In once full arms
I hold a wreck of sorrow.
I am ruined.
And you, Beloved,
you who see
to the bones
of my heart,
you who stride waves,
who order winds
and shame demons,
you to whose authority
the universe bows,
you stand
not apart
from this grave darkness
but here
in the pit of me,
and wield your greatest power,
calling forth,
bringing light
up out of the terrible depths,
commanding life itself
with the one force
to revive me,
the heart of God outpoured:

with me, in me
you weep.

I am unbound.

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

March 25, 2020

        Jesus said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.”
         The disciples said to him, “Rabbi, the people were just now
         trying to stone you, and are you going there again?”
         Jesus answered, “Let us go to Lazarus.”
         Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples,
         “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”
                           —John 11.7-8, 15-16
 
Jesus faces the death of his Beloved friend.
He suffers the loss, and in love is death’s victim.
Yet after two days—on the third day—he rises
to go to Lazarus, to be victorious over death.
But Thomas knows—ah, Thomas, later
we’ll call him “Doubting”—but he knows:
first you have to die. Victory over death
can only be attained by entering death.
Jesus will have to die, a little bit,
in his powerlessness, in his deep, helpless sorrow,
in the sisters’ grief and anger.

Go with the Risen One and die with him.
The paths of righteousness (for God’s sake)
walk through the valley of the shadow of death.
This is the journey toward the cross.
Through the tomb toward the glory.
Through the dying to the rising.
Only in the depths of his loss
will Jesus touch the power that is beyond him.
Only when he weeps at death can he command life.
Let us also go, that we may die with him.

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

March 24, 2020

         After having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer.
         Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here,
         my brother would not have died.” 
                 —John 11.6, 21

Why did Jesus delay? So he could raise him? No,
he wouldn’t let someone suffer unnecessarily just to prove something.

In this time of imposed self-isolating it strikes us Martha’s right:
if he’d been there it would have made a difference.

But he delayed. Sit with Jesus a minute in the waiting.
Let this time pass over your anxiety. Don’t leave.

Lazarus is dying. Don’t move. Wait.
What comes to you?

Consider. Maybe Lazarus would have died anyway,
and Jesus knew. You are not in control.

You can’t save even your dearest. Life will happen to them.
You can’t escape life and its suffering. Even faith offers no detour.

Unpreventable tragedy will strike. Illness unto death.
Believing “It shouldn’t happen to me” is a burden.

Maybe Jesus took two days to accept what he could not control,
and to find God there in the powerlessness,

in making peace with what is.
Letting go of what he wanted, good as it was.

We are not in control. But God is here.
Sometimes it takes time to find God by not escaping what is.

I write these words waiting to hear who of my beloved is ill,
knowing my part will be to wait at a distance.

Want what you want, even life itself. Do what you can.
And let go. Make peace with what is, and find God there:

the God who sits with you in your powerlessness,
the God who waits… the God who is already there.

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

March 23, 2020

        Even though I walk through the valley
                  of the shadow of death,
         I fear no evil; for you are with me;
                  your rod and your staff— they comfort me.
                                    —Psalm 23.4

In this time of fear and uncertainty
we look with anxiety to the future.
But the Good Shepherd leads you
into the present moment.

Anxiety is an invader from the future.
The Shepherd of our Souls offers us
courage and comfort in this moment.
Follow the path into the present.

The green pastures may be distant
from this shadowed valley,
but they are greater than yo know.
You fear the smallness of your vision.

Meanwhile the Shepherd of our Souls is here
with us, leading us, right now.
Behold this moment. Behold the love.
Look till you see beauty. Stay till you know.

It is not protection from the future,
but the presence of the Shepherd,
even in the darkest day, that is our peace.
Trust that peace. Follow that shepherd

into this moment. Be present.
Stop and breathe, and breathe again.
No matter what happens in the future
God is here, with you, now. Be present.

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

March 20, 2020

            Holy One you are my shepherd;
                  I shall not want.
         You make me lie down in green pastures;
                  you lead me beside still waters;
                                    —Psalm 23.1
 
Things change. Seasons turn. Life goes on.
But your will for our wholeness is steadfast.
You shepherd us through dark valleys,
but we shall come to green pastures.

On this first day of a new season
I open my heart
to your turning of the earth within me,
the always-renewing of life.

The shadows I see are not everything.
The valleys I pass through are not the end.
All things you renew, all things you transform.
I give myself up to your shepherding.

You bury the seeds of joy in me.
I pray for trust.
I wait with you for their fruiting.
I pray for hope.

Fully present in this present moment,
I surrender to the gentle tipping of the earth,
the green pasture I can’t yet see,
your unseen grace emerging even now.

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

March 19, 2020

God is my mommy.
         She’s all I need.

She gives me a soft place for naps;
         she takes me to safe places.
When I’m upset she holds me
         ’till I become myself again.
She leads me by the hand.
         Quite the pair, my mommy and I!

When I am scared to death
         you are right there. No worry.
Your strong hand and firm voice save me.

You set the table for me and
         the siblings I’ve been fighting with.
You wash me up with that gleam in your eye. 
        My plate is full.

Your motherly love stays with me every day. 
        I will be your beloved kid forever.

Sweet.

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

March 18, 2020

        “Neither this man nor his parents sinned;
         he was born blind
         so that God’s works might be revealed in him.”
                  —John 9.3
 
Sooner or later someone is going to say
God sent the coronavirus to punish
somebody (gays, probably, or maybe old people).
Baloney.

God is not a guy who does things like that.
God is not a guy.
God is Love.
Love is not a guy who causes things to happen,
like giving you a disease or a mishap
or a lottery ticket or a recovery from illness
as a test, lesson, punishment or reward.
Love doesn’t manipulate,
doesn’t force you to experience something.
Love isn’t in the past, settling accounts.
The pure, positive, life-giving energy of love is God.
Love doesn’t play games.
It just blesses, nourishes, provides, connects, delights.
In our difficulties Love is with us, suffers with us,
gives us energy to prevail.
And sometimes that energy overflows in healing.
Love’s works are revealed in blessing amid brokenness.

Ah! So Love will cure my troubles?
No. Love will love you though your troubles.
But what good is a god who can’t fix things?
A god who suffers our suffering and doesn’t stop it?
That is the question, and the answer, of the cross:
a God who will not stop crucifixions, but be crucified.
Such a suffering, forgiving, loving presence
is deeply healing, miraculously life-giving.
It puts us in touch with the very force of life
that causes us to live, to be healthy, to be whole.
And it opens our eyes to the work of Love.

We are experiencing the coronavirus
so that the work of love might be revealed.
If our eyes are open, we will reveal it.

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

March 17, 2020

        In the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body
                  —1 Corinthians 12.13

Our social distancing is an illusion.
We are one. There is no distance. No gap.
Isolated in your apartment, you belong.

You breathe and it fills my lungs.
You weep and my heart is broken.
We are one body in many places.

In this time of separation we open our hearts,
we allow ourselves to flow out from our bodies
in Spirit to one another, to the strangers

who are part of us. Like the Italians
singing from their balconies with neighbors,
we are all notes of the same song.

Love flows where germs cannot. Meditate
on our amazing unity. Extend your spirit
to include all it includes: the whole world.

Breathe in this breath (so threatened!), a gift.
Breathe out this breath (so released!), a gift.
Let compassion for all beings flow with it,

in and out, refreshing your whole body,
the Body of Christ, the whole human family,
the whole Creation. Let love be our body.

Let your love take flesh. Make calls.
Write letters. And when you come back out
don’t stop being one another’s body. It’s your life.

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

March 16, 2020

        “Strike the rock, and water will come out of it,
         so that the people may drink.”
                  —Exodus 17.6
 
When it’s hard, and you don’t know how,
and the need exceeds your capacity,
it isn’t yours that matters. It’s God’s.
When your emptiness looms,
your terrible weakness dominates,
when you are an empty water jug,
then—perfect!—you are ready
as a vessel for the mystery of God.
When there is no hope and you
are in a wilderness without drink,
strike the rock. The water
comes from beyond your imagining.
Yes, there is no water, and besides
you don’t know how to strike the rock.
Yes. Strike the rock anyway.
When you are called upon to serve
beyond what is humanly possible,
trust this, child of God,
and strike the rock.
Desert rock, hush: behold,
there is water in you.

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

March 12, 2020

         Religion that is pure and undefiled
         before God, the Creator, is this:
         to care for orphans and widows in their distress,
         and to keep oneself unstained by the world.
                  —James 1.27
 
What if you tried to stay spotless
from one stain and were marked
by a completely different one instead?
What if you are a carrier?
What if no amount of washing,
even a baptism by immersion,
can remove the germ in you,
silently replicating,
passing to everyone you touch,
outfoxing the authorities,
leaping boundaries,
outpacing all our defenses,
changing you forever?
What if you self-quarantine
and still it gets into you,
whether or not you are prepared,
or worthy, or strong enough,
upsetting your life,
your plans, your control?
What if you’re too late,
you’ve already eaten the bread
unwashed, drunk undefended?
What if by some impossible turn
or by an ordinary encounter
it has infected you
and you need to be careful
in touching people
because it spreads,
and soon it will change the world,
this living entity,
with a life and will of its own,
gushing up to eternal life,
this virus of divine love?

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

March 11, 2020