If the foot would say, “Because I am not a hand,
         I do not belong to the body,”
         that would not make it any less a part of the body.
                    —1 Corinthians 12.15         

Now we are beginning to understand
we are one body.
We are all dependent and intertwined
with so many, even far away.
A stranger’s hand-washing is my health,
a worker’s delivery is my life.
The well-being of my neighbor
is my well being.
I love my neighbor as myself—
not just as much as myself but
as the rest of of myself.

Blessed Oneness, Divine Wholeness,
bless our unity, that in it
as readily as we spread disease
we may spread love.
Give us your compassion to
care for the least,
for what we do to them we do to you,
and to ourselves.
May we trust the global impact
of our individual actions.
May your one Spirit bring together
our one humanity.
You who are the One, may we be one.
Bless our one, holy, ailing body
with your mercy and your grace.

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

April 3, 2020

We wave our palms,
our cheers made dark
with tears unbidden,
crying “Save us, please,”
our cruelty barely hidden.
Soon enough we will betray.
Behind our walls
we wail, we wait
we dig graves
where no one
will congregate.
We watch the future
shrouded, we lament:
this is not
what we meant,
this pain
we long to avoid.
Inside our hollow “Hosannas”
there is no sound. A void.
We gaze at the ground,
at the grave,
at our fears, the sharp edges
of our tears. Who might save,
might touch that wound?
Amid our sorrow,
our hate,
in our doomed Jerusalem
we wait.

And the little man
of God, of grace,
unafraid to enter,
to embrace
in love
as we wait
rides
toward the gate.

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

April 2, 2020

         Save us, we beseech you, O Love!
         O Love, we beg of you, give us success!
                  —Psalm 118.25

This is our praise.Hosanna does not mean Hooray!
It means Help!
We offer no flattering words,
but confess our dependence
and confidence in you, O God.

Our praise is our trust,
our turning to you: the One
who can save, none other, no less.

That we throw ourselves in your arms,
the we expect grace and mercy from you,
this is our praise.

From our sin and our sorrow,
from our our greed and our graves,
rescue us, O Holy One.

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

April 1, 2020

         The stone the builders rejected
         has become the chief cornerstone .
                 —Psalm 118.22

Not popular. Misunderstood. Scorned.
Loyalists to the Emperor shout him down.
You’ll have to decide to stand
with him, this improper sovereign.

Even then don’t set yourself too high.
The emperor in your head also
looks down on him. You sometimes
hide inside, safe, a flag in your window.

Even what saves is most strange, slips away,
repels even. Behind your love a wariness,
a weariness, a will to turn away.
On the tip of your tongue, the word “crucify.”

The emperor of your mind remains
in office. But unnoticed, on the other side
of the city, the Humble One with nothing
but love enters the gate.

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

March 31, 2020

          
How long shall I live? I asked.
The brook flowed silently beneath me.

Will my children be well?
The bird sang and sang.

The sun came up low through the trees
as if reaching up for something.

A nuthatch, head downward,
worked a hickory trunk,

considering the bark with care,
one little peck at a time.

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

March 30, 2020

         The dead man came out,
         his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth,
         and his face wrapped in a cloth.
         Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
                                    —John 11.44
 

The call of God
is stronger than death;
the word of God is breathing itself.

I have been called into life,
raised from the dead,
saved by the mercy of the Beloved.

And still I walk trailing grave clothes,
face wrapped in a preserving veil,
feet bound in fear of decay, hope of eternity.

I walk still in death’s skin, hear muffled,
speak from under cover, see through a shroud,
drink the wine through moldering cloth.

Set me free now from all that still binds me,
strips of the past anticipating a future, shielding
me from moving, changing, touching, seeing.

Saved but still bound, I need you. Name the self
deeper than the wrappings they see.
Give me this breath, this light, this moment.

From what I fear, from what still holds me
unbind me, Love.
Set me free.

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

March 27, 2020

Dust we are, and to dust
we have already so nearly returned,
even from our dearest.

We are afraid, not having
thought before, how one’s germ
is in everything.
Sequestered from the plague
we are all looking out of our graves
at one another, distanced.

We so hunger for flesh to be unbound,
to come to the green, to one another,
unafraid to touch and be touched.

A voice calls. What graves need not hold us?
For from our shrouds our spirits, free, do get up
and meet on the green and dance anyway.

How much of our anguish is not
the assaults from without but
straining against the walls from within?

When will we follow, eager to touch what others
have touched, to meet, to join—one living body? For
we are free to love most closely, even from our graves.

This, to be free to dance, and to dance, in or
out of the flesh—not a stretching out of time—
this is the infinite to which we are raised.

You are dance, and to dance you shall return.

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

March 26, 2020

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