood in the definite, unnameable presence like rain
that followed us as intimately as our breath,
when a Word spoke to us from inside things,
things as plain as bread, broken open for us as a gift,
when the world was not alone of us, but one, and gathered,
when we walked along, and the road received us,
and the real and ordinary was enough for us, blessed and given,
didn’t our hearts burn within us?
 

 

Little one, my Beloved,
my dear newborn infant,
I hold you in my arms.
You can’t form words for me;
you hardly know that I am.
But I love you.

There is nothing you have to do
to please me. I am already pleased.
You don’t need to be “good,”
in fact you often aren’t.
You cry in my arms.
You are entirely self-absorbed.
You cause me great trials.
You spit up on me.
You eat and breathe and poop,
and that is enough for you.
And it is enough for me.
I love you.

When you are cranky I feel for you,
though I can’t always soothe you.
When you fuss I do not scold,
I just keep holding you.
It is most beautiful when you are at peace,
surrendered, in my arms.

You are working so hard, becoming,
growing, becoming aware.
It will happen all your life,
mostly within, without your knowing,
this new life.
And I will continue to birth you,
invite you to die and be raised
into newness.

You are beautiful.
Accomplishing nothing, you are beautiful.
I can’t wait to see your gifts unfold.
I can’t possess you or control your future,
but I will go though it with you.
I can’t promise good fortune,
but I promise you love.
In fact, I will suffer with you,
I will die for you.
I will be with you, for you are mine, and I love you.

You can’t comprehend my love for you,
or the vast blessing I surround you with.
You never will.

You will pray to me, not knowing
that I hold you in my arms.
You will always be my delight,
and I will always love you
simply because I am your Father,
your Mother.
This is my Covenant. Forever.

 

         
         
Holy One, Resurrecting One,
as different as the flowering tree is
from the seed,
so transformed may I be today:

I shed the habits and fears that bind me,
set free by your grace.

All the desires and attachments
that prevent me from loving perfectly
are swallowed up in death;
and in the dawn of your new day
a new person comes forth in me,
full of loving kindness toward all beings.

With each breath I draw your eternal life:
not the life of my making and managing,
but life that is pure gift.

May my small, self-bundled self die,
and the soul of your creating be born,
tender and fragile and wondering.

Re-create me today as a merciful person,
flowering with your infinite grace.
         

         
         
         

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

To receive Unfolding Light as a daily e-mail,
write to me at unfoldinglight8(at)hotmail.com

I didn’t want evidence.
What would I do with that?
I didn’t want proof.
I wanted my friend.

It was grief, not doubt.
It was unfulfilled longing.

What came to me
was not evidence,
but my Beloved.

What he said was not
“Think this, not that”
What he said was
“No longer hold yourself back,
but trust you have me.”

And you, are you so free of sorrow
that there’s no one you need?
So free of guilt
that you care about opinions?

Here is the miracle:
in your deepest loss, your darkest evil,
out of every awfulness, out of death itself,
to you—you yourself, calling your name,
comes not a fact
but the One you long for,
who bears your broken heart in his heart,
your forgiveness in his wounded hands,
the new life in his wakening voice.

He is not asking you think a strange thought.
He is letting you fall back in love.

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.

In great mercy God has given us a new birth
      into a living hope
      through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,
and into an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading,
      kept in heaven for you.
Through faith you are being protected by God’s power,
      for a salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time.
In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while
      you have had to suffer various trials.
            —1 Peter 1.3-5

God of great mercy,
you who raised Christ from the dead,

grant me steadfast hope
in the resurrection?

though I cannot see it?
hidden in my life.

Give me trust to endure my trials
and to love without fear;

may everything I do
act be an act of hope,

knowing that in your great mercy
you will raise me up

to the life you promise,
life that is full of you. Amen.

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.
         
         
In the beginning
the Word became flesh
and dwelt among us.

What mother would withhold a kiss?
What lover would prefer a thought
to a lover’s body, flesh to flesh?

Yet frightened by our hunger for it—
for the body is the body of God—
a fussy child, we pushed it away,
punished flesh as if it were to blame
(How dare God come to us
so alluring, arousing and fragile?),
crucified it—humanity cutting itself—
and flung the flesh of the Word
back into the darkness.

And in the dark and chaos, again
the Word became flesh
and dwelt among us.

God, who still can’t resist the carnal embrace,
comes to us embodied,
resurrected in the flesh—
Thomas made sure—wounded, but holy,
and so the body restored, all flesh redeemed:

not angelic light-bodies,
but this good thing, chosen,
the ordinary body, the real,
too old, too fat, bad hair,
the body that knows how to give,
how to weep, how to tremble,
yes, the body hungry enough
to grasp what the mind cannot,
yes, yes, the very body
sitting there
reading this.

         
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 unfoldinglight8(at)hotmail.com