What is sown is perishable,
                  what is raised is imperishable.
         It is sown in dishonor,
                  it is raised in glory.
         It is sown in weakness,
                  it is raised in power.
                                    —1 Corinthians 15.42-43

Sow, me, Holy One,
         your seed in this fertile world.
I will be sown perishable,
         weak among mortals.
My words will be hollow,
         empty graves,
from which you rise
         in glory.

I will be sown broken,
         seed cracked open,
and a form not strictly myself
         with power not mine will rise.

My witness will be without force,
         laughable to all but the saints
who will laugh with joy,
         who will come out
singing and bewildered
         in their grave wrappings.

I will be sown surrendered,
         and the earth receiving me
will blossom forth,
         my body become immense,
my song uncontained,
         strength ungrasped.

Sow me, Holy One,
         a seed of you,
and in my falling into the ground,
         sinking into the ground,
mercy breaks all known
         and unknown bounds.

   —February 21, 2019

         Do not fret because of the wicked;
                  do not be envious of wrongdoers.
         Commit your way to the Holy One;
                  trust in God, and God will act.
                                    —Psalm 37.1, 5

Beware the temptation to outdo an evil one,
to beat the wicked at their own game.

The saint does not resist the devil
by becoming a more devout devil.

(You only think you envy the wrongdoer;
like them you think they’re getting away with it.

You can’t see the frightful abyss within,
the hell they are fighting to escape.)

Your compass is set to a different star.
Don’t let them turn you.

Set your heart on compassion,
even facing a wrongdoer:

it will make whatever game they are playing
a different game.

Let the Crucified one play your character;
it will change the meaning of the play.

You needn’t pimp up the power of God.
Trust love to do what you cannot.

   —February 20, 2019

         Love your enemies, do good,
         and lend, expecting nothing in return.
         Your reward will be great,
         and you will be children of the Most High;
         for God is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked.
         Be merciful, just as God is merciful.
                                    —Luke 6.35-36

God is pure kindness.
No anger, no hate,
no retribution.
No petulant need
to be proven right.
No need to be mean
to those who are mean.
God is no mere guy
who knows how to be nice
and how to be cruel—
no, God is the power of love itself,
the life-giving force
of pure kindness and mercy.

Be grateful that God is so kind to us,
who are ungrateful.

How strong our urge to dilute love
with something else.
What an affront to our judgment,
this infinite, unalloyed mercy!
The immensity of God’s kindness
destroys our tiny ideas
of right and wrong (mostly wrong),
this love so generous to the ungrateful.

Repeat this daily,
breathe continually this mystery:
God is kind to the wicked,
kind to the wicked,
kind to the wicked.

   —February 19, 2019

          I say to you that listen,
Love your enemies,
do good to those who hate you,
bless those who curse you,
pray for those who abuse you.
                   —Luke 6.27-28

God of love,
I call to mind my enemies.
         I summon up your love for them and offer it humbly.

I call to mind those who are hurtful.
         I pray for them, that their hearts may be healed,
         for only wounded people wound others.
I call to mind those who abuse me or oppose me.
         I pray for them, that they may know your blessing.

I call to mind those who do what I see as evil.
         I pray for them, that their hearts may be brought back to life.
May I remember always the mystery
         that my enemy and I are one; for all are one in you.
         When I split myself from them
         I am no different than when they split themselves
         from those they reject or condemn.
         In our condemning we betray our oneness;
         we wound our own humanity.

Therefore even as I oppose them,
         may I remember their wound, and honor our oneness.
May I see them, even those who are cruel,
         as your beloved children.

Even as I must oppose people for the sake of justice,
         may I stand against their injustice, but not against them;
         may I stand beside them in your love,
         even as I struggle to love them.

I pray grateful and trusting that even when I fail
         you do not curse me, but love me and bless me.

By your spirit in me, help me, O God,
         to love kindly, to do justice, to walk humbly with you,
         in the spirit and company of Jesus.
Amen.

―February 18, 2019

         Blessed are you who are poor,
         for yours is the kingdom of God.
                  —Luke 6.21

It’s not that it’s great to be poor.
Or hungry or mourning.

But that blessing comes from God,
not from wealth or satisfaction or happiness.

Not that those who are at ease now
will be punished later,

but that ease is not life,
and if that’s what you seek,

sooner or later you will mourn what you missed.
So don’t miss it.

God, turn my heart like a magnet
toward the love that endures

all poverty, grief and powerlessness,
the life that is pure gift. Pure gift.

   —February 12, 2019

         They are like trees planted by streams of water,
         which yield their fruit in its season,
         and their leaves do not wither.
                  —Psalm 1.3

Snow piles its dreams against the trees,
ice lays its hand over the river
and puts it to sleep,
the teeth of the air bite and hold.
Silence sinks, penetrates—
or does it grow outward,
blossoming, engulfing the woods?
The lovely stillness.
Trees are deep in meditation.
Unseen, their roots know things,
feel without movement, rest without vision.

They are not patient,
they are not waiting,
they have no mind of another time but this.
They are simply being.
Even the furled buds
are not planning, only receiving.

There are seasons whose leaves are stillness,
whose fruit is silence.
Let the moment lock you in its ice.

   —February 11, 2019

You walk this earth with light in you.
In all compassion it radiates.
In humility it shines,
in wounds and weakness it leaks out.

The darkness in you
also leaks out, like a smell.
When you die the darkness
collapses on itself.

Full of light, when you die
great light is released into the world.
This is your calling,
to release your light.

   —February 6, 2019

Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret,
and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God.
         Is there a hunger in you that presses to hear the word of life?
         Give it permission. Let it move you.

He saw two boats there at the shore of the lake.
He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon,
and asked him to put out a little way from the shore.
Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat.
         How might God be asking to make use of your life?
         In all your challenges, give thanks
         that the Beloved is in the boat with you.

When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon,
“Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.”
         Do you hear God inviting you to go deeper?
         Where are those deep waters?

Simon answered, “Master, we have worked all night long
but have caught nothing.
         Where do you experience discouragement, weariness, emptiness?
         Imagine Jesus there. Imagine grace hidden there.

Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.”
         Have you ever done anything purely because God asked you to?
         Are you willing to?
         What might God be asking to you do?

When they had done this,
they caught a great many fish.
         Imagine that you were to receive what you long for.
         Imagine it is already there, beneath your vision.

They caught so many fish their nets were beginning to break.
         Are there ways your success weighs you down?
         Do your possessions swamp you?

So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them.
         You are not in this alone.
         Who is with you?

And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink.
         God’s overabundant grace can ruin your old life.
         Let it be so.

When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying,
“Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!”
         Do the abundant riches of God’s grace leave you feeling unworthy?
         Get up.
         Do you sense the gap between God’s grace and your living?
         Rather than reject the grace, conform to it.
         
Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid;
from now on you will be catching people.”
         This is not your work, but the work of God in you.
         You are not the fisher; you are the bait.
         Imagine what God can do through you.

When they had brought their boats to shore,
they left everything and followed him.
         What do you need to let go of?
         Remember you are not being sent off;
         you are being invited to follow, to stay close.

   —February 5, 2019

The bird comes close
and dodges
near and away
around the morsel
of silence
in the palm of a still hand.
It will take time
for the bird to come close,
time for the bird
to take the morsel
it’s hungry for.

It requires
for a long time
wanting
nothing else.

I am grateful
you hold so still.

   —February 4, 2019

         …the greatest of these is love.
                  —1 Corinthians 13.13

Beloved,
I am a vessel of your Spirit.
Empty me of all but your love.
May your tender self-giving
flood my soul, wash away my fear
and embolden my heart.
May my whole life flow with your love,
humble and powerful, gentle and strong.
Each moment may I seek to serve and to bless,
to heal and to set free all whom I meet.
May this be my only work,
my strongest desire:
not to be right, not to be safe,
not to be approved, but to love,
especially with those with whom it is hard;
for it is love, your love alone, that saves me
and makes me whole.
May the love of Christ live in me
with every word and every breath.
Amen.

   —February 1, 2019