Category: Reflections

Jesus presence of God
           peace amid our chaos

Jesus flesh of God
           suffering with us

Jesus wound of God
           receiving our sorrow

Jesus hope of God
           praying for us

Jesus prisoner of God
           freely surrendering to us

Jesus innocence of God
          our scapegoat

Jesus silence of God
           no answer to our accusations

Jesus tenderness of God
           dying with us

Jesus love of God
           take us

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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My Beloved Jesus, my Healer and Savior
I do not look up to the heavens to seek you.
I look down, down to the lowest place, beneath me.
For you have come, with all the sorrows of the world,
come fresh from death row, from the starving child,
the bombed apartment, the locked ward,
from the bleeding street and the dusty camp,
with the despair of those dying alone—
you have come and knelt beneath me and washed my feet.
With a world to save, you come to me,
with such attentive tenderness, taking your time,
holding my wayward feet in your hands,
you bless me, heal me, wash me, anoint me.
You take the lowest place and serve me.
I will never find you up on the podium or pedestal,
but down on the ground, harvesting, cleaning,
invisible, among the unseen, unsung, unsavory.
You, my Lowest Christ, my ground beneath, my earth,
you hold my feet. I need never look higher.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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           Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it
           he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said,
           “Take, eat; this is my body.”
           Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks
           he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you;
           for this is my blood of the covenant,
           which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”
                           —Matthew 26.26-28


Oh, Mystery!

You hand me your brokenness
           and my taking it makes you whole.

I receive your blessing
           and my taking it makes me whole.

I take your brokenness into myself
           and it becomes part of me.

I drink of your forgiveness
           and I become part of you.

Around the table we share
           and we become part of each other.

We all are baked into one loaf,
           into your dying, and your rising.

We receive your giving
           and we too are given.

Oh, Mystery, I receive.

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

Beloved,
in love you have thrown the seed of yourself
into the soil of us.
You have sown yourself in the wound of us,
the dark, rich humus of our sorrow and lostness.
You have surrendered yourself to our pain
and the taunting of the demons that haunt us.
You’ve allowed the seed casing of your life to split open,
and your love to bleed out, reaching,
fingering tenderly through the dark soil,
infinite power of life creeping out.
You’ve already said, “Into your hand I commit my spirit.“
You have already died,
and been raised by life that is eternal.

So now you are ready
to ride your little donkey toward us,
Resurrected One, ready to be crucified.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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We come into the joyful procession
          with palm branches and nails in our hands.

You give us the bread of your presence
          with holes in your hands.

We receive the life-giving wine of your love
          with blood on our hands.

You kneel with us in our fear and stumbling
          with our weary feet in your hands.

We pass among the guards and soldiers
          with pieces of silver in our hands.

You stand before us, condemned,
          with your hands in chains.

We behold your miraculous grace
          with nothing in our hands.

You are crucified and buried
          with our lives in your hands.

We wait in silence,
          in the hands of God.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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           Peter said, “Though all become deserters
           because of you, I will never desert you.”
           Jesus said to him, “Truly I tell you,
           this very night, before the cock crows,
           you will deny me three times.”
                           —Matthew 26. 33-34

Oh, Jesus, sometimes I will act as if I do not know you.
I’ll act as if I am in need, alone, unaccompanied.
I will fail to share, to forgive, to bless, to risk, to speak out.
I’ll choose not to trust God, but be selfish.
In an argument I will be sure to win and forget to love.
You will be carted off, and I will slip away.
You will be shot in the street and I will turn the page.
And still you will claim me… forgive me…
seat me beside you, in a place of honor
and give me your body.
Still you love, and will always love.
Still you hold me close
with the faithfulness I writhe against.
Give me the weakness to allow myself
to be so outrageously loved,
so taken, that it’s at least a little harder to desert you.
Even in my unfaithfulness
give me your faithfulness.
When I can’t hold on, hold me.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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           By a perversion of justice he was taken away.
                           —Isaiah 53.8

God did not send Jesus to die.
But I confess that in a musty place in my heart
the lie that Jesus was meant to die suits me fine.
Oh, I abhor the theology: God does not need more gore.
But in my heart I confess
I’m comfortable with others suffering for my sake.
I rail against the idea that God needs a blood payment,
that God planned a tragedy—
a payoff instead of true forgiveness—
and I say with my lips the cross is a lynching,
a nazi gas chamber, another police shooting.
But secretly, I confess, I like my place of ease and safety.
I’m addicted to my privilege.
I let others suffer instead of me.
Even as I protest I participate.
I know God demands otherwise.
But I live as if God meant for me to survive
at the cost of others’ lives.
I confess: I am saved from the virus of evil;
I also carry the virus.
I stand at the foot of the cross with tears in my eyes
and a hammer in my hand.

May I die, forgiven, and be raised, changed.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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           Mary took a pound of costly perfume
           made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet,
           and wiped them with her hair.
           The house was filled
           with the fragrance of the perfume.
                           —John 12.3

Mary Christ, you who have met me before
in the valley of the shadow of death,
you kneel in perfect compassion,
join me in my sorrow
and soothe me in my pain.
These feet soon pierced you heal
with balm before the wound;
you bless, and teach the Teacher
how to bless his dear ones’ feet.
The house is filled like costly incense
with the fragrance of your love.
Christ Mary, your heart broken
like a jar, poured out like oil,
drying my feet, soon lashed,
with your hair,
my suffering now borne in your flesh,
I die in your arms and
am reborn, new, and washed.
Mary Christ,
with the laying on
of hands and hair, your bittersweet
baptismal flood of tears,
with your holy spirit of love
you bless me now
to go to my cross,
to bear love and its heartbreaking cost,
and send me forth, your Beloved,
and finally now your
Anointed One.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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           Christ Jesus, though of God,
                      did not cling to equality with God,
           but in complete self-emptying
                      took the place of a slave,
                      born a human.
           And as a human, in profound humility,
                      Christ became obedient to the point of death—
                      even death on a cross.
           Therefore God also highly exalted Christ
                      with the name that is above every name….
                           —Philippians 2.6-9

           Many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.
                             —Matthew 19.30

Jesus invites us to a Lenten discipline of humility.
Humility is not thinking poorly of ourselves,
ranking others higher, or mere self-abasement.
Humility is knowing the whole.
We are all a circle, where the first is last and the last is first.
Each of us is equally important.
Each is gifted, beautiful, wounded, and indispensable.
And none is more vital, honored or deserving than another.
We each sing our note. Humility is blending in perfect harmony.
Humility enables us to take the lowest place,
or the highest, and serve as a vessel of God’s grace.
It is usually the lowest place,
free of privilege, power or prestige,
where grace is most clear.


           God, give me the humility,
           trusting in your grace,
           to take the lowest place
           and find your glory there.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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           You are not in the flesh; you are in the Spirit.
                           —Romans 8.9

The flesh is not bad, of course:
it’s how the Spirit sings.
It’s only bad when we forget the singing,
when we think flesh is all we are:
a separate little sack of self
(whose selfishness is bound to get reckless).

In truth, we are all one splendid body,
visible in many bodies,
alive in one Spirit,
all of us fingers of one hand,
complete in each other.
We are both the body and its belonging.

You are the necessary syllable
of the infinite song,
the flute and the music.
Dust and wind, breath and bone.

It happens in the singing.
Alone, your single note is merely noise,
your body merely flesh.
But in the harmony of the whole great chorus
the note of love you offer with your body
is beautiful and becomes more than you.

You love your neighbor as your flesh
and are made whole,
and more than flesh.

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